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“Then whose secure location is it?”

“Mine.”

“That sounds a lot like a home.”

“It is not.”

I studied him. He didn’t look back this time, which told me more than his face would have.

Dark clothing. No insignia. No rank. Nothing personal.

Even his transport looked anonymous. No markings, no wear pattern that suggested it belonged to anyone in particular, just gray metal and clean lines from nose to tail.

“You’re military,” I said.

“No.”

“You were.”

His hands remained steady on the controls. He didn’t deny that one, and I tucked it away like everything else he’d given me so far—small, sharp, and probably useful later.

“You know military command language,” I said. “You use Zunatorian commands when you’re distracted. You move like every doorway is trying to kill you.”

“That is not unique to warriors.”

“So I’m right.”

Silence. He checked something on the panel in front of him with two fingers, unhurried, as if I’d asked about the weather instead of his entire life before today.

I leaned back against the seat. “I’m counting that as a yes.”

“You count many things incorrectly.”

“Still not a denial.” I spread my hands where he could see them. “You could say no again anytime you want.”

His mouth flattened.

I looked out the viewing panel again, watching the unfamiliar landscape blur past. The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy with everything we weren’t saying. My fingers traced the edge of the seat strap.

Then the question I’d been holding back finally broke free. “Did Sera’n steal something?”

“No evidence suggests that.” His voice was flat, detached.

“Do you know where he is?” I pressed.

“No.”

“Is he alive?”

His hands paused on the controls—just a fractional hesitation, but I caught it. My breath hitched.

“You don’t know,” I said quietly.

“No.” He didn’t look at me.

My throat tightened. I turned my face toward the window, swallowing hard against the sudden pressure behind my eyes. The silence stretched again, taut and uncomfortable. I could feel his gaze on me now, assessing, and I hated it—hated being studied like some unstable variable.

“He was looking into it before me,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.