Page 5

Chapter five

Getting into a Rhythm

T he pre-dawn corridors of Casti held an eerie quiet, broken only by the subtle hum of environmental systems and the soft whisper of Petre's boots against the seamless flooring. He'd timed this trip carefully; early enough that even the most dedicated researchers wouldn’t have arrived, late enough that his presence shouldn’t trigger automatic security alerts. After nearly a week of hacking, he’d finally gotten in deep enough to examine the security protocols and find the least risky time to get inside the engineering section.

He crept along the corridors, feeling like an extra in a cheap spy novel. The heaviness of responsibility for his father's and brother's lives coiled in his chest. Liar. Betrayer. Thief. The chant went round and round in his mind, reverberating until it took on a life of its own.

Away from the main labs, Casti's architecture grew more alien, taking on organic curves, odd shapes and protruding bulges. The ship felt more alive here, its awareness pressing against his mind despite the psychic block. He assessed his approach with a critical eye—amateur work, sloppy technique.

He took a deep breath and straightened and made himself walk confidently down the corridor, like he had every right to be there.

Below him, the deck plates turned orange. The engineering section. He had a rough idea of the layout from the tour, but he had found nothing resembling a ship’s map in the database. He remembered Broken’s introduction on the tour, how the ship was morphic. Perhaps it didn’t have a layout. Just threw up corridors and rooms as needed. The thought chilled him to the core. If that was the case, this was a fool’s errand. There would be no random bits of technology lying around in storage rooms. They would be…wherever Casti kept such things.

He had to try anyway. He needed to buy time for Luken to deliver a miracle and reach the resistance. It was the thinnest of plans, but it was their only hope, fragile as it was. He scanned left and right for an access panel or an open storage room as he walked.

Time stretched. On the day one tour, they had passed through engineering in less than a minute. This was taking too long. He stopped again, weighing his options, and his swirling thoughts coalesced. This was a terrible idea. Sweet Goddess, there had to be a better option than just randomly wandering around a ship that could reconfigure itself at will, hoping to bump into tech marvels.

If he kept just walking around, sooner or later, he was going to bump into security, and then both Luken and his father would die, because he’d be arrested and hauled away. He cursed his own stupidity at letting Bylelle push him into this.

He turned to go back and stopped. The corridor behind him had altered.

Instead of the long corridor he'd just spent several minutes walking along, there was a T-junction that definitely had not been there a minute ago. A hatch stood closed on the far side, alien script carved into its surface.

He stepped towards it, examining the edges, looking for an open latch, then stopped. The ship's manipulation was painfully obvious—a path mysteriously appearing exactly where he needed to go, drawing him deeper into restricted areas. It was a trap, laid with all the subtlety of a snare for a novice hunter. There was no way he was throwing his life away for such a transparent machination.

He turned and began determinedly walking away.

Behind him, the hatch hissed open. Petre didn’t flinch, but inside, the warrior in him roared to alertness, ready to defend himself.

Broken stepped out and stopped, surprised to see him. “Petre! Good morning. Isn’t it a bit early for you?”

Petre’s heart rate hammered, and he forced an amiable smile. “Oh, yes, I was awake early this morning and thought I’d explore a bit.” He gestured vaguely at the corridor. “The ship’s architecture is amazing. The way it changes as you move away from the main areas…” He trailed off.

Broken peered at him suspiciously, and for an instant Petre was ten years old again, being interrogated about who broke into the bakery.

Evidently whatever Broken saw satisfied him, because he grunted. “Isn't it?”

He clapped Petre on the shoulder, a casual, familiar gesture that made the shame in his gut twist deeper. “We're only scratching the surface of what Casti can do.”

Broken guided him up the corridor with a dry chuckle. “I understand your fascination, but you shouldn't be wandering around here. It's a restricted area. The security team is pretty touchy with all the new project personnel due to start any day now.”

Petre nodded smoothly. “Of course, my apologies.”

Broken waved him off. “Curiosity is nothing to apologize for. If you want a more detailed tour, let me know and I’ll get it cleared through Odran and Zera.”

Petre hesitated. He really didn’t want to drag Broken into this, but there was no other way to get access to the classified engineering section. Guilt raked him with serrated claws as he clapped Broken on the back. “That would be wonderful, thank you. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime; I’d hate to pass it up.”

