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No congratulations for being a surprisingly competent human.

He expected me to know my job because I did.

I’d liked him almost immediately for that.

I entered Khar’en’s identification code.

The screen refreshed.

Two results appeared.

I stared.

“Well, shit.”

From across the room, Sera’n said, “What now?”

“Nothing.”

“You have another word for nothing?”

“Several.”

He muttered something in Zunatorian under his breath.

I ignored him and opened the first file.

Same warrior, same birth record, same death record. But the sample number was different, and so was the compatibility history—which meant this wasn’t a normal duplication. I pulled both files up side by side and worked through them line by line. Bloodline matched. Ŭre classification matched. Reproductive health, genetic markers, everything. Then I reached the human compatibility section and my fingers stopped.

The first record listed no human match.

The second did.

Registration batch thirty-nine. Female identifier 39-H-118.

My stomach tightened—not because I recognized the woman, because I didn’t. It was the format.

Every human brought through registration received an identification number. Mine had been assigned before I understood half of what was happening around me, and I could still recite it without thinking.

Numbers had a way of sticking when they were attached to something frightening.

I closed Khar’en’s file and pulled another deceased warrior from the same archive batch. One record. Normal. Another. Normal. The third gave me two records, and I sat straighter. Same pattern—one file with no human compatibility match, one with a match listed. I checked a fourth. Normal. A fifth. Duplicate.

My pulse started climbing.

“No.”

This time Sera’n didn’t answer.

Good.

I opened a sixth. Normal. A seventh. Duplicate. I pushed back from the table too fast, and the chair scraped against the floor.

Sera’n looked up. “What happened?”

“I found more.”

“More what?”