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Rettnor's face swam into her mind unbidden, his clinical detachment as he'd tended wounds.

Mostly ones he'd caused. He'd called it care, too.

Called it protection when he'd isolated her, when he'd monitored her every movement and communication when he'd taken away her gaming rig because "she was getting too emotional" during tournaments. Too hysterical.

"It's for your own good, Mira," he'd say, his voice dripping with false concern. "You're fragile. Delicate. You need someone to take care of you."

She opened her eyes, bile rising in her throat. Davis wasn't Rettnor. He'd never tried to diminish her, never belittled her skills or intelligence. But the secrecy, the decisions he'd made without her input...

"Is it the same?" she whispered to the empty room. "Is it the same thing all over again?"

Spot's sensors swiveled toward her, blinking in what seemed like disagreement.

The silence of her quarters pressed in around her, broken only by the steady hum of the ship's systems and Spot's occasional electronic whirring.

She pushed herself up from the bunk, restlessness driving her to movement despite the pain.

Pacing the small space, she tried to organize her chaotic thoughts.

Davis had lied to her. Or at least, he'd kept the truth from her. He'd decided she shouldn't know about the Ophiuchian DNA or the extent of his transformation. He'd made that choice for her, just like Rettnor had made so many choices.

But Davis had also risked his life to save her. Had fought through a hail of enemy fire to reach her when she was surrounded. Had helped save Spot when the drakeen core was hurt. Had given her space when she needed it, never forcing her to accept his new reality.

She found herself thinking of the gaming rig in engineering the one Davis had built for her those first weeks aboard.

She'd been so surprised by the gesture. There had been no strings attached, no expectation of gratitude beyond a simple thank you.

He'd given her a way to reclaim something Rettnor had taken, had recognized what gaming meant to her without her having to explain.

That wasn't control. That was understanding.

Spot chirped beside her, having followed her across the room. She frowned when he nudged a small object with his functional front leg. It was the neural band Jex had made for her to connect with him during the battle.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" she asked as she picked up the band.

The neural connectors glinted in the overhead lights. She'd trusted Spot with her mind, had felt his consciousness brush against hers. They'd shared memories, sensations, and purpose. It had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Maybe that was the difference. Trust versus fear. Sharing versus submission.

She set the band down and returned to the bunk, wincing as her side protested. As she settled back against the wall, a memory surfaced Rettnor smashing her old gaming system during one of his rages, destroying the one thing that had connected her to a world outside his control.

"You don't need this," he'd hissed, his perfect composure finally cracking as he'd crushed the delicate hardware beneath his boot. "You only need me."

She shuddered. That was control

Davis had never tried to isolate her. He'd encouraged her skills, her independence. Even his protectiveness came from a place of respect for her capabilities, not denial of them.

He was changing, yes, and becoming something neither of them fully understood.

But beneath the alien eyes and increased strength, he was still Davis.

Still the man who'd looked at her with such raw honesty in the observation lounge that night and admitted his feelings with none of Rettnor's calculated manipulation.

Spot chirped again, lights brightening as he settled against her leg.

"I've been running my whole life," she murmured as she stroked along the back of his casing. "From Rettnor. From decisions. From commitment."

The realization settled in her chest, a truth she'd avoided for too long. Years of Rettnor's control had taught her to equate dependence with danger. She'd kept people at arm's length, afraid of being trapped again, of losing herself in someone else's demands.

But there was a difference between dependence and connection. Between surrender and trust.

Davis had crossed boundaries, yes. Had made mistakes in trying to protect her from what he feared would drive her away.

But he'd never tried to make her smaller, never attempted to reshape her into what he wanted.

He'd accepted her skills, trauma, and all, with a straightforward honesty that Rettnor had never possessed.

Spot's lights dimmed, then brightened in a slow, pulsing pattern. He extended his front appendage toward the door, then back to her.

"You think I should talk to him?" she asked.