Broken had been his mentor, his teacher, his guide for most of his life. His father’s sworn blood brother. Broken had been another parent. He had trusted Petre, offered him insight, helped him settle into his role here. And Petre had just lied to his face.

“I’ll put in the request, but it might take a week or so. Tell me, how are things going with Rowen and the new project?”

Petre made himself smile. “Well, I think. Specialist May is highly competent.”

“I knew she would be a good fit for you, I’ve been impressed with her skills.”

“I’m sure we’ll work together well.”

Broken gave him a knowing look. “She’s a nice lady. You might try to get to know her a little outside of work. You might be surprised.”

Petre flushed and groaned. “Please don’t tell me this is your attempt at matchmaking?”

Broken chuckled. “No, she’s an excellent engineer. It’s just a bonus that I think you two could complement each other well in other ways.”

“Right, I think that’s my cue to leave.”

Shame burned again as Broken hugged him. “Of course. I must go—I’m on my way to a meeting. I’ll be in touch about the tour when I’ve got clearance.”

“Thank you.”

Petre walked away. He didn’t rush. Didn’t let himself look back. Not until he was in the familiar corridors of his assigned lab, where he could lock the door, and he let out a breath.

That had been too damned close. His heart pounded against his ribs. Not from fear—he could handle fear. From frustration. From shame. From the sheer weight of it all.

***

The lab hummed around Rowen as she worked, her fingers dancing across the interface with growing frustration.

A week working with Petre had established a slightly more comfortable rhythm. Time and familiarity had softened some of his starched edges, though he was still stand-offish. He often spent time off on his own for hours working in the other lab.

Ah, well , she reasoned, there’re worse things in the world than working with a quiet, gorgeous boss that leaves you alone to play with cool technology.

She ran the simulation she was working on again and cursed internally when it didn’t produce the expected result. Dammit, maybe the sixth time will be the charm.

From his terminal on the other side of the lab, she heard Petre shuffle, practically felt his gaze drill into the side of her head.

"Are you alright?" he asked. She nearly fell off her chair. She wouldn't have been more shocked if he'd stripped naked and started dancing a Malurien folk reel on top of the lab bench. In all their time working together, he'd shown about as much interest in her personal wellbeing as a rock showed in poetry.

"Yes." Her response was clipped.

"That's the third sigh in two minutes. Clearly, you're bothered by something."

"I'm fine," she snapped.

Instead of taking offense, he simply regarded her for a long, steady moment. Then he shrugged and returned to his work.

Her next sigh was deliberate. Alright, even she had to admit to herself that it was petty. But if she had to suffer, so did he. After all, misery loved company, and her misery particularly enjoyed the company of the male who was causing it. Besides, if her sighing annoyed him even a fraction as much as his stoic silence annoyed her, she'd consider it a small victory in their unspoken battle of wills. She threw in an extra eye roll for good measure, though he wasn't looking at her to appreciate it.

"This is too slow. Casti's concepts are incredible, the technology extremely complex, but it's taking too long. It's spending ages distilling its concepts down for me to simple building blocks. It's like trying to understand quantum physics through interpretive dance." She tapped the display in frustration. "We're losing so much in translation."

He set his datapad down and faced her. One of the few redeeming features she’d come to appreciate about him in their first week working together, was that when he gave her his attention, it was full and unwavering. Every time he looked at her, with that focused stare of his, she was shocked over again at just how handsome he was. He was truly a beautiful male.

His glacial gaze locked onto hers, and her stomach flipped. Again. Damn him. If only he wasn’t such an arrogant ass. No , she told herself firmly. I absolutely refused to let myself be attracted to an emotionally unavailable male.

“I understand your frustration, but what can we do? You're trying to recreate the output of scientists from thousands of years ago, that even then were thousands of years ahead of us, in another language,” he pointed out. His logic set her teeth on edge. “Language isn't just words. It's thoughts and concepts. Understanding their technology might take years.”

She glared at him, affronted by his reasoned argument. “That’s not particularly helpful. I tell you there’s a problem, and your answer is ‘yes it’s hard’? Work with me here. Let’s try to come up with a solution.”

