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“Brima-18,” she whispered. Then, softer: “Orion.”

“No,” she admitted. “I want you to let me.”

Orion didn’t move. “Would you want me to?” brima models

She laughed, a dry, cracked sound. “I’m always tired.”

She left the chip on the table.

Elara gripped the glass. “What do you want, Orion?”

“If I erase you,” she said, not looking back, “would you fight?” “Brima-18,” she whispered

Brima-18. Orion.