The drakeen core chirped affirmatively, looking up at her.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. "When did I start taking relationship advice from a battle robot?"

Spot made an indignant electronic noise, and she laughed despite herself.

"Sorry. You're right. You're more than that."

Just as Davis was more than the sum of his DNA. Or his genetics. And more than the transformation that had reshaped his body.

Making her decision, she stood. Fear had been her companion for too long, had kept her isolated and safe, but ultimately alone. Maybe it was time to try something different. It was time to stop running away and start running toward something instead.

Toward someone .

Her side ached as she straightened, but the pain felt distant now. She checked her reflection in the small mirror above her sink, wiping away the tear tracks she hadn't realized were there.

"Well?" she asked, glancing down at Spot. "Think I'm making a mistake?"

The drakeen core's lights brightened, and he circled her feet once before moving toward the door, clearly eager to be underway.

"All right," she said, releasing a breath she felt like she'd been holding for years. "Let's do this."

She gathered her courage as she moved toward the door. Whatever Davis had become, whatever challenges his transformation might bring, she was done letting fear dictate her choices.

She'd made her choice.

And it was Davis.

* * *

She wasn't coming.

Davis stood at the observation bay viewport, watching stars slide past as the Lady's Dream cruised through the sector.

The ship hummed around him, vibrating through the deck plates and into his feet.

His new senses picked up every subtle shift in the engines, every minute adjustment in course.

The familiar sensation grounded him even as his altered body felt foreign.

He flexed his fingers, noting how the muscles in his forearms rippled with new density.

Since his transformation had stabilized, he kept discovering changes.

.. elevated senses, increased strength, the way his pupils contracted to vertical slits in bright light.

Every day brought new reminders that he wasn't the man he'd been.

Or pretended to be.

His heart hammered against his ribs as anticipation and dread warred within him.

He'd asked Mira to meet him here, to give him one last chance to explain everything.

But each passing minute eroded his hope.

After the lies, the secrets he'd kept from her.

.. why would she come? The thought of her walking away for good hollowed him out, leaving nothing but the shell of what he'd become.

The air recyclers cycled, bringing a trace of Mira's scent from the corridor outside. He went still, not turning. She'd agreed to meet him here, but that didn't mean she'd follow through, not after everything.

The observation bay doors slid open. Her footsteps hesitated at the threshold, creating a moment of suspended tension.

He remained facing the stars, giving her the space to approach or retreat.

His enhanced hearing picked up the slight catch in her breathing, the rustle of fabric as she shifted her weight.

He cataloged each sound, each subtle scent that was uniquely hers.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said without turning.

Her footsteps resumed, stopping several meters behind him. "I wasn't either."

He turned, taking in her appearance like a starving man in front of a buffet.

Her blonde hair was pulled back, and she wore simple ship clothes, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. The lighting caught the golden strands that had escaped her ponytail, framing her face with a soft halo.

There were shadows beneath her eyes that hadn't been there before, and a wariness in her posture that twisted something painful in his chest. She'd come alone.

No Spot trailing at her heels. Good. He liked the little robot, but this was between them.

He moved away from the viewport into the glow of the dim overhead lighting. "I've spent my entire life lying," he said. "My name isn't even Davis. It's Michael."

The name felt foreign on his tongue, a stranger's identity he'd abandoned years ago. He watched her eyes widen slightly, lips parting in surprise. He'd never been this exposed to anyone before, never revealed the man behind the carefully constructed identity.

"Before the Reapers, I worked for NOMAD," he continued, each word feeling like stepping off a cliff. "A human intelligence agency. Everything about me my identity, my background was all constructed. Even the name 'Davis Tell' was an invention to infiltrate the Reapers."

The memories of NOMAD training flashed through his mind grueling days of drills designed to strip away humanity, to rebuild agents as weapons. He'd learned to compartmentalize and lie so convincingly that he sometimes forgot what was true.

Her fingers tightened against her upper arms, creating depressions against the smooth skin. "Why are you telling me this now?"