“I don’t have any suggestions.” He shrugged.

She narrowed her gaze at him suspiciously. That was a bald-faced lie. Asshole that he was, even she had to admit that he was terrifyingly smart. In the week she’d worked with him, she’d realized that Petre had an idea for every problem. He’d analyze a problem and dismantle it with disconcerting focus.

So why was he avoiding this one? And why did she get the feeling that he seemed oddly happy with the idea it might take years?

He returned to his console, like the conversation was already over, and it scratched at her temper.

Well, unlike him, she didn’t have years to spend researching and theorizing. This was a problem, and they needed to work on the solution. Goddess wept. It was literally in their job.

She chewed her lip, considering. There was something there, in what he'd said… “That's it!” It hit her in a flash. “We're trying to communicate in language when we should share concepts directly.” Her eyes brightened. “But we have a solution for that.”

Understanding dawned in his expression, twisting into something edged and dark. Whatever it was he was feeling, she could almost physically sense it, like static in the air between them. Ookay, that’s weird.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and firm. “ That is a terrible idea.”

“It's a brilliant idea!” she countered. The more she thought about it, the more right it felt. “Direct neural interface with Casti would bypass all these translation issues—”

“Absolutely not.” He folded his arms, immovable as a mountain. “You don’t know what it could do to you.”

She stared, thrown by the quiet command in his voice. “Seriously? You're an engineer. How could you not want to try it?”

He frowned, unmoved. “I prefer my brain unscrambled, thank you.” If she hadn’t been able to sense his emotions, even distantly, she might have bought his logical response.

“Scrambled? Really? That's your scientific assessment of neural integration?”

His fingers curled against his forearm, the only sign of cracks in his composure. “We have no long-term data on the effects of psychic bonding with AI. The connections are completely unfamiliar territory.”

“Except for the entire civilization that built Casti,” she countered. “And Zera and Odran seem fine. No scrambled brains in sight. They’ve been scanned more times than I can count.”

“That we can observe ,” he said through clenched teeth. “Who knows what subtle changes might manifest over time?”

“Are you actually worried about this, or is this some male thing about being in control?”

The transformation was instant. The remoteness that she’d spent a week tolerating, his measured responses, the glacial aloofness he maintained, it all shattered like glass under pressure. His entire body tensed.

Then he moved.

Fast.

Between one blink and the next, he towered over her, and Rowen saw for the first time what lurked beneath all that restraint. His eyes blazed with an intensity that should have terrified her. Instead, she cocked her head in fascination. Why in the name of the Goddess was he hiding this vibrance? This energy.

“Unlike you, with your reckless abandon,” he bit out, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine, “I prefer to approach unknown technology with appropriate caution.”

Ok, she needed her head examined. Should absolutely not be riveted by the way his reserve had peeled back to reveal this intense, passionate, creature. But after a week of sterile politeness and emotional deep freeze, the peek into his personality was intoxicating. His presence surrounded her, cedar and barely leashed power. She found herself leaning slightly toward him.

This, she realized with sudden clarity, was the real Petre. Not the ice sculpture she'd been working with, but this male that was vividly alive .

“ Appropriate caution?” she mimicked, stepping into his space.

A small insane part of her wanted to poke at him, wanted to needle until he showed her more of the glorious vibrance of him. How did he survive with all of that locked up within him? The sane part of her pointed out that this was a terrible idea, and he was her boss. Unfortunately, the sane part won.

His gaze dropped to her lips, and he grimaced. “Are you slow or something? I said no!”

His words were more effective than being doused with cold water.

There he was, the asshole she’d come to expect. Appallingly, she blinked back tears, beyond pissed at herself for being upset. Damn it, she always cried when she was angry. “No,” she responded, voice tight. “I am not slow. I’m a scientist and an engineer. I push boundaries. It’s who I am.”

For a moment, he stayed there, staring down at her, then he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, they were calmer. Edging back towards the remoteness she had come to expect.

“I apologize, Rowen.” His voice was quiet again. “That was uncalled for.”

“Yes, it was.” She tried her best to make herself a stone, not to show how deeply he had cut her.

Silence hung between them, and he cursed. “That is the second time I’ve had to apologize for my rudeness.” He bowed his head to her. “I am sorry. Again.”

