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"I had to swim deep enough that their arrows couldn't reach me," I continued, the memory vivid even after all these years. "The pressure at that depth was immense. My lungs felt like they were collapsing. I swam for what felt like ages before I dared surface, only to find myself far from shore in a violent storm."

Morgan shook her head in disbelief. "How did you get back?"

"I didn't, not directly. I was picked up by a fishing vessel three days later, half-dead and severely dehydrated. Luckily, the Veridian fisherman was eager to help anyone working againsthis oppressors, and the intelligence I'd gathered helped us wrest control from the Kronock.”

Her expression softened. "And no one outside the Shadows ever knew."

"That's the nature of our work," I said simply.

"What else?" She leaned forward. “I want to hear more."

I thought for a moment. "There was a mission on Praxis Four, a trading hub known for its... flexible morality. I had to infiltrate a pleasure house to locate a traitor selling military secrets."

Morgan's eyebrows shot up. "A pleasure house? As a client?"

"As staff," I corrected, feeling heat in my cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. "They were suspicious of new clients, but always in need of workers."

Her eyes bugged out. “You posed as a prostitute?”

"Not exactly. More as an attendant. I was draped in layers of fabric with my face covered, serving drinks and monitoring conversations. The anonymity of the role was perfect for surveillance."

“You posed as a female attendant?”

I twitched one shoulder. “There were no male attendants.”

Morgan put a hand over her mouth as is to stifle her giggles. "I'm trying to picture you in flowing robes, serving drinks to handsy patrons."

"It required a different set of skills than my usual assignments," I admitted dryly. "Though I did have to incapacitate aparticularly aggressive client who thought my 'no' was negotiable."

She shook her head as her laughter faded. "Is it hard? Having all your bravery be secret?"

The question caught me off guard.

"Sometimes," I confessed, staring at the wine pouch in my hands. "There have been moments, especially after particularly difficult missions, that I've questioned my choice." I looked up at her. "But then I remind myself why the Shadows exist. Some work is too sensitive, too dangerous to be acknowledged."

“It must be hard. Does anyone but Zoran know? I’m assuming your brother doesn’t.”

I shook my head. "No one in my family knows. It's one of the reasons I've stayed away for so long." I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice but wasn't entirely successful. "They believe I washed out of the Academy, that I'm the Admiral's glorified assistant."

"That's total BS,” Morgan said fiercely. "It's not fair for the Shadows to ruin your life like that."

Her defense of me, so immediate and passionate, triggered a flutter in my chest. "My life isn't ruined. If I hadn't joined the Shadows, I wouldn't have been assigned to the Admiral as cover. I wouldn't be here now—with you."

The words hung between us, honest in a way I rarely allowed myself to be. Morgan's eyes widened slightly, a pretty pink flush spreading across her cheeks.

She set aside the wine pouch. “Well, I think you should get some reward for your unknown heroics.”

Before I could respond, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, before deepening into something more insistent. Her hands came up to touch my face, her touch sending electricity skittering across my skin.

When she pulled back, she was smiling. But not her usual shy smile. She stood and tugged me up alongside her.

"Come on,” she said, her voice low.

"Where are we going?" I asked, though I was already following.

Morgan didn't answer, simply led me toward the back of the ship, her fingers intertwined with mine. A voice in the back of my mind whispered that this was unwise, that attachments were dangerous, that I shouldn't give in to desire.

But another voice reminded me of our reality. We were floating in unknown space, possibly never to be found. Why deny ourselves?