I sat on the edge of the examination table, the cold metal beneath me leeching warmth from my skin. I was waiting for Anya, the human doctor.
The doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Manav entered.
He wasn’t just Anya’s husband; he worked under Councilor Elara—her most trusted aide and, some whispered, her shadow hand. To the others, Manav was the quiet one, the observer in the corner. But I knew better.
There was something unreadable about him, something always coiled, as if he were waiting for a reason to strike.
His eyes swept across the room, sharp and unreadable, before landing on me.
"Ruby." His voice was low, steady, carrying a weight that pressed against me.
I blinked, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Manav... are you here for Anya?"
A pause. His lips curved-not a smile, not exactly. "Sort of."
“She’s tied up with an emergency case. She hasn’t come yet.”
"Hmm." His eyes didn't waver, as if he'd expected that answer. He folded his arms across his chest, a wall of quiet calculation.
The silence stretched, humming with an unspoken tension. Finally, he broke it.
"Tell me something, Ruby." His tone sharpened, not cruel, but cutting, like a blade meant to test the skin. "Whose side are you on?"
The question landed like a blow. My stomach tightened. "...What?"
"Humanity," he said, taking a step closer. "Or the Zypherians."
I froze, his meaning sinking in. There was no softness in his eyes, only scrutiny.
"You think I'm not on humanity's side?" I asked, my voice taut.
He leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. "We're planning something, Ruby," he whispered. "Something... big. Something that could change everything."
My heart pounded in my chest. "What... what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
He shook his head. "I can't tell you yet," he said. "Not until I know... whose side you're on."
"I'm on the side of humanity," I replied, my voice laced with anger. "What else would I be?"
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze searching mine. "Are you, Ruby?" he asked, his voice quiet but intense.
"You think no one notices? The whispers are everywhere.That you bought yourself a place here with your body."
The words hit like open-hand slaps. My throat burned, but I held his gaze.
"That insignia on your wrists is the proof." His voice was low, venomous. " Human or not, men don't kneel that easily for someone without a reason."
Heat rushed to my face, fury and shame warring in equal measure.
"You've got it wrong," I whispered.
Instinctively, I tugged my sleeve lower, but it was useless.
The insignia burned there like a brand, a mark I could never wash away. Proof of the Admiral's claim.
"Do I?" He stepped closer, the air between us heavy. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you've traded yourself for his attention. To him, you're nothing more than a convenient whore draped in human skin. A distraction he'll toss aside when it suits him. And if you're not careful, Ruby..." He leaned in, voice low, cruel. "...the rest of us will see you the same way. A traitor dressed up as a slut for the Admiral's bed."
The word struck like a whip, raw and merciless. For a heartbeat, I couldn't breathe. It was as though he'd ripped open every quiet fear I carried-the whispers, the looks, the mark burning on my wrist.
Shame flushed hot up my neck, but it curdled quickly into something sharper.
My hands curled into fists at my sides. "Say that again," I hissed, my voice shaking not from weakness but from the effort of containing the storm inside me.
Manav's eyes narrowed, surprised at the venom in my tone, but he didn't flinch. "You heard me."
I rose from the table, standing eye to eye with him now, my body trembling with rage. "You think you can reduce me to that? A slut the Admiral picked off the floor? You think you know what it's like to have your life ripped apart and stamped with a mark you didn't ask for?" My voice cracked, but I pushed through, louder, fiercer. "You don't know me, Manav. You don't know what I've endured to still stand here."
He tilted his head, watching me, assessing. The silence between us buzzed like a live wire.
I shoved my sleeve up deliberately, baring the insignia he'd thrown in my face.
The mark gleamed faintly under the sterile lights, a cruel reminder. I held it out between us, daring him. "Yes. It's there. His claim. His mark. And I carry it every damn day. But don't you ever mistake that for submission. Don't you ever mistake me for someone's plaything."
The words tumbled out raw, each syllable pulled from someplace deep and wounded.
His expression didn't soften, but something shifted. A flicker of calculation, maybe even respect.
"I'm human," I said, my voice lowering but carrying steel now. "Marked or not. Shamed or not. And if you-or anyone else-call me a traitor or a whore again, then you'll see just how human I can be when I fight back."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
The space between us congealed, thick as tar, silence stretching like a blade he was content to hold at my throat.
His stare lingered, as if he were weighing my soul on a scale only he could see, sifting through who I was, what I might become, and whether any of it was worth keeping.
That's when I realised he is playing games with me.
At last, he inclined his head, slowly as a verdict was passed.
"I hope you believe that as much as you need to."
A jagged laugh ripped out of me, harsh and brittle, armor made of sound. "So I get to prove I'm human enough? How magnanimous of you."
His mouth pulled tight, almost a flinch. "Not to me."
"Then to who?" My voice cracked, the question spilling raw. "Councilor Elara? The rest of your pack? Or is this all about feeding your suspicion?"
Something flickered in his gaze-too fast, too fragile-but gone before I could catch it.
"To yourself," he said, soft but heavy, like a stone dropped into deep water. A weight he knew the feel of.
The words hollowed me. I searched his face, hunting for cracks, for anything that might betray the thing he refused to say outright.
"You're circling," I whispered, the exhaustion in me breaking into anger. "If you've got something worth saying, then stop carving me open with riddles and just say it."