She sniffed, stiff with hurt. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t do things you need to apologize for.”

She took a step back, trying to pull them off of the emotional ledge they’d found themselves on. “Look, I understand you don’t want to try the neural integration. That’s fine. I'll ask Zera to set it up just for me.”

His sharp inhale caught her off guard. “You will do no such thing. I forbid it.”

Irritation made her words snap, burning away the last of her hurt. “Did you just try to ‘forbid’ me?”

“Yes.” He didn't back down, though saw him wince at her tone. “As senior on this project, I cannot allow—”

“Cannot ‘allow’?” she clenched her fists, desperately wanting to slap him in his pretty face. “I hate to break this to you, but I’m a fully qualified engineer. I—”

“Who is currently working under my authority on a colonial project!” he snarled. “And I am telling you that neural integration is not approved for this phase of research.”

For a long, charged moment, neither of them moved. There was no way in a million years she was backing down.

It was Petre that blinked first. He exhaled slowly, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You can’t always push through obstacles by sheer force of will, Rowen.” His voice was tight, resigned.

“Funny. That’s exactly what’s gotten me this far.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”

She stayed there, staring up at him in silence.

“Careful, Rowen.” His voice was so low it was nearly a growl. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

“Am I?” she murmured, gaze locking onto his.

His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for something—her, maybe—but was restraining himself.

“Yes,” he said, voice like gravel.

She deliberately stepped back, making it clear to him it was her choice, not a retreat. She saw the corner of his mouth tick up into a tiny smile of appreciation. She tilted her chin up in challenge. “You’re going to have to try harder if you want to intimidate me.”

He sighed heavily. “ That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She crossed her arms. “Look, I get that you're protective. It's literally encoded in Verit DNA. But I'm not some fragile flower that needs sheltering. You’re smart. I need you to think past whatever this is.”

“I never said you were.” Some of the anger bled out of him, replaced by resignation. “But neural integration is not up for discussion.”

“Everything is up for discussion,” she countered. “That's how science works. We hypothesize, we test, we learn. We don't just arbitrarily declare things off-limits because they make us uncomfortable.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has anyone ever told you that you're remarkably persistent?”

“Usually, they just call me stubborn.” She offered a small smile, extending an olive branch. “Look, I promise I won't do anything without your agreement. But will you at least consider that there might be a safe way to approach this?”

He studied her for a long moment. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then I suppose I'll have to help you work out how to do it safely. If only to keep you from being so rash.”

She beamed at him. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Exhausting,” he corrected, fighting not to smile. “You are exhausting.”

“But I'm growing on you,” she said with certainty. “Like a friendly fungus.”

This time, he actually laughed, a short sound that seemed to surprise them both. “That is… not the metaphor I would have chosen.”

“Too late, I'm keeping it.” She’d won. She wasn’t sure what, or how, but she was certain that she’d won a battle in a small, private war she hadn’t even been aware she was fighting. “Now, about—”

“Tomorrow,” he said firmly. “It's late, and I need time to properly document all the ways this could go horribly wrong.”

“Always such an optimist.”

“One of us has to be practical.”

She glanced back at him archly. “Good thing you have me to balance it out then.”

***

Petre was reviewing the latest system diagnostics when the doors to the lab slid open. A hover cart hummed as it crossed the threshold, loaded with bio-containers, but it was the male pushing it that made Petre want to snarl.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, towards the theoretical mystical realm where the triple Goddess lived. Today, he called on the mother. Goddess, did I do something wrong in a previous life? Because I really don’t need this today.

He'd nearly had a heart attack when Rowen suggested neural integration. The mere thought of Casti rummaging around in his head, discovering his activities, had sent panic clawing up his throat.

But instead of shutting it down like a sane person, he'd let just a hint of his anger and frustration come vomiting to the surface. His face heated with shame as he remembered how he loomed over her like some feral beast, nipping her with words, letting his fear push him into lashing out.

But…she hadn't backed down. He had spent the past hour trying not to remember how she tilted her chin up in challenge. She should have been frightened. Should have reported his loss of composure to Broken. Instead…he sent her a sidelong glance…she’d met him with her own glorious anger.

