Schola Progenium Command Center, Terra, 773.M41

Six months. Six months of searching through Schola records, Sororitas deployment logs, and Administratum archives. Six months of dead ends and false leads and watching Leilani pretend she wasn't hoping every time he called her to his office.

Michael stared at the dataslate, hardly daring to believe what he was reading.

Meilana Serendib Planitia. Sister Hospitaller. Order of the Ermine Mantle. Current assignment: Convent Prioris Medicae Wing, Ophelia VII.

Not dead. Not lost. Just... reassigned. Buried in the bureaucracy of a million worlds and a billion servants. A healer, not a warrior. Different path than her sister, but alive. Serving.

He should tell Leilani immediately. Should summon her, show her the records, watch the hope return to her eyes—

Those eyes. Stop noticing her eyes.

His vox chirped. Theta Meridian's identifier.

"Senator. Forge World Primus-Tertius audit complete. Your Senate authority: effective. Discovered: 34% production shortfall. 12 officers arrested. 47,000 lasguns accounted for. Dispatching to undersupplied regiments in Sector Ultima."

"Good. What's next?"

"Transport Fleet Gamma-Nine. Manifests don't match cargo scans. Estimate 15-20% supplies diverted. Need Inquisitorial authority to board Navy vessels for inspection."

Michael rubbed his eyes. Always more. Always another node of corruption to untangle.

"I'll arrange it. Carmine's authority still carries weight with the Navy."

"Acknowledged. Timeline?"

"Give me forty-eight hours."

"Acceptable. Theta out."

Michael set down the vox and looked at the other dataslate. Meilana's file. The good news he'd been searching for since Leilani first mentioned her sister, that day on Duke Nyphram's beach.

"My sister and I used to swim every day before—"

Before the Schola took them. Separated them. Sent them to different Orders, different worlds, different lives. Standard procedure. Siblings were liabilities. Attachments were weaknesses.

But Leilani had kept that Aquila pendant. Matching her sister's. Seventy years of separation and she still touched it when she thought no one was watching.

Michael understood that kind of loyalty. That kind of hope against hope.

He summoned her.

Ten minutes later.

Leilani entered his office with her usual military precision, helmet under her arm, stance ready for any threat. Six months of bodyguard duty and she still moved like she expected attack at any moment.

"Commandant. You requested my presence."

"Sit down, Canoness Superior."

Something in his tone made her pause. She sat, slowly, watching him with those warm brown eyes that he absolutely was not noticing.

"I found her."

Leilani went very still. "Found... who?"

"Your sister. Meilana." He slid the dataslate across the desk. "Sister Hospitaller, Order of the Ermine Mantle. Currently assigned to the Convent Prioris Medicae Wing on Ophelia VII. Alive. Healthy. Serving the Emperor."

Leilani didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just stared at the dataslate like it might vanish if she blinked.

"You..." Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again. "You searched for her?"

"You mentioned her. On the beach. I thought..." He paused, uncertain how to explain. "I thought you should know."

"That was six months ago."

"Records don't organize themselves. The Administratum isn't known for efficiency."

"Six months." Leilani picked up the dataslate with trembling hands. Read the file. Read it again. "She's a Hospitaller. The Order of the Ermine Mantle—they're healers. Combat medics." A sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "She always wanted to heal people, even when we were children. She used to bandage the other progena's scrapes and tell them they'd be fine."

"Sounds like she found her calling."

"I thought she was dead." Leilani's voice was barely a whisper. "After Enceladus. After losing forty-two Sisters. I thought... the Emperor had taken everyone I loved. That I was meant to serve alone."

"You're not alone."

The words came out before Michael could stop them. Too intimate. Too revealing.

Leilani looked up. Met his eyes. Held his gaze for three seconds. Four. Five.

"No," she said quietly. "I'm beginning to understand that."

The moment stretched. Neither of them moving. Neither of them willing to break whatever was building between them.

Michael's vox chirped. He'd never been so grateful for an interruption.

"Goldenrod."

"Michael." Tandy's voice, professionally concerned. "Your weekly assessment is overdue. Again."

"I've been busy."

"You're always busy. That's the problem." A pause. "I'm coming to Terra next week. Prun-Devi too. We're not taking no for an answer."

"I have Senate duties—"

"Which you'll schedule around us. Unless you want me to file a medical fitness concern with the Senatorium?"

She wouldn't. Probably wouldn't. But the threat was enough.

"Fine. Next week."

"Good. And Michael? Eat something. You look terrible."

"You can't see me."

