Chapter 2

Ever since that damned alert from the Genetics Bureau, I'd been giving Ryan the silent treatment.

No more dutiful good-morning texts. No more casual hints asking when he'd be home.

Our comm channel stayed dead silent for an entire week.

Then one afternoon, for the first time ever, Ryan messaged me first.

The chief physician from the medical corps will be there in five minutes. Open the door and let him examine you.

I rolled my eyes at the screen and fired back: I'm not sick. Send him back.

The steward says you've canceled all your couture jewelry and spa appointments this month, and you've been shut in your room all day. If you're not sick, what's going on?

I just lost interest. I'm perfectly healthy.

In the old days, I'd have jumped at the chance to send him dozens of voice messages, whining that I was lovesick and would die if I didn't see him.

Now I just sent my reply and tossed my terminal aside.

It was a long while before a single line popped up from Ryan: I'll make time to come home tomorrow.

I immediately put on my best devoted-wife act, fingers flying: Please don't go to all that trouble! The front-line defenses need you. Stay at headquarters where you belong. The Empire can't do without you, and everything's fine at home. Don't let me distract you.

After I sent that wise, selfless little speech, there was no reply.

I stretched, pleased with myself. That should keep him away.

Half an hour later, I heard the beep of the smart lock unlocking at the front door.