Lost in the dance of star charts, she was all too ready to return to the heart of her universe: the Arkestra. The outpost on Titan’s moon named for the first ship to port there. As she prepared to travel back to Titan, she had donned an outfit similar to one favored by another Adisa that had captured her heart in a peculiar way. LeSony’ra Adisa captained the original Arkestra, often wearing a similarly voluminous black kaftan over platform oxfords. The day after Amachi’s Naming Ceremony, after delivering the news about the Orun Gate, Stacia needed to feel powerful and in control. Channeling the spirit of LeSony’ra had always been a way of doing that. Stories of the woman’s heroics inspired Stacia to join the Thmei Academy and even pursue her musical interests.

There she met Yahya. Even when running from her heart, her feelings created traps.

Stacia tossed her gold chain mail headdress onto the nearby ledge just as the door chimed. The door opened with a slight hiss. She extended her arm for a clasp. “I see you, Yahya.”

“That would be a first.” Lacking the patience for simple courtesies, he strode into the room with his familiar charge, as if the world should part for him. Tall and well-muscled—his biceps the circumference of her waist—he had the figure of someone sculpted to lead a HOVA unit. Despite his imposing size, he used it to create a sheltering overprotectiveness, which always made her feel safe. Ten years older than she was, a hint of gray speckled his goatee, which framed a constant sneer as if he were constantly annoyed by the world.

Stacia took a deep breath to calm herself. A pause so that she wouldn’t rise to his bait. “I’ve always seen you. Like right now, unless you’ve come with the sole agenda of picking a meaningless fight with me because something’s on your mind.”

He cocked his head in her direction, as if a fuzzy image coalesced into sudden clarity. She was worn and not up for the full-frontal assault his charge into her chambers signaled. Some part of him could always read her. His stance softened. A bit. “You seem different.”

“I had … difficult news to deliver to the Ijo.”

“What about?”

“I can’t say. It’s…” Stacia shifted her weight to her back leg, averting her gaze as if trying to remember where she set her headdress, or making a note to have maintenance attend to her door to alleviate that hiss. Anything other than remind him of how much she outranked him and how many secrets she was obligated to keep from him.