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“A contract avoids that.”

“Yes,” Pela said, “but a protection contract requires recognized exchange. Labor, trade access, shared resources, or another enforceable contribution.”

“I work in the infirmary.”

“Communal medical labor is already credited toward your ordinary food and water allocation once Sera enters you on the duty ledger.”

Kesta looked at Sera.

The healer lifted one shoulder. “If you survive working with me for three days, I will consider you trained.”

“I’ve been a trauma medic for fifteen years.”

“On a planet where your scanner probably worked without kicking.”

Kesta had no answer for that.

Dreven’s mouth moved faintly.

She pointed at him. “Do not encourage her.”

“I said nothing.”

“Your face did.”

That earned her the smile she had been trying not to think about since the night before.

It was gone almost immediately.

Pela dragged the conversation back where it belonged. “Until Kesta qualifies for independent ration credit, Dreven’s allocation covers the difference created by his claim.”

Kesta’s attention snapped toward him. “We discussed this at the cistern.”

“Yes.”

“You’re already giving up part of your water.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

Dreven looked at Pela rather than answering.

Pela did.

“One third.”

Kesta stared at him.

He had walked all morning between the condenser and the council chamber under a dry red sky and had said nothing.

“That is too much.”

Dreven’s eyes narrowed. “You do not decide my ration.”

The answer came quickly enough that Kesta almost laughed.

There he was.