"I don't need to. Tandy out."

Michael set down the vox. Leilani was watching him with something that might have been amusement.

"Your medicae is... persistent."

"She's known me for forty-three years. She's earned the right to be persistent."

"And the intelligence officer? Prun-Devi?"

"Her wife. They're a package deal."

Something flickered in Leilani's expression. Processing that information. Filing it away.

"They care about you."

"They worry about me. It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

Michael didn't have an answer for that.

Leilani stood, still holding the dataslate. "May I keep this? The file on Meilana?"

"It's yours. I had a copy made for your records."

"Thank you." She paused at the door. "Commandant... Michael. Why did you do this? Search for her?"

"Because you needed to know. Because hope matters. Because—" He stopped himself. Too much truth in that sentence.

"Because?"

"Because the Emperor protects. Through bonds. Through connections. Through the people we refuse to let go of, even when the Imperium tries to separate us."

Leilani touched her Aquila pendant. The one matching her sister's.

"Ophelia VII," she said quietly. "That's weeks of travel from Terra."

"I know."

"But not impossible."

"No. Not impossible."

She nodded slowly. "I think," she said, "that might be the most faithful thing anyone has ever said to me. And you said it without mentioning faith at all."

She left before he could respond.

Michael sat alone in his office, wondering when he'd started caring so much about a bodyguard's lost sister. Wondering why finding Meilana felt like a victory more personal than any battle he'd ever won.

Good grief. You're in trouble, Goldenrod.

One week later. Schola Progenium, Guest Quarters.

"You found her sister?"

Tandy set down her medicae kit and stared at Michael with an expression he couldn't quite read. Prun-Devi, lounging on the couch with a dataslate, looked up with interest.

"It was a simple records search. Nothing dramatic."

"A six-month records search," Prun-Devi corrected. "Across multiple Administratum databases. Using your Senate clearance to access restricted Sororitas deployment logs. For a woman you'd known for three weeks when you started."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm an intelligence officer. I know everything." She smiled slightly. "Also, Valim told me."

"Valim talks too much."

"Valim is worried about you. We all are." Tandy approached, took his hands in hers. Clinical examination disguised as personal contact. Checking his pulse, his temperature, the tremor in his fingers. "Your heart rate is elevated."

"You surprised me."

"Mmm." She didn't sound convinced. "When did you last sleep properly?"

"Define 'properly.'"

"More than four hours. Without nightmares."

Michael didn't answer.

"That's what I thought." Tandy released his hands but didn't step back. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—something floral, unexpected for a military medicae. "Michael, you can't keep running on empty. The body has limits. The mind has limits."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're barely functional. And now you're—" She glanced at Prun-Devi, some silent communication passing between them. "—forming attachments to people you shouldn't be attached to."

"I'm not—"

"The Sororitas. Leilani." Prun-Devi's voice was carefully neutral. "You searched for her sister for six months. That's not professional distance, Michael. That's personal investment."

"She's my bodyguard. Her morale affects her effectiveness."

"Is that really what you're telling yourself?"

Michael turned away. Walked to the window. Stared out at the Schola grounds, the endless gray buildings where children learned to become soldiers.

"I don't know what I'm telling myself anymore."

Silence. Then footsteps. Tandy on his left, Prun-Devi on his right. Both of them close enough to touch.

"We've watched you for forty-three years," Tandy said quietly. "Watched you love. Watched you lose. Watched you close yourself off more each time. And now..."

"Now you're opening up again," Prun-Devi continued. "To someone dangerous. Someone who could be taken from you like all the others."

"I know the risks."

"Do you?" Tandy's hand on his arm. That familiar warmth. "Or are you so desperate for connection that you're ignoring them?"

"Maybe both." Michael closed his eyes. "Maybe I'm tired of being careful. Maybe I want to feel something again, even if it destroys me."

"That's not healthy."

"No. But it's honest."

Silence again. Then Prun-Devi, unexpectedly: "What if the risk was lower?"

Michael opened his eyes. "What?"

"The risk. What if you weren't alone in this? What if you had... support?"

"I don't understand."

Tandy and Prun-Devi exchanged another look. Something passing between them that Michael couldn't quite grasp.

"Not yet," Tandy said finally. "But you will. When you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For the conversation we're not having yet." She stepped back, professional mask returning. "Assessment complete. You're exhausted, emotionally compromised, and making questionable decisions. Prescription: rest, proper nutrition, and—" a slight smile "—continued contact with people who care about you."

"That's your medical advice?"

