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“It was an exhale with resonance.”

“That’s alaugh, Tatek.”

She sits back, triumphant. “I win.”

“You did not know we were competing.”

“We always are.”

I watch her smile like it’s a new data point, one I don’t want to file away. It stretches into her cheeks, lights her eyes. Not forced. Not self-conscious.

“Gav’ora,” she says again, slower. “What does it mean?”

I stare at the space between us.

“It is a form of guardianship,” I say. “But not assigned. Claimed. Chosen. Not through order. Through recognition.”

She goes still.

“Recognition of what?”

“The self. In another.”

Her breath catches. Just for a moment.

I do not look away.

The tension doesn’t break.

It lingers.

She goes back to eating, slower now. The room feels warmer, though I know it isn’t. The station hum is softer. The lights less cruel.

I do not touch her.

But I feel closer than I have ever stood to anyone outside my clan.

And the space between us?

It doesn’t feel like distance anymore.

It feels like a promise we haven’t spoken.

Yet.

CHAPTER 5

MARA

The station hums through the walls like it always does—low, mechanical, pulsing—but today it sounds different. Not louder. Not quieter. Just more... noticeable. Like it knows I’m off-kilter.

Like everything does.

I move through my morning motions in a haze. Sanitation. Fabric shift. Ration check. All rote. All performative. It’s the journal that gets me.

I didn’t mean to open it.

Didn’t plan to write anything.