Chapter 19
RYNN
The door chimes the coded signal three times, fast then slow.
Drel.
I let him in with trembling fingers, triple-checking the privacy veil even though we both know Tarek has bypasses for that kind of tech.
Still, Drel steps inside like the hallway could explode behind him at any second.
His hood's pulled low, shadows clinging to the ridges of his Alzhon features, and his breath fogs from the chilled air cycling through my vent grid.
He doesn’t speak until I’ve closed the door and thrown the manual lock for good measure.
“It’s done,” he mutters, holding out a slim chip drive. “Clearance packet and stealth corridor map. Civilian egress vector, coded through a refugee lens. It'll pass scrutiny if you don’t linger.”
I take it with both hands. My palms are slick with sweat. The drive is so small. Too small to carry everything we’re betting our lives on.
“How long do we have?” I ask.
Drel looks me dead in the eye. “One shot. That’s all. Tarek’s already flagged two of your subroutines. He's not officially pulled you, but he's watching. You make one wrong turn and he’s on you before your next breath.”
My stomach lurches.
“And Vael?” I murmur.
Drel’s gaze hardens. “They want to use him. They think he doesn’t know. You and I both know he does. Tarek’s giving him rope so he’ll hang himself.”
I swallow back bile.
"Then it's time," I whisper.
Dinner is silent.
Not the quiet kind, not the peaceful hush of a family winding down. No. It’s tension that buzzes under the table like static. My nerves are so frayed I jump when Nessa clinks her fork against her plate too hard.
She picks at her food. Vael doesn’t even pretend. He stares at the wall like he’s scanning mission coordinates.
I try. I do. I serve her the root roast she loves. I even slice the vegetables into silly shapes like I used to. But her jaw is tight, and her eyes flick between us like she's trying to decode the conversation we’re not having.
After a few more painful minutes, she shoves her plate away.
“I don’t want this.”
My tone is too sharp. “Nessa.”
She grips her cup and it creaks in her hand. The polyplastic bends visibly.
“I said I don’t want it!” she screams, slamming it down.
The cup doesn’t bounce. It shatters. Not into pieces—into shards. Like glass, though it's not. The force of her strength sends splinters skidding across the table.
I stand so fast my chair tips.
"Nessa!" I bark.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and wet and burning gold. Her lower lip quivers. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Go to your room.”
“But—”
“I said go!”
She bolts. Her footsteps echo down the corridor, too fast, too loud. The door hisses shut behind her with finality.
And I collapse back into the chair, head in my hands.
The silence that follows isn’t static anymore.
It’s guilt.
Vael’s voice cuts through it, low and measured. “That wasn’t her fault.”
I clench my fists. “She’s out of control.”
“She’s scared. Same as you. Same as me.”
“I’m trying to protect her, Vael.”
“By yelling?” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to.
My eyes sting. I hate crying. I’m too damn tired to stop it.
“She doesn’t know what’s happening,” I choke.
“She doesn’t understand why I keep glancing at the door every five minutes or why I’ve been triple-logging her school data.
She doesn’t know we’re about to vanish again.
And I can’t—I don’t know how to help her stay calm when everything is falling apart! ”
Vael stands. Walks around the table slowly. Then kneels in front of me, his massive hands gentle as they slide over mine.
“Then let me try.”
I look up.
His face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. Not smooth. Not relaxed. Just… open.
“Come with me,” he says.
Nessa’s curled on her bed, back to the wall, knees tucked under her chin. Her cheeks are wet but she doesn’t sob anymore. Just tiny, hiccuping breaths.
Vael doesn’t go in all the way.
He crouches in the doorway and knocks on the frame with two knuckles.
“You alright, cub?” he says.
She doesn’t answer. Just shrugs.
“Y’know,” he begins, settling on the floor like he’s telling a campfire story, “when I was little—way littler than you—I used to throw chairs across the courtyard. Real ones. Heavy steel legs. Made my instructors furious.”
Nessa peeks at him through the fringe of her curls.
“They said I had too much fire. Too much strength. Said I’d never learn control. Know what my mother did?”
Nessa shakes her head.
“She taught me to breathe. Not the silly kind. Vakutan breath. Want to try?”
Another shrug. But it’s not a no.
Vael inhales slow and deep, holds it. “We breathe in through our nose. Like this—smell the heat in the air. Hold it till your belly tightens. Then push it out slow. Like steam escaping.”
Nessa copies him. Not perfect. But close.
Again.
Again.
Her shoulders loosen. Her fists unclench.
By the fifth breath, she’s no longer vibrating like a struck wire.
And for the first time in two hours, I breathe too.
Later that night, I stand in the hallway, staring into the half-dark of her room.
She’s asleep. Curled against Vael’s chest like she was made to fit there.
His eyes meet mine over her head.
He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t have to.
Because in that moment, I know something I never let myself admit.
She needs him.
Not just as a shield.
But as a compass.