"It's the only advice that might actually help. Take it or leave it." She picked up her medicae kit. "We're staying through the week. Prun-Devi has intelligence briefings with the Segmentum Tacticus liaison, and I have other patients to see. But we'll be available. If you need us."

"Available for what?"

"Whatever you need, Michael." Prun-Devi stood, stretched with feline grace. "Whatever you need."

They left together, leaving Michael alone with questions he didn't know how to ask.

Later that evening. Corridor outside Leilani's quarters.

Michael hadn't intended to come here. Had told himself he was just walking, clearing his head after Tandy's assessment. But his feet had carried him to the Sororitas wing, and now he stood outside Leilani's door like a fool with no good excuse for being there.

The door opened before he could knock.

Leilani stood in the doorway, dressed in simple robes instead of armor. Hair unbound. Looking more human than he'd ever seen her.

"Commandant." She didn't seem surprised to see him. "I thought I heard footsteps."

"I was just..." He had no explanation. "Walking."

"Walking." A slight smile. "Past my quarters. At this hour."

"It's not that late."

"It's past midnight."

Was it? Michael genuinely hadn't noticed.

"I should go."

"You should come in."

The invitation hung in the air. Dangerous. Inappropriate. Everything he should refuse.

"Leilani—"

"My Sisters are asleep. We can talk. Just talk." She stepped aside. "Unless you'd rather keep walking past my door pretending you're not here?"

He entered. Against his better judgment. Against every protocol he'd spent decades maintaining.

Her quarters were sparse but personal. The Aquila pendant on a small shrine. A holopic of two young girls—Hawaiian children, dark-haired and smiling, before the Schola had claimed them. A copy of Di Furibus Triune, well-worn.

"You've read my book."

"Several times. It's comforting. The idea that mercy matters, even in war." She gestured to a chair. "Sit. Before you fall down. Your medicae is right—you look terrible."

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

"Because it's true." She sat across from him, close enough that their knees almost touched. "You found my sister. You spent six months searching. Why?"

"I told you. Because hope matters."

"That's not the whole answer."

No. It wasn't.

"Because you reminded me of something I'd forgotten." Michael met her eyes. "That connections are worth fighting for. That love doesn't have to end in loss. That maybe—maybe—the Emperor protects not just through strength, but through the bonds we form with each other."

"You loved her. Carmine. The Inquisitor."

"Yes."

"And the others. The six who died."

"Yes." The word hurt. Still. Always.

"And now you're afraid to love again. Because everyone you love dies."

"Yes."

Leilani leaned forward. Close enough that he could count her eyelashes. That he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.

"I'm not afraid."

"You should be. Being close to me is dangerous."

"I'm a Battle Sister. I've faced daemons and heretics and forty-three hours of continuous combat. I think I can handle dangerous."

"This is different."

"Is it?" Her hand found his. Warm. Calloused from decades of wielding weapons. Gentle in a way that surprised them both. "Michael. We've danced around this for six months. Both of us pretending we don't see what's happening. Both of us maintaining 'professional distance' while the tension builds."

"You're my subordinate. My bodyguard."

"I'm a Canoness Superior of the Adepta Sororitas. I serve the Emperor, not you. My assignment to your protection is temporary—a recovery posting, remember? Once my Sisters are healed, we'll be reassigned."

"That doesn't make this appropriate."

"No. It doesn't." She didn't release his hand. "But appropriate isn't the same as wrong. And I'm tired of pretending I don't feel what I feel."

Michael's heart was pounding. Every instinct screaming at him to retreat, to protect himself, to maintain the walls he'd spent decades building.

But her hand was warm in his. And she was looking at him like he was worth the risk. Like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't cursed to lose everyone he loved.

"I can't do this alone," he said quietly. "I'm not strong enough. Not anymore."

"Then don't do it alone."

She kissed him. Soft. Tentative. A question more than a statement.

He kissed her back. And for one moment, the grief and the fear and the weight of six dead women faded, replaced by something that felt terrifyingly like hope.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Leilani rested her forehead against his.

"We shouldn't have done that."

"Probably not."

"We should maintain professional distance."

"Definitely."

"We're going to do it again, aren't we?"

"Almost certainly."

She laughed. The first real laugh he'd heard from her. Bright and warm and alive.

"Good grief," she said. "You've corrupted a Battle Sister."

"I think you corrupted yourself. I was just walking past your door."

"At midnight."

"Purely coincidental."

She kissed him again. Less tentative this time. More certain.

And Michael let himself feel something other than grief for the first time in months.