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Nothing decorative.

No pictures. No soft fabric except the bedding down the corridor. No random objects collected because somebody liked them.

Not even clutter.

The lighting came from the ceiling and nowhere else. Flat, white, practical. It made the whole room feel like a place designed to keep bodies functional rather than comfortable.

I set my bag down slowly. “This is your secure location?”

“Yes.”

“You live here?”

“No.”

I looked toward the food storage. “You have food here.”

“I have food in several locations.”

“Weapons too?”

“Yes.”

“Beds?”

“Yes.”

I gestured around us. “Then I’m going back to my original question. You live here.”

“I use it.”

“That’s living.”

“No.”

I looked around again.

Something about the place bothered me in a way I couldn’t explain.

Not frightening. Sad.

Which was ridiculous. There was nothing sad about a room.

Except maybe a room built for survival with nothing in it worth surviving for.

Veyr moved toward the wall terminal, and I watched him unlock it with a sequence I couldn’t follow.

“You really don’t have a home.”

He stopped for just a second, then continued. “I told you that.”

“I thought you were being dramatic.”

“I am rarely dramatic.”

“That might be the first thing you’ve said that I completely believe.”

He activated the system.