Page 22 of Tracked and Taken

He hesitates.

“This week, Harkin.”

“They contacted me again. Two days ago. Same relay. Different job.”

“Different how?”

“They asked me to handle something. Transport it. I don’t know what it is. They paid me the advance. They said they’d be in touch about timing.” His hands, cuffed, rise as far as they can go. Palms up. The compound is visible on his skin in the corridor lighting; I would not see it without Draelith optics but he can feel it, I can tell he can feel it, because he is looking at his own hands like they belong to someone he does not want to be. “I swear I don’t know anything else. I’m a maintenance tech. I extended a cycle. I transported a box. That’s what they pay me for. Please.”

Torres is writing on her tablet. Every word. Time-stamped.

“The relay node,” I say. “Where in the Velarkis sector?”

Harkin gives us coordinates. Remote. Low-traffic. The node where people move data they do not want on the major network.

“Handlers ever use names?”

“No.”

“Accents?”

“Corpo. That’s all I can say. They sounded corpo. Clipped. Scripted. Like a call center but expensive.”

“Corpo.” I hold Torres’s eyes. She holds mine. We don’t say SRS or corporate procurement. We don’t have to.

“That’s all I know. I swear. Please. My sister—“

“Your sister will be informed that her brother is in Junction One detention,” Torres says. “Not before.”

She nods to her officers. They walk Harkin out.

The corridor clears. Suddenly it is empty air, and Torres and me, and the ambient hum of station ventilation.

She breathes out. Once. Controlled. The breath of a woman who has been holding her ribcage in a specific configuration for nine minutes. I want to put my hand on her ribcage and feel the release.

“You extended claws.”

“I know.”

“In a station corridor. On a detainee.”

“I know, Torres.”

“You said you wouldn’t touch him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You extended claws at him.”

“I extended claws between him and you. I need you to record that distinction on the report because it is important and also because it is true.”

She looks at me. The look holds.

“I’ll record the distinction.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.”