Chapter 3 #3
"That wasn't—I didn't—" Her thoughts scattered. She grabbed for words, for explanations, for anything that might make this not be happening. "Delilah wanted to go out. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen and I couldn't just leave her alone, so I went with her to make sure she didn't—"
"Your motivations are irrelevant." The woman's expression didn't soften. "You signed a binding agreement. You accepted the signing bonus. You were required to report for processing and transport. You failed to fulfill those obligations."
Her hands clenched in Kirr's jacket. The leather creaked under her grip.
"What does that mean?" But she already knew. Already felt the answer sitting cold and heavy in her gut.
"It means your application to the Latharian Mate Program has been rejected due to contract breach." The woman tapped her datapad again. "You'll be transported back to Earth within the next twelve hours. Ms. Delilah Sawyer will be transported once she's medically cleared for travel."
No.
The word screamed through Harper's mind, but she couldn't force the words out.
Back to Earth. Back to the data center that was laying people off. Back to the tiny apartment she couldn't afford. Back to poverty and failure and the endless grinding weight of barely surviving.
Everything she'd tried to escape. Everything the LMP was supposed to save her from.
Gone.
"Please." The word ripped out of her. "I know I messed up, but I need—we need—"
"The decision has been made." Not unkind. Just final. "You'll be provided with return transport and basic necessities. The signing bonus will be reclaimed from your Earth accounts."
The signing bonus. The money she'd already spent on rent. On keeping them both fed. On staying one step ahead of homelessness.
They'd take it back. Of course they would, and she'd owe money she didn't have for rent she'd already paid with funds that would be clawed back from her account.
She'd be worse than broke. She'd be in debt.
"I understand this is difficult," the woman continued, her tone gentling slightly. "But the program has strict policies regarding contract breaches. We can't make exceptions—"
"She stays."
Kirr's voice cut through the woman's explanation like a blade. Two words. Absolute authority.
The LMP officer's attention snapped to him. "Commander, with respect, this is a Mate Program matter. Unless you have official grounds to intervene—"
"She's under my protection." Kirr moved, placing himself between Harper and the officer. Not aggressive. Just immovable. "That gives me grounds."
Her pulse hammered in her temples. Under his protection. What did that mean?
The officer's jaw tightened. "Commander, taking personal responsibility for a flight risk requires—"
"I'm aware of what it requires." Kirr's tone didn't change. Didn't need to. The command in it was bone-deep. "I'm taking responsibility for her supervision. She'll remain on station pending LMP review of her eligibility."
Silence filled the medical bay. Even the machines monitoring Delilah seemed to quiet.
The officer's fingers moved over her datapad. "That's... highly irregular."
"But within my authority." Not a question. "Unless you'd like to escalate this to station command?"
The threat hung in the air. Harper didn't understand the politics, but she understood power, and Kirr had it. The kind that made bureaucrats think twice about pushing back.
The officer's lips pressed into a thin line. More tapping on her datapad. "If you take responsibility for Ms. Sawyer, she'll be required to stay under direct supervision. Restricted station access. No unauthorized departure. You'll be personally accountable for her compliance."
"Understood."
"She'll need to reside in your quarters."
Her stomach dropped. "Wait, what—"
"Standard protocol for supervised flight risks." The officer's gaze flicked to Harper, then back to Kirr. "She can't be left unsupervised. Your quarters or deportation. Those are the options."
Live with him. In his quarters. Under his supervision.
The same man who'd pulled her from wreckage and made her feel safe. Who'd grounded her through a panic attack with nothing but his steady presence and his heartbeat under her palm. Who looked at her like she mattered.
The same man who was now offering to be her warden.
Her throat closed up. She wanted to protest, wanted to argue, wanted to scream that she wasn't some criminal who needed supervision. But the alternative was deportation, debt and poverty.
"Ms. Sawyer?" The officer was waiting. "Do you agree to remain on station under Commander M'Aab's supervision?"
Her voice wouldn't work. She managed a nod.
"I need verbal confirmation."
"Yes." The word scraped out. "I agree."
The officer made a note on her datapad. "Commander, she's your responsibility now. Standard terms apply—you're accountable for her actions, her compliance, her safety. If she attempts to leave the station or violates supervision terms, you'll face disciplinary review."
"I understand."
More tapping. Then the officer looked at Harper with something that might have been sympathy.
"The review board will assess your eligibility for the mate program once your cousin's condition stabilizes.
Until then, you're confined to supervised status.
Violation of terms will result in immediate deportation. Are we clear?"
Harper nodded. Then remembered she needed words. "Clear."
The officer tucked her datapad under her arm. "I'll file the paperwork. Commander, she's officially under your supervision as of now."
She left without waiting for a response.
Silence crashed down. She stared at the space where the officer had stood, her thoughts moving too slow and too fast simultaneously.
Under his supervision. Living in his quarters. Confined.
Trapped.
She'd signed up for the Latharian Mate Program to escape one cage and now she was locked in another. Different bars, same result. Someone else controlling where she went, what she did, whether she ate or slept or breathed wrong.
And the worst part—the part that made her stomach twist with something that wasn't quite fear—was that her jailer smelled like safety.
Made her feel protected. Had pulled her from the wreckage and grounded her through panic and she'd been starting to feel something for him on the shuttle ride up.
Something warm and dangerous and impossible.
Attraction.
She'd been attracted to him. Still was attracted to him, if she was honest. Which made this whole situation so much worse.
"Harper." Kirr's voice was gentle. Too gentle. "Look at me."
She didn't want to. Didn't want to see pity or satisfaction or whatever expression went with becoming someone's supervised charge.
But she turned anyway because what choice did she have?
His golden eyes met hers, warm and steady. No pity. No satisfaction. Just that same calm certainty that had pulled her back from the edge in the wreckage.
"My quarters have a guest room," he said. "Separate space. Private. I won't invade your privacy unless you invite me to."
Heat flooded her face despite everything. "I'm not going to—"
"You can move freely through my quarters. Kitchen, living area, even my room if you need something." His lips quirked. The smile was small but genuine. "You're more than welcome to invade my privacy anytime."
He winked.
The audacity of it—winking at her while she was drowning—should have made her angry. Instead, something warm unfurled in her chest. Something that felt dangerously close to hope.
"I give you my word you'll be safe," he continued quietly. "Protected."
Promises were sacred to Latharians. She remembered that from somewhere.
Harper looked past him to where Delilah lay unconscious behind transparent panels. Machines breathing for her. If Harper went back to Earth, they'd both end up right back where they started. Broke. Homeless.
At least here, Delilah had a chance.
"Okay." Her voice came out tight. "I'll stay."
"In my quarters," Kirr clarified. "Under my supervision."
"In your quarters." The words tasted like failure. "Under your supervision."
His expression softened. "Thank you."
Harper pulled his jacket tighter and tried not to think about how the man who'd saved her life had just become her warden. Tried not to think about wanting him despite everything.
She looked back at Delilah through the transparent panels. At least they were both still breathing.