Page 42 of Pocket Wife

Torren frowns. “We cannot match Helix money.”

“No,” I say. “But maybe we can match what the money is for.”

Jessa straightens. “Transport shares. Emergency fund. Off-world clinic contacts.”

“Harvest credit,” Samuel adds.

A murmur passes through the room, uncertain but alive.

I come around the table and stop in front of Nara. “If you still choose to sign after that, I will not hate you.”

Nara looks up sharply.

“I will hate what made you choose it,” I say. “Not you.”

The paper lowers.

Not victory.

A pause.

I’ll take it.

By late afternoon, the hall has become two rooms without walls. One group lists needs: medicine, debt, transport, equipment, food stores. Another lists resources: spare fuel, clinic contacts, harvest pledges, old savings. Some families still keep their Helix notices folded in their pockets. I see them. I don’t ask them to surrender the papers.

Fear does not vanish because someone makes a better speech.

Near sunset, I step outside and find Rethan waiting under the eaves.

“You handled them with mercy,” he says.

“I wanted to beg them not to leave.”

“You did not.”

“I might tomorrow.”

“That would be understandable.”

Rainwater clings to the ends of his pale hair. The sight makes me want to step closer, and that’s dangerous enough.

“Do Pi’rell bonds make people foolish?” I ask.

“Not by default.”

“Good. I may have to blame myself, then.”

His gaze softens. “For what?”

“For standing in there talking about choices while wondering how many years I get before you have to watch me grow old.”

Rethan becomes very still.

“I have wondered the same,” he says.

That hurts worse than denial would have.

I look out at the fields, green in the low light, fragile and stubborn as ever. “I do not want to be another thing you survive.”