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“Yes.”

“Go.”

“Still twenty minutes left.”

He gestured to the half-eaten ration bar on my desk, its wrapper crinkled beside a cold cup of tea. “You worked through lunch.”

“I ate.”

“You gnawed on compressed nutrients for thirty seconds.”

“It counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

My stare didn’t waver. His didn’t either.

Apparently recovery had restored his capacity for irritation.

I shut down my terminal. “Fine.”

As I stood, my gaze caught on the stack of flagged files waiting for tomorrow.

Work.

Mine.

Not assigned because no one knew where else to put me. Not permitted because someone had decided I was useful enough to keep.

Chosen.

There was a difference. I understood that now.

Maybe that was why, as I headed home, I found myself thinking about Veyr’s family. It had been nearly two months since we went to see them.

His mother had said his name like it hurt.

I still remembered the sound.

It had been nearly two months since we went to her residence together. Veyr had barely spoken during the transport, not because he was calm.

Because he wasn’t.

His hand had stayed wrapped around mine the entire way, too tight at first, then looser when I squeezed back.

His sister had arrived before us.

Anik arranged that quietly.

No ceremony. No royal guards. No announcement that the dead had returned.

Just family.

Veyr stood outside the door for almost a full minute.

I didn’t rush him.

Eventually, he opened it.