Focus ! he commanded himself sharply. He couldn't afford these dangerous thoughts. Not with everything at stake.

But Goddess help him. He couldn’t regret seeing that fire in her eyes, even if it had cost him. He returned his attention to the invader in his territory.

“Varian,” Petre said flatly. “I wasn’t expecting a delivery today.”

“It’s unscheduled.” The male’s grin was as relaxed as ever. “The botanical samples you requested came in early, and I thought you’d want them right away.”

Petre waited for the rest of it. He didn’t trust coincidences. Not with Varian. Then the pilot’s gaze slid to Rowen, and Petre’s chest tightened.

“If I’d known you had such lovely company, I’d have arrived sooner.”

Petre barely contained the irritated hiss that tried to escape. Varian was one of the few Dathalka males that had done well with the females in the colony initially. He could never quite work out what it was about him that the females seem to like, but clearly whatever charm it was, it wore off fast because he went through them like most males went through undergarments.

Rowen, damn her, smiled at the compliment. “Specialist Rowen May,” she introduced herself, her voice warm. “Agricultural Engineering.”

“Ah, the genius behind The Garden project.” Varian’s grin deepened, flashing a dimple.

Petre felt an unfamiliar, unwelcome sensation in his gut. It was entirely irrational. Rowen was not his, in any way. Argument today aside, he’d made a determined effort not to speak or interact with her.

But he really didn’t like the way Varian was looking at her.

“I’ve heard impressive things about your work,” Varian continued as he began unloading the samples. “These are from the southern continent. Had to dodge some interesting weather patterns to get them here today.”

“Your dedication to the project is noted,” Petre said coolly. “Though perhaps next time you could comm ahead rather than just appearing.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Varian winked at Rowen as he handed her the manifest tablet, and she snickered in response.

Petre shot her a warning look, but she only grinned, completely unbothered by his irritation.

“Thank you,” she said, signing the manifest, “these samples really are time-sensitive. The germination window on the purple sage is particularly short.”

“See?” Varian’s smile widened. “The lady understands. Sometimes you have to trust a pilot’s instincts.”

“Is that what you call it?” Petre muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Varian's gaze swept over him, lazy as a cat sizing up its prey. “Some of us prefer to focus on results rather than rules.”

The pilot turned to Rowen, his cocky look melting into something honeyed and warm. “Speaking of results,” he purred, “I hear you're making remarkable progress with The Garden plans. Perhaps you'd like to discuss them over dinner sometime?”

Petre was momentarily stunned at Varian’s audacity. How dare he, in Petre's territory, in front of him. Rowen was his…his what?

Not mine to protect! He reminded himself, as he wrestled the ridiculous instinct into submission. Rowen was a grown female; she was not his anything .

But it didn’t stop the sharp spike of fury that sliced through him like a live wire.

Before Rowen could respond, he cut in. He couldn’t help himself. “I’m sure Specialist May’s schedule is quite full with project work.”

She glared at him. “I don’t recall appointing you my social secretary.”

The rebuttal knocked some sense into him. “My mistake,” he said stiffly. “I simply meant—”

“That you’re very busy,” Varian finished for him. “But surely even the most dedicated engineer needs to eat occasionally?”

She chewed her lip, considering. He noticed she did that a lot when thinking.

Petre’s fingers curled into a fist. He didn’t want to watch this. Didn’t want to stand there and wonder if she’d accept.

Rowen exhaled. “I appreciate the offer,” she said finally, “but I should probably focus on getting these samples processed while they’re fresh.”

Varian smiled easily. “Another time, perhaps.”

As soon as the pilot left, Petre picked up the nearest bio-container, focusing on it with unnecessary intensity.

“So,” Rowen said, sounding far too amused, “not a fan of the pilot?”

He didn’t look up. “He’s unreliable. More interested in making an impression than doing his job properly.”

“Seemed to me like he did his job efficiently,” she noted. “The specimens are in perfect condition.”

He looked up at that, eyes narrowing slightly. “I would prefer he showed appropriate respect for procedures that exist for good reasons.” Even in his own ears, he sounded ridiculous and petulant.

“Mm.”

She didn’t argue further. Just transferred a delicate seedling into the bio-analyzer.

