Page 25 of Alien Burn

She held to it while she crossed the room. Sat on the bed. Picked up the soft shoes and lined them neatly beneath the chair, because they were new and someone had taken trouble over finding them for her.

On the ship, Roemary had done things like that.

Not shoes. A seat saved at a crowded table. A drink brought without asking. Once, when Sereya had been having a particularly bad night, Roemary had appeared with a blanket and asked no questions at all.

Sereya had stayed beside her long after the drink was finished.

She should have gone to bed.

For months before the voyage, she had practiced the history that belonged to her new name. Where she had grown up. What work she had done. Why there was so little to find about her family. She could answer the program's questions without stumbling. Had answered them, and passed every check.

Then a lonely evening aboard a ship, a little wine, and someone sitting close enough that she didn't have to speak loudly.

She had told Roemary the truth.

Not all at once. That was the part she could never forgive herself. She had had chances to stop. Roemary had taken her hand, and Sereya had kept talking. Her family. What had happened to them. The name the officials had told her never to use again.

It had felt so good to say it.

For a few days afterward, she had slept better than she had in years.

A knock sounded at the door.

Sereya stood too quickly. The room tipped, and she caught the bedpost.

“Yes?”

“Open it.”

She unlocked the door.

Roemary wore one of the supplied robes. She had found a way to arrange the belt so that the plain garment looked made for her. Her silver hair fell loose over her shoulder.

“You're doing the quiet thing.”

“I was getting ready for bed.”

“I mean earlier. It reads as sulking. I need you presentable tomorrow.”

“I'll be presentable.”

Roemary reached toward her cheek. Sereya held still while a strand of damp hair was tucked behind her ear.

“Today was awful. I know.”

For a moment, with her voice soft and her fingers careful, she was the female who had brought the blanket.

Sereya hated that she could still feel the difference when that female went away.

“Dhomhes,” Roemary said. “When there's an opportunity for us to speak privately, you'll make yourself scarce.”

“Of course.”

“Without needing to be told.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Roemary glanced past her at the room. “You know, I was thinking on the transport. The anniversary's coming up, isn't it? Six years this autumn.”