Chapter 5
RYNN
The moment I see the ping, I drop my stylus.
It hits the counter with a sharp clatter that echoes too loud in the silence of the medbay backroom, like a gunshot ricocheting through my chest.
I stare at the data stream unfolding on my private console — authorization tier seven, active inquiry… initiated from Commander Vael Draykorr’s ID.
My file.
He’s accessing my personnel file.
My stomach knots so fast and so hard it’s like being gut-punched. My fingertips go numb.
He knows.
Or he suspects.
Stars.
I move before I can think. Fingers flying over the interface, bypassing standard protocols with override codes I was never supposed to keep memorized — but did.
I dig into the query root, trace the request back to the system it originated from, and reroute the return node through a dummy buffer I coded during the last power outage.
It won’t stop the request. But it’ll slow it.
I just bought myself ninety seconds.
I slam open another interface pane, pull up my archived logs, and start deleting.
One by one, I erase every digital footprint I can find — appointment notes, flagged scans, shipment inconsistencies. Anything tied to the medcenter’s neonatal wing five years ago.
The software whines at me. Red prompts flash across the screen.
I override them.
I open the bio-registry and my breath catches in my throat.
There she is.
Nessa.
Line 12. Hidden but not gone.
My fingers tremble.
There’s a part of me — the mother — that wants to stare at that entry forever.
Wants to run her name across my tongue and remember the moment I first held her.
Her wail. The way she kicked at the blanket. The faint shimmer of gold in her eyes even then.
But I don’t have time.
I run the lockdown script. Erase visual records. Scramble the genetics tag. Nessa’s file vanishes from public access in a blink. Her registry markers are now under a dead code flagged for deletion.
She’s a ghost.
Again.
I back out. Lock the shell. Wipe the buffer log.
By the time Vael’s access clears the dummy node, he’ll get a sanitized version of my file — field surgeon history, station transfers, fake evaluations, zero references to Corven-7 until four years ago.
Nothing that shows the truth.
Nothing that ties me to her.
But my hands won’t stop shaking.
I stagger back from the console and press my palms to my face. My skin is slick. I don’t know if I’m sweating or crying. Maybe both.
“Rynn.”
I jerk at the voice. Whip around.
Drel stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glowing that calm ocean-blue Alzhon stare that sees everything.
“How long have you been there?” I rasp.
“Long enough.” He steps inside. Doesn’t look at the console. Doesn’t have to. “You’re unraveling.”
“I’m handling it.”
“No,” he says gently. “You’re desperate.”
I turn away. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand more than you think.”
I bite down on the scream in my throat. “Then stop judging me.”
He sighs. Moves closer. “I’m not judging you. I’m worried.”
I don’t want this right now. I can’t have this right now. I grip the edge of the counter and dig my nails into the seam.
“He’s looking,” I whisper. “Vael. He’s digging.”
“I figured he would.”
“He’s smart. He’s stubborn. And he remembers.”
Drel places a hand on my shoulder. “Then tell him.”
I shove his hand off. “I can’t.”
“You’re going to break yourself trying to bury this alone.”
“If I tell him, I lose her. If I don’t, I still might.”
He’s quiet for a long moment.
Then: “She had an incident at school.”
That yanks my head up so fast I see stars. “What?”
“Earlier today. Power flicker. System error. Three kids got shocked. No injuries, but… it’s flagged.”
“Why didn’t anyone call me?”
“They tried. The network was unstable.” He hesitates. “They’re going to run a genetic panel if it happens again.”
My knees give out and I slide to the floor.
Drel crouches beside me. “You need to think clearly, Rynn. You’re not just dodging Vael. You’re dodging everyone.”
“I don’t know what to do.” My voice is barely audible.
He puts a hand over mine. “Then let me help.”
I meet his eyes, and for the first time in days, I feel something close to solid.
But fear still chews at the back of my skull.
Because all it takes is one slip.
One glitch.
One mistake.
And I lose everything.