Page 77 of Claimed By the Condemned Alien

Pell frowned toward some place years behind the infirmary wall. “Dark hair. Scar beneath one eye. Thin. Younger than you, I think, although everyone looked younger in the intake cells.” His mouth tightened. “One guard called her Nara when he thought the sedation had taken her under.”

The name settled heavily in Kesta’s mind.

“Nara.”

Pell nodded.

“Did you hear H-PRIME used with her name?”

“Twice.”

Kesta finished the bandage and rested Pell’s hand on the table between them. “Who else knows this?”

“Anyone who listened.”

“That wasn't what I meant.”

His eyes returned to hers.

“I haven't told Dreven.”

“Why?”

The question carried enough suspicion that Kesta understood the answer he expected.

Because commanders collected information.

Because people disappeared after telling powerful people inconvenient things.

Because Pell had spent years learning that survival often depended on deciding which truths remained private.

Kesta drew a slow breath. “Because I learned this thirty seconds ago.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders.

She continued, “I want to compare it to the files I carried from the military ward before we decide what it means. H-PRIME may be one person, a category, a compatibility rating or something else entirely.”

“And if it is dangerous?”

“Then we tell the people who need to know.”

Pell studied her face. “That is what everyone says before someone disappears.”

The words struck harder than their volume deserved.

Kesta understood immediately that whatever history sat behind them did not belong to this conversation alone.

She looked down at his wrapped hand. “Then don't take my word for it.”

His brow furrowed.

“When I tell Dreven, you can be present.”

Pell stared at her.

“I don't need you to trust me because I’m the medic,” she said. “If the information is yours, you get to hear what happens to it.”

The suspicion did not vanish, but something in his expression eased.