“List of what you’re confiscating,” Tennal repeated. “You’re legally obliged to provide me with an inventory.” He didn’t know if that was true. Right now he found it hard to give a shit about what they were taking—he couldn’t even remember half of what he’d brought with him to decorate—but it made the warrant officer turn back to their immediate task in annoyance.

Tennal lay unmoving on the bed for some time after they’d all left. His mind ticked over like a malfunctioning drive, spitting out heat and movement without purpose. He watched it from inside his own head. He didn’t even wish he still had his last soothers. Two soothers wouldn’t do anything for this. He’d need a pack.

It was another short while before the door opened again. Surit had been held back by the commander, Tennal assumed for orders on how to sync him. Tennal had his eyes shut as the door opened. He could feel Surit’s presence by the faint traces around him, like a cloaked module moving deep underwater.

As a rule, Tennal didn’t deep-read people. Reading wasn’t quite as unobtrusive as people thought, and the deeper you went, the more likely they would notice something was wrong and get you in trouble. But it wasn’t as if Tennal could sink much lower now. He pushed his reading senses at Surit Yeni with everything he had.

It was no fucking use. It wasn’t that Tennal was missing something. Surit’s thoughts emitted no light at all, no clues, no crack in the shell he surrounded himself with. Strong architects had natural defenses against being written, but reading was more delicate and could often slide around them. Not here. This was someone who had practiced keeping himself under control, probably because some fucking self-help guide had told him to.

Tennal raised his head. Surit’s face was completely blank, like someone had programmed a perfect military AI, and he held himself as stiffly as a marionette. Surit hadn’t even noticed.

Tennal couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Surit turned from placing his small military-issue holdall and weapon case by the spare bed. “Do you,” he said, sounding closer to anger than Tennal had heard from him so far, “have something to say?”

Tennal took a dark, amused moment to appreciate that even the perfect soldier didn’t like being ordered around when he wasn’t expecting it. Then a lurch in his stomach reminded him Surit was about to sync him, and he didn’t need Surit to hold a grudge. Tennal threw a forearm over his face to block out the light. “Not really.”

Tennal could still feel the itch of the priming in his head like burned skin, too sensitive to touch. He braced grimly for the brush of Surit’s mind against it.

“I’m about to use the desk,” Surit said. “Do you need it?”