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Chapter 4 — Terms of Staying
> Staying together is not kindness.
It is negotiation under pressure, where everyone pretends they are braver than they are.
The vault door closed with a sound that felt final.
Kevin watched Lira reseal it, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. She worked like someone who had done this too many times—secured a place, decided who was inside, decided who was not. Dorn repositioned himself near the far wall, rifle resting against his shoulder, posture relaxed in a way that fooled no one. Jax hovered between crates, eyes flicking constantly, measuring exits that no longer existed.
Astra lay on the floor plating, breathing shallowly. The stabilizer's hum had become uneven, dipping in pitch with every few seconds that passed. Kevin knelt beside her immediately, ignoring the way Lira's gaze sharpened at the motion.
"She won't last another cycle like this," Lira said. "Not without intervention."
Kevin did not argue. He adjusted the stabilizer manually, rerouting power through the salvaged capacitor from the drone. The unit protested, heat bleeding into his palms.
Jax stepped closer despite Dorn's subtle warning gesture. "Is she… dangerous?"
Astra's tail twitched. Kevin placed a hand against her flank, steady. "Only if you decide to be."
That earned a soft, humorless laugh from Dorn. "That applies to most things," he said.
Lira crouched opposite Kevin. "You're burning yourself out to keep her alive."
"Yes."
"That's not sustainable."
Kevin met her eyes. "Neither is leaving."
Silence stretched, thick with unspoken calculations.
Lira finally nodded toward a crate stacked with components. "We have parts. Medical-grade conduits. Reinforcement mesh. It won't heal her completely, but it'll stop the degradation."
Kevin's shoulders eased a fraction. "What do you want in return?"
"Clarity," Lira said. "And terms."
Dorn shifted his weight. "We're not followers."
"I didn't ask for followers," Kevin replied.
That earned him a longer look from all three.
Lira gestured around the vault. "Delta-9 is collapsing in stages. We've mapped the next twelve hours. After that, probability spikes get ugly."
Kevin listened without interrupting. He had learned long ago that people revealed more when they thought they were educating you.
"We can stabilize here for maybe a day," Lira continued. "Then we move. Together or separately."
Kevin considered Astra's breathing, the stabilizer's erratic rhythm, the quiet pressure building behind his eyes.
"Together," he said. "For now."
Dorn snorted. "That was fast."
Kevin looked at him. "I don't pretend choice is equal when someone's bleeding."
Jax swallowed. "And after?"
Kevin paused. This mattered.
"After," he said slowly, "no one is forced to stay. No one is stopped from leaving. If you walk away, I won't chase you."
Lira studied him. "And if you walk away?"
Kevin shook his head. "I won't."
The words landed heavier than he intended.
They got to work.
Lira's hands were precise, confident. She integrated the reinforcement mesh into Astra's injured limb with minimal wasted motion, murmuring observations under her breath. Dorn assisted silently, passing tools, watching corridors through the vault's narrow viewport. Jax held the stabilizer steady when Kevin's hands began to shake.
"You're overdrawing," Jax said quietly.
Kevin exhaled. "I know."
"Why don't you stop?"
Kevin did not answer immediately. Astra shifted, a low sound escaping her throat as the new components synchronized.
"Because if I stop," Kevin said at last, "she dies."
Jax nodded as though this confirmed something he had already suspected.
When it was done, Astra's breathing evened. The stabilizer's pitch stabilized into a smoother, healthier rhythm. Lira leaned back, wiping her hands against her trousers.
"She'll live," she said. "Recovery will be slow."
Kevin bowed his head briefly. Not in thanks. In acknowledgment.
They ate in silence afterward—ration bars, tasteless but filling. Dorn kept his rifle within reach. Lira reviewed maps. Jax watched Astra sleep.
The habitat groaned.
A vibration rolled through the vault, stronger than before. Dust drifted from the ceiling seams.
"Inner ring collapse," Lira said, checking her console. "We're on borrowed time."
Kevin rose. "Then we move when she can."
Dorn raised an eyebrow. "You mean when you can."
Kevin did not deny it.
As they prepared to leave, Kevin felt it—a subtle pressure, not external, but internal. A lingering sensation where his energy had been forced beyond safe limits. Something remained.
Not strength.
Imprint.
He ignored it.
Outside the vault, Delta-9 shifted again, corridors rerouting under stress, systems reassigning priorities with blind persistence.
Somewhere far beyond the habitat, a data stream updated.
Anomaly cluster expanded.
Still not important.
Yet.
Kevin adjusted the stabilizer, lifted Astra carefully, and stepped into the corridor.
The terms were set.
Staying had rules now.