Page 17 of Claimed By the Wraiths

“We’re not going to make this weird,” I said. “We’ve been sharing a mess hall table at the late watch for years.”

“A table is not a bunk.”

“The principle is the same. Two adults, one flat surface, nobody talks about it.”

He sat on the fold-down seat. His knees hit the opposite wall.

He shifted. His knees hit the bunk frame.

“I told you.”

“Fine.” He moved to the bunk and sat on the edge, looking like he’d rather be back in the maintenance conduit.

I sat at the pilot’s console and ran the transit calculations. Fourteen hours to Meridian.

The Ghost hummed differently from the Raptor. Higher, thinner. A smaller ship with a bigger engine, vibrating at a frequency that got into your teeth.

“Autopilot’s set,” I said. “Nothing to do until we hit the border checkpoint.”

He was studying the Meridian schematics on his datapad. Service corridors, junction points, maintenance access. He’d been at it since we left the Raptor.

“You’re memorizing the ventilation layout,” I said.

“I’m memorizing the entire layout.”

“Starting with ventilation.”

He didn’t look up. “Ventilation systems connect every level. If I need to move vertically without using the lifts, the main shafts are wide enough.”

“For a normal person, or for you?”

“For me.”

I pulled my legs up and turned my chair to face him. The cabin was so small my knees were a hand’s width from his. “What happened at the relay. With the soldiers. Walk me through it.”

He put the datapad down. Didn’t answer immediately.

“If you’re going to be working the service corridors of a Consortium station while I’m on the conference floor,” I said, “I need to know what you can do.”

He took a breath. “It’s a Khavai ability. Rare. Most of my people can darken their skin for camouflage. A few can do what I do. Pull the shadows in, bend the light. It disrupts visual tracking, confuses targeting systems.” He paused. “My people consider it dangerous.”

“Dangerous to who?”

“To the user. The longer you hold it, the harder it is to let go. You start dissolving at the edges. Where you end and the shadow begins.” He paused. “At the deepest level, the body follows. You stop being solid. The shadow doesn’t have edges, and if you hold it long enough, neither do you. That’s what my people are afraid of. Not the camouflage. The dissolution. Coming back and not being sure everything came back with you.”

“But you’ve used it before.”

“In combat. Short bursts. Enough to clear a corridor or break a position.”

“And the version you used at the relay? Was that a short burst?”

“Yes.”

“What’s a long burst?”

He looked at me. “Walking the dark road. Something I haven’t done in a long time. Something I don’t plan to do.”

“But you could.”