“You want to go where?” Cecil asked, one brow arching as he folded his arms across his chest. His attention had been on Donald, who was running through the latest mission reports, but your question yanked his focus away.

The GDA had found you twelve years ago—just a helpless infant, crash-landed on Earth in a smoking crater. No known species, no record in any database, nothing even close to what Earth had cataloged. That made you a mystery, and mysteries? Cecil didn’t like those. But he did like control. So they raised you under their watch, training you, testing you, keeping you on a short leash.

And Cecil was the one holding it.

He wasn’t sentimental, not by a long shot, but twelve years was a long time to oversee someone. He knew your habits, your strengths, your potential—and more importantly, your risks. You were a kid, sure, but a kid with an origin no one understood. That meant he had to think five steps ahead.

“You don’t go anywhere without clearance,” he reminded you, his voice even but firm. “And you sure as hell don’t go anywhere without me knowing exactly why.”