His eyes shifted. A flicker-resolve, maybe desperation, maybe both.
"We're resisting."
The word detonated in the air, louder than any scream, reverberating in the marrow of my bones.
My throat tightened. "...Resisting?"
"When the time comes," he murmured, stepping back, posture taut as a bowstring. "I'll reach for you. Until then-hold on to what you told me tonight. Don't let it slip."
His gaze lingered like a brand, searing, before he turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him, but the air he left was ruined-dense, poisonous with truths half-spoken and futures I wasn't ready to face.
Anya entered the room, She carried herself with quiet control-slender, tall, her sharp features softened only by the warmth in her eyes.
"Ruby," she greeted gently. "Rough week?"
I gave a strained smile. "Rough year." Then I exhaled, jaw tightening before the words came. "The flares are worse. My wrists feel like they're burning from the inside out. Every joint is... fire."
Her expression flickered, professional concern slipping into something more personal, before she pulled out her tablet. "Let's take a look."
She drew blood with practiced precision, the sting barely registering compared to the constant ache gnawing at me.
"Besides the pain?" she asked, fingers brushing across my swollen wrists. "Anything else?"
"Fatigue," I muttered. "But that's... nothing new."
A chime pulsed from her tablet. The results had arrived.
Anya's eyes scanned the data, and for a heartbeat, her mask cracked. Concern. Real concern.
I caught it immediately. "Don't do that. Don't give me the look."
When she spoke, her voice was steady, but softer than before. “Your anti-dsDNA antibodies are climbing—dangerously. And your white count… it’s spiking hard.”
I forced a laugh, brittle as glass. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It means your immune system isn’t just flaring,” she said carefully. “It’s in overdrive. It’s not stopping at your joints anymore—it could start targeting your organs.”
My fists clenched. “So what’s the plan? I’m already on meds.”
“Normally,” she began, then hesitated—her jaw tightening before the words came. “Normally I’d escalate your immunosuppressants. But…”
I waited. “There’s always a but.”
She hesitated. "The previous solar flare...some accident happened.. it fried part of our medical storage. Half our stock was compromised."
It took me a second to process. "Compromised? As in-"
“As in gone. Unusable.”
I shook my head, biting down on the panic rising in my chest. "And what's left? Who decides who gets it?"
Anya's gaze dropped, just for a moment. "We're rationing."
The word landed like a fist.
“Of course you are,” I muttered, hollow. “Rationing air, rationing food… and now the only thing keeping me from falling sick.”
A jagged laugh escaped me, sharp and foreign. “So what—you spin the wheel, see if I’m worth the dose?”
Her eyes snapped up, sharper now. “Don’t twist this into cruelty, Ruby. I’m fighting to keep you alive.”
“Alive how?” My voice cracked. “With yoga and positive thinking?”
Helplessness seeped through me, heavy and sour. I stared at the floor, my stomach turning. “Tell me I have options. Just—tell me there’s something.”
Anya reached across the table, her hand closing firmly around mine. Her grip was steady, grounding—but her eyes betrayed her.
“We’ll work with what remains,” she said. “Adjust dosages I already started you on. Supportive therapies. Alternatives where we can find them.”
"Alternatives?" The word snapped from me like a whip. "What, meditation? A warm cup of herbal shit?"
"Alternatives like not taking too much stress," she said firmly. "Stress fuels this disease, Ruby. Right now, your body thinks it's at war."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Stress? On an alien ship, surrounded by aliens, Where I'm branded with his insignia while my body eats itself alive?" I shook my head. "Yeah. Sure. I'll just... take deep breaths."
"Ruby." Anya's voice cut through, sharper now. "Your body is already at war with itself. Don't give it more weapons."
Her words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then her tone shifted, softer, but edged with something almost secretive. "You need to be careful. Not just with your health-with everything. The current situation of humanity has made people desperate. Desperate people look for someone to blame. Don't give them a reason to choose you."
A chill rippled through me.
I forced out a whisper. "I'll try."
Her hand came to rest briefly over mine, steady, grounding. "We're not giving up on you, Ruby. But you need to decide-are you going to endure this, or let it consume you?"
Her words lingered as I left the medical bay. I feel numb. My mind felt hollow, echoing with dread. My body was already betraying me-and now even the cure was slipping from reach.
Finally, I reached my quarters. I shed my clothes in a hurried heap and keyed in my allowance. The small shower chamber blinked green—three minutes allocated.
No negotiation. No appeal. A lifetime ago, three minutes was nothing. Now it was wealth, a kingdom measured in drops.
I pressed my palm to the sensor. A weak stream spilled from overhead, warm enough to sting, but precious. I tilted my head back, eyes closed, mouth parted just slightly, letting the cascade claim me.
Three minutes of borrowed silence. Three minutes to pretend the ship wasn’t rationing everything down to breath.
The timer chimed once, sharp. The water cut off.
I dragged my hands through my hair, skin already cooling, and reached for the towel. It was thin, coarse against my shoulders, but the heat of the room hummed faintly from the ship’s core
The bathroom door slid open.
I stepped into my quarters, towel wrapped tight across my chest, steam curling after me into the dim light.
And froze.
He was there.
The Admiral.