Page 245 of Commander’s Mate
A silver-skinned translator.
A Mavrin woman who had once refused breakfast because she thought food created sexual debt.
They were all here.
Not all soldiers, but all part of the mission.
“Fine,” I said. “Scarlet’s flow plan.”
She blinked.
“That easy?”
“No. I will complain later.”
“Fair.”
Tivid changed the display.
“Registry matches.”
Names appeared.
Nera Tovan Reh.
Taren Maktu.
Meya Maktu—probable.
My lungs stopped working for one heartbeat.
Harper’s hand touched the table near mine.
Not touching me.
Close.
Tivid continued.
“We have seventeen high-probability family-linked identities, forty-two medium-confidence matches, and one hundred forty-seven partial identifiers.”
“Prioritize confirmed family links?” an officer asked.
“No,” Harper said.
Every head turned.
She did not flinch.
“If you prioritize people because someone aboard loves them, you create another hierarchy of whose life matters.”
Silence.
She looked at me.
I knew what she was asking.
Meya could not become more valuable because she was mine.
