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Which did very little to narrow things down around here.
One spoke to the other without looking in our direction.
The stranger’s hand closed around my upper arm. “Move.”
I jerked away. “Do not—”
“Drav.”
The word came low and sharp.
I moved before I thought about it.
Three steps later, irritation caught up with comprehension. “I know what that means,” I hissed.
“Yes.”
“You knew I knew?”
His grip was already gone. “I do now.”
He guided me through a service door. This time his hand hovered near my back instead of touching me.
I noticed.
I hated that I noticed.
The door slid shut behind us.
We entered a maintenance passage barely wide enough for him to walk without turning his shoulders. Pipes ran overhead, vibrating softly with whatever systems kept the station functioning.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
“Move.”
“I know what the word means. I’m asking why you switched languages.”
His gaze flicked toward me. “Habit.”
That was interesting.
“Military habit?”
He looked forward again.
No answer.
Apparently months in a Zunatorian laboratory had turned me into a woman who collected suspicious silences for fun.
We reached another junction.
He didn’t hesitate before turning left down a short ramp and through a coded hatch.
“How do you know this place?” I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the narrow passage.
He didn’t break stride. “I have been here before.”
“Doing what?” I pressed, matching his pace.
