Both of them knew they would show up on any cameras. That probably wouldn’t matter: as Surit had written painstakingly in his officer exam essays, security cameras were a reliable audit control but a poor real-time control, because expecting a junior guard to concentrate fully on several dozen feeds for hours on end, night after night, was a losing battle. That meant they’d be caught in a few days if the archivists realized there was something out of place and reviewed the footage. Tennal had grandly declared that to be a future problem.

As Surit listened, the footsteps on the floor below paused, then started again. “We have to be fast,” Surit said, ducking his head so he could murmur in Tennal’s ear. “That patrol route will cover the whole building.”

Tennal was so close that when he turned his head, Surit could feel the warmth of his breath. “Watch me go fast, then.” He slipped in the door and beckoned Surit after him.

It took Surit a long moment to move. He couldn’t think about how it felt when Tennal was close. They didn’t have time.

This storage room was small compared to the warehouse below. It held a series of metal frames that supported crates of all sizes, accessible by rotating belts that brought each one to the front in turn. A tap of Tennal’s emergency pass gave him a screen where he entered the crate code. A frame sprung into quiet, whirring life.

The crate it brought forward was as tall as Surit. It hissed to a halt, and the hatch slid open.

Surit couldn’t concentrate on looking for remnants. Because inside the crate was a rack of debris and salvage: scraps of metal, bits of fabric. The final remains of the ship Surit had last seen in chaotic space. Marit’s ship.

There was no biological matter, of course. That would have been stored separately or sent to the planet for anonymous rites. But amid the panels and chips and parts, there was a heaped pile of old, silvery wristbands.

A wristband was like part of someone’s body. These had just been casually slipped into protective bubbles and left abandoned.

But what caught Surit’s breath was that he recognized the twin-star mark on one of them.

“Well, shit,” Tennal said reflectively.

Surit tore his attention away from the sad pile of dead soldiers’ wristbands and followed his gaze.

The remnants box was there. The remnants were not.

“So someone has the remnants,” Tennal said. “We weren’t just being suspicious bastards. I admit, this is not doing wonders for my paranoia. I wonder if the army offers therapy. I’m great at therapy. What are you—Lights, Surit, really?” He gave Surit a revolted look.