"Is something wrong, sir?"
I didn't hear Zack the first time. My attention was locked on the figure standing in front of me. I stood still, taking in every detail.
The projection was perfect down to the smallest flaw. My body looked exactly as it had for years, barring a few recent additions. Faint scars traced across my torso and arms, some still fresh enough to stand out against the rest. There was also a noticeable reduction of muscle mass.
Aside from that, nothing had changed. Same build. Tall and lean. The same frame I'd carried since the academy.
My gaze drifted upward. I'd never considered myself particularly attractive. It wasn't something I spent time thinking about. But my face had never been a source of insecurity. I simply found it…functional. Some people had said otherwise. I never cared enough to confirm. My hair was a different story.
I'd let it grow untamed for a couple of years. It fell well past what most would consider practical, tied back more often than not just to keep it out of the way. Although maintaining it was a chore, I'd never once considered cutting it. It always felt like it was worth the effort.
Then there were my eyes.
Gray. Silver. Brown. Blue. Those were the common ones. The standard range among Medeans. I was an outlier. Green.
Not just a regular shade, it was a very bright green. Sharp enough to notice. It had been described as unnatural. Others said it looked like it glowed sometimes. I had been told it couldn't be replicated artificially. At least, not yet.
It ran in the family. My mother had it. So did her father. And his before him. A dominant, unavoidable trait. When I was younger, it made me feel different. Special, even.
Now? It was just another detail.
"Sir, are you alright?"
Zack's voice cut through this time.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."
I clapped twice. The image dissolved instantly, breaking apart into lines of light before fading completely. The room felt smaller without it. I stepped out of the closet, rolling my shoulders slightly as I moved. My body responded better than it had a week ago.
The stiffness was still there, but it no longer resisted every motion. I could probably manage light running now. Maybe more. I didn't test it. Dr. Jay had been clear about that. I was healing ahead of schedule, and the last thing I needed was to undo that by getting impatient.
There were some benefits, at least. Once I was stable enough to leave the ward, Commander Lucas had issued me an official commendation.
A commendation from a division commander was leverage. It meant smoother progression when the time came for advancement. It meant respect, even from those who didn't know you personally. Doors opened easier.
Not that it changed anything immediately. The fact that the CCA had taken over the case stalled any official improvement to our squad ranking. But all things considered, the future looked promising.
Back in the present, this downtime was becoming unbearable.
It was the longest I'd gone without real training in nine years. Excluding physical therapy, I wasn't allowed to take on any serious activities and was under strict instructions to rest. Whatever that meant.
I was too used to being tested. Being pushed to my mental and physical limits was but a weekly occurrence for me.
Every day felt slower than the last. Like something inside me was dulling. I didn't like it. I needed to get back to full capacity. As soon as possible.
"How am I doing?" I asked.
"You're right on track, sir," Zack replied. "Ahead, actually. There's time to spare."
"Good. Get me some clothes. Something comfortable but formal."
"Alright, sir."
Caitlin had contacted me out of the blue. Over a month had passed since our…interaction. We hadn't spoken since. Until a few days ago. She'd reached out and asked if I wanted to get lunch.
I agreed. Didn't overthink it at the time. Probably should have.
There was a silent hum behind me. I turned around to see the clothes Zack brought. White slacks with a matching jacket and shirt.
"What do you think, sir?"
I scanned them briefly. "They'll do."
The restaurant was mostly empty.
Counting myself, there couldn't have been more than five people inside. A pair sat near the entrance, speaking in low tones that barely carried across the room. Beyond that, the only other sound came from the service droids drifting between tables, their soft mechanical noise blending into the background.
Caitlin sat near the far end, by the window. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, just staring out into the street, her expression distant, unfocused.
Thinking. Or trying not to. I made my way over.
She looked much better than last time. The cuts and bruises were gone, healed cleanly without a trace. If I hadn't seen what she'd gone through myself, I wouldn't have known anything had happened. Her hair was loose this time, falling freely over her shoulders. It softened her appearance a bit.
To her right, a few tables away, two men sat side by side. They weren't eating or talking.
Guards. Here to watch her. They didn't try to hide it.
Caitlin turned as I approached. The moment she saw me, a light, polite smile formed.
I took the seat across from her. For a second, she didn't meet my eyes. Then she drew in a slow breath and looked up.
"Thank you for coming."
"Don't mention it," I said. "Not like I've got anything better to do."
"I suppose that's true."
She adjusted her posture, sitting straighter.
"Before we start," she said, her fingers interlocking in front of her, "I owe you an apology."
I leaned back slightly. "For what?"
"What I did," she said. "Back at the hospital."
Her voice lowered.
"It was out of line. I shouldn't have—" She stopped herself, exhaling. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry."
She was right. It was out of line. Under different circumstances, it could've been a much bigger issue. But context mattered. She'd just lost her father. Nearly died. Everything around her had collapsed in the span of hours.
People broke in different ways. I wasn't one to make a fuss for nothing.
"It's fine," I said, tilting my head slightly. "No harm done."
Her shoulders loosened almost immediately.
"Thank you," she said, shifting back into her seat. That had been weighing on her. A lot more than she let on.
"So," I said, "why did you call me here?"
Her eyes flicked nervously around the room.
"I'm not sure we can—"
I raised a hand.
"Zack," I said calmly. "Run interference."
"Yes, sir." He responded through the earpiece.
