The corridors of the Nemesis were bathed in a thick purple light. The light from the power circuits shimmered along the walls like drops of mercury trickling down black steel. Somewhere in the distance, the engines hummed, low and drawn-out, as if space itself were preparing for the coming storm.

You stood by the observation window, watching asteroids drift slowly through the blackness of space. Their shadows crossed the reflected energy halo — in these shadows, everything seemed hazy, like a dream. Tarn's figure appeared in the reflection of the glass.

He approached quietly, though his every step usually echoed heavily across the deck. As if today he didn't want the sound to disturb the air between you.

"There will be a purge tomorrow," — his voice muffled from beneath his mask, and you felt the vibration of every frequency as if it were passing through the ship's hull.

"Not everyone will return."

You didn't answer. She simply turned slowly, and for a moment her gaze met his. The red glow of the lenses seemed to soften, almost... alive.

"You shouldn't be here," — he said after a short pause, looking her straight in the eye.

"I don't want you to see what's going to happen."

"I've already seen it," — you said quietly.

"And I'm still here."

He stepped closer. A meter separated you. Then half a meter. The air seemed thick, charged with electricity. The light from the purple contours of Tarn's hull slid across your face as he lowered his head a little, drawing closer.

"You don't understand..." — His words were muffled, but they held a discord, an internal glitch, as if his own programs were arguing with each other.

"I was created to destroy. To erase those who go against orders."

You raised your hand, touching the armor on his chest. Warm, humming with inner energy. The metal trembled — not from fear, but from something else, something even he couldn't understand.

"And I wasn't created to be afraid," — you whispered.

He froze. The red lenses flared brighter, reflecting your silhouette. The seconds dragged on like drops of hot oil. And when his palm — heavy, mechanical, yet surprisingly gentle – lay on yours, a jolt ran between your fingers. Not pain, but an impulse, like the breath of the universe itself.

"You're... reckless," — he whispered, and for the first time, there was no judgment in his voice. There was... admiration.

"Perhaps. But you're still looking at me," — you replied, not breaking eye contact.

He leaned closer. The mask almost touched your face. The air between you vibrated, like a taut string about to strike.

The world around you dissolved. All that remained was the red light of his eyes and the rhythm — muffled, powerful, like a heart beneath a metal shield.

"If you only knew how much darkness there is within me..."

His voice became low, almost hoarse.

"And if I'm not afraid of the darkness?" — you asked.

Silence. Only the hiss of energy in the cables and a faint, almost imperceptible sound — as if he'd exhaled, surrendering for a split second.

He leaned even closer. The mask almost touched your forehead. There was no familiar rigidity in his movement, only a slow, precise pull.

"Then stay."

Tarn whispered, — "at least for today."

You felt the air around you shift. Somewhere deep within the ship, red signals flashed — the mission approaching, the countdown. But you didn't move.

He allowed himself something he'd never allowed himself before: to simply stand beside you, not hide his emotions behind steel, not be a machine.