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I dropped the bag and intercepted her before she made three steps. She twisted when I caught her around the waist, driving an elbow backward.

Poor angle.

Good instinct.

I moved my head before it connected and turned her so her back came against my chest. She kicked at my shin. I shifted, and her boot missed.

“Let me go,” she snapped.

“No.”

“Get your hands off me.” She twisted against my grip, testing it, and found no give.

“You attempted to flee.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Her voice climbed. “Stand there and wait my turn?”

“Remain still.”

“That was never happening.” She bit the words off, chin up, and struggled again.

I tightened my hold enough to stop her without hurting her. Her breathing came faster. Too fast. I felt the change before I saw it. Panic. Not tactical resistance. Not an attempt to create an opening. Real panic.

I released her immediately.

She stumbled two steps away and spun toward me, one hand braced against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I ignored the question.

My ŭre had reacted.

Only slightly.

A brief line of silver-white current moved beneath the skin of my wrist where my hand had been against her. I closed my fist, and the light disappeared.

Talia noticed.

Her gaze dropped to my hand, then lifted again. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“It is irrelevant.”

“You say that a lot.”

I picked up her bag.

She watched me but did not try to run again.

Progress.

I opened it.

Clothing. Water. Yǔpil. Personal items.

No storage units. No laboratory equipment. No data interface.