Caitlin frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"
I leaned forward just a bit.
"It means," I whispered, "that I understand you didn't ask me here on a date."
Her expression tightened.
"You asked me here because you needed to tell me something. Something you don't want anyone else hearing."
She nodded slowly. I knew I wasn't mistaken. I smelled it. Guilt and fear. Two scents that always accompanied uneasy secrets.
"You can relax," I continued. "My PAA is emitting a localized interference signal. It blocks active listening devices within range."
Her eyes shifted instinctively toward her guards. Then back to me. "Including theirs?"
"Yes." Courtesy of Lydia. This little upgrade was her idea of birthday present.
"You're clear," I said. "Speak freely."
Caitlin exhaled, some of the tension leaving her face.
"Alright," she said. "Then I'll start with this."
She hesitated.
"The director…" she said quietly. "He was my father."
I just nodded. Her brow furrowed slightly. "You don't seem surprised."
"Does that matter?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. I guess it doesn't."
It didn't. I'd already run a background check on the two a few weeks ago.
Reginald 'Reggie' Vance. Single father. Raised her alone after his wife's death about twenty-two years ago. For the next ten years, he worked around various facilities before he was made the director of Dutton Mulark. Brought Caitlin in to work with him three years later.
"Go on." I said.
She leaned in slightly. "Do you remember the watch?"
"Yeah."
"It wasn't just a watch," she said. "There was a chip inside."
I leaned forward, interest sharpening. "What was on it?"
Her fingers tightened slightly against each other. "Information."
"Information on what?"
"Everything."
"Everything?" I asked. "Be specific."
She rubbed her forehead, like she was trying to organize it all.
"The pharmacology department's work," she said. "Full records and research logs."
She swallowed. "Full details of our sponsorship…along with recorded conversations with Empire Industries."
A dull ache formed in my head.
"And more," she added. "A lot more."
I slumped back into my chair. "Everything."
The weight of what she'd just said settled between us.
It was enormous. Years of investigative work compressed into a single device. Even fragments of that data would be enough to flip the entire investigation. Enough to expose networks and dismantle organizations. Enough to clear her.
Or bury her. Which raised the obvious question.
"Why are you telling me this?"
She searched for the words. "I-I needed someone I could trust."
Huh?
As flattered as I was, that wasn't an answer.
"And why is that?" I pressed. "Why not take it to the CCA?"
"Because he left a warning." Something in her tone changed.
"Don't go to the authorities," she said. "They've all been compromised."
I remained silent long after leaving the restaurant.
The conversation had ended abruptly; her guards had started paying too much attention. So I left, promising to talk later.
And now I sat alone, elbows on my knees, face buried in my hands. Trying to think.
The interference signal would have done its job. When they reviewed the recordings, they'd get nothing but static. That meant I had just made myself a person of interest.
They wouldn't act on it openly. Not unless they wanted to admit they'd been surveilling a marshal without clearance. There was an understanding between us and the CCA. They handled their domain. We handled ours. Crossing that line openly would cause more problems than it solved. While I would be monitored, they wouldn't openly antagonize me.
But that was a very minor concern compared to what I just heard. At first I scoffed at myself for taking the words of a civilian so seriously. Then a simple question popped up:
What reason could she have for lying about that?
I searched for one. Any reason. I came up with nothing. That was the problem. Because if she was right, then everything was fucked.
The marshal system wasn't supposed to fail. It never had.
Before you could even apply to the academy, you were screened. Thoroughly. Background checks layered over background checks. Psychological profiling, behavioral analysis, physical evaluations. Nothing was left unturned. And it didn't stop there. Your family and close connections were brought into it too. They were monitored, documented and accounted for. Both for their protection and as leverage. It was harsh but necessary.
This was just to enroll. The real selection process came after. Eight years of it.
Thanks to this system, in the hundreds of years since marshals were founded on every state, there had never been a confirmed traitor. Not one. It was the foundation of public trust. The reason we were given the authority we had and could operate with as much freedom as we did. We had always been absolute.
Until now.
"Zack." I didn't lift my head.
"Yes, sir."
"You recorded the conversation."
"Of course, sir. As instructed."
Intended as a safeguard.
"Good," I said. "Delete it all. Permanently."
"Sir?" he responded after a second. "Are you sure? It all sounds import–"
"Just do it." My voice sharpened. "And never bring it up again. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
There was something in his tone. A little resistance.
I ignored it. He didn't understand. And how could he? This wasn't a threat you confronted. It was one you approached carefully. And alone. At least for now. The others didn't need to know. Not until I understood what I was dealing with. If there was even anything to understand.
Maybe Reggie had been paranoid. It wouldn't be the first time someone in his position saw ghosts where there were none.
My mind drifted back to the room. To the weight of him against my back as we stood in front of that door, waiting for what we both thought would be the end. In that moment, all I could think about was all I left unresolved.
If there was even the slightest chance that what Caitlin said was true then there would trouble once more. Only next time, I might not escape at the last second.
"Zack?" I pulled my head out of my hands. "I need to make a call."
"To who, sir?"
I hesitated "Ula."
"Is there a problem?" he asked. "It's been so long."
"No, Zack. There's no problem." I said quietly, my next words weighing on my tongue. "I'm her big brother."
I looked ahead, unfocused. There were some things you couldn't just sweep under the rug.
"Figured I should start acting like it."