"I'm saying it as… something I want to plan."
The words landed between them like a lit match dropped onto dry paper - small, ordinary, and immediately dangerous.
Dax stared at Chris, as he always did when he wasn't sure whether something was a threat or a prayer.
Then his gaze dipped to Nero, warm and small in the sling, as if the child was the proof that the impossible could be survived.
Chris watched that flicker and felt his own throat tighten, stubbornness faltering into something softer.
Dax's voice, when it came, was quiet enough that it didn't travel. "Not here."
Chris blinked. "I didn't—"
"I know." Dax cut him off gently, which was somehow worse than being cut off sharply. He shifted his stance, placing himself just slightly between Chris and the open corridor without making it look like guarding. "Not here," he repeated, his tone protective and fearful.