Then, without looking at him, she asked, “Nothing to do with how he was flirting with me, then?”

His entire body went rigid. His first instinct was to tell her it was none of his concern. But the truth burned at the back of his throat.

Instead, he answered honestly, “I think you deserve better than someone who treats courtship like a game.”

She turned to face him slowly, her eyes widening in surprise. “I think that might be the first time you’ve paid me a compliment,” she said.

Petre held her gaze for a beat too long, before turning back to the samples.

“We should log these before the germination window closes,” he said, voice even. “I’ll be back.”

Petre stepped out into the corridor, the cool air doing little to smother the heat simmering beneath his skin.

Varian hadn’t made it far. He was leaning against the wall a few meters away, arms crossed, waiting. Of course he was.

Petre’s stride was slow, deliberate. He refused to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing how much the exchange in the lab had infuriated him.

“I like your new engineer, Petre,” Varian said. “She’s pretty.”

Petre stopped a step away, arms folding over his chest. “You will stay away from my project.”

Varian scoffed, “I was delivering samples. It’s my job.” He smiled slyly. “Besides, are you sure you don’t mean stay away from Rowen?”

“Rowen can look after herself.”

Varian pushed off the wall with his usual careless arrogance. “That’s funny, because you seem very interested in managing Specialist May’s schedule.”

Petre didn’t blink. Didn’t move. “I’m interested in keeping this project running without unnecessary distractions.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” he said mockingly.

Petre said nothing. Varian had always been a male who enjoyed pushing boundaries, pressing at cracks to see what might give, secure in the knowledge that the Maman would cushion him from all but the most serious of offences. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew when he was playing with fire.

Still, Varian couldn’t help but poke. “Tell me, Petre—have you declared your intentions?” Petre’s jaw locked. Varian saw it and pounced. “Ah. That would be a no.”

The flicker of amusement in his eyes was still there, but it was sharper now. Less teasing, more… testing.

“You’re wasting your time,” Petre said, his voice steel-edged. “She’s focused on her work.”

“That’s what she said, yes. But that’s not quite the same thing as ‘not interested,’ now is it?”

“If you’re looking for fun,” he said, voice quieter now, lower, “find it elsewhere.”

A heartbeat of silence.

Then Varian chuckled. “Now see, that almost sounded like a warning.”

Petre held his gaze. “It was.”

And this time, Varian hesitated. “If you’re interested, why haven’t you declared for her?” he asked.

“I’m not interested in her,” he denied, and Varian laughed incredulously. “She is under my protection. She works for me.” He looked the other male up and down contemptuously. “And she’s certainly too good for you.”

Anger heated Varian’s gaze. “You know how this works,” Varian said, voice quieter now. “If she’s unattached and interested…”

Varian was right. Rowen had no formal ties to anyone. No claim. She was free to do as she wished with anyone. But the thought of Varian with her…His voice came out low. Dangerous. “I’m telling you now—leave her alone.”

Varian held his gaze. And Petre saw the exact moment he understood. That this wasn’t a game, wasn’t one of their ongoing needles at each other. This was territory.

Just as Petre thought Varian might finally get the message, the bastard grinned. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I will.”

Petre exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Varian was baiting him. Testing just how far he could push. And they both knew how that would end. “You won’t find it amusing when I throw you out an airlock,” Petre murmured.

No heat in the words. No theatrics. Just a fact.

“Look, I'm not an unreasonable man. If you had declared your intentions, I'd respect that.” Varian paused, then twisted the knife: “But you haven't. So as far as I see it—” He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug.

For a heartbeat, Petre imagined grabbing the front of Varian’s flight suit, slamming him into the wall, feeling the satisfying crunch as his head hit metal, making him choke on his smug words. But he didn’t, because ultimately, Varian was right.

Because he couldn’t declare his intentions. Rowen wasn’t his, and he didn’t like her that way, did he? Besides, to declare any intention would put her squarely in the Maman’s crosshairs. They already had him by the balls with his father and brother. What more could they make him do for a mate? He shuddered internally.

“Don’t worry, Petre,” Varian said, that self-assured grin back in place. “I don’t poach.” A pause. “But I don’t walk away from an open field either.”