Mira’s wrist console blinked once—an incoming low-band relay ping, routed through an old San Altman node. She expected mission-clearance data, but the header line stopped her.

From: Maris.

The text unfolded in pale light, simple and unadorned.

Message Transcript

Mira,

Dr. DeVay assigned a new simulation—emotional coherence under stress response. She wants me to model resonance feedback between dual-bonded pairs.

The math checks out, but it feels wrong. Too human to be data. You’ve seen more of the field than I have—what happens when two people share more than pain? When one carries the other through the loop?

Write when you can. Even a line helps. The others miss you. I’ll tell Clem you’re still alive and pretending not to overwork yourself.

Dr. DeVay says empathy is a circuit—if it burns too bright, it melts the interface.

I think she’s talking about more than machines.

— Maris

Mira read the last line twice. The words felt like memory returned to flesh—scientific phrasing threaded through something gentler.

She saved the message to her private archive, the soft glow of the console reflecting in her eyes.

From across the dim corridor, Hale caught the smile she tried to hide.

“Good news?” he asked.

“Family,” she said quietly. “They’re still doing their homework.”

The relay light faded to amber, the hum of the link dissolving into stillness. Mira muted the channel, and for the first time in days, the silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was clean—like a breath of air untouched by static.