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“Bureaucracy. They’re sifting through everything. Could take years. They might never reach your file.”

Kevari steps forward. “You understand what this means, yes?”

I nod.

But I say it anyway.

“If they flag anything—if my old ident comes up tied to classified logs—theneverythingcould unravel.”

Vael folds his arms. “What about the scrub?”

“Most of it held. But I don’t know what was archived in hard copy before Drel’s purge. I don’tknowwhat slipped through.”

Kevari looks to me. “And the child?”

I flinch.

“She wasn’t registered. But if they link her genetics to me?—”

“They won’t,” Vael says quickly.

But I can hear the doubt under his words.

Later, when Kevari leaves and Nessa’s still snoring, Vael and I stand by the back wall.

He’s pacing.

I’m staring at my boots.

“They’ll come here,” he says.

“Maybe.”

“Eventually.”

I don’t answer.

His voice tightens. “We could go east. Past the signal shelf. Hide under the old colonial network.”

I look up. “You want to run?”

He stops moving.

“I want her safe.”

“Same.”

“Then we should?—”

“No.”

He blinks.

I cross the floor slowly, every step anchored by years of not knowing who I was, what I wanted, where I belonged.

I place my hand flat against his chest.

His heart’s pounding.