The interrogation room was built to make everyone look guilty.
White light that didn't flatter. A table bolted to the deck. A camera dome in the corner that never blinked because it didn't need to. The air tasted like disinfectant and recycled oxygen, with a faint metallic tang from the station's vents.
Elias sat with his wrists cuffed to a ring welded into the tabletop.
Security had stripped him down to his flight suit.
The sealed under-layer meant to live under armor and clothing, form-fitting by design, the kind of material that didn't hide much because it wasn't built to.
He didn't look offended by it. He didn't look embarrassed either.
Two station guards stood by the door, posture stiff, glancing daggers at him.
A station inspector stepped in carrying a terminal and a sealed evidence pouch. He wasn't dressed like security. No heavy vest, no service weapon on display. Just a clean uniform marked with the Solaran insignia, and a neutral posture.
His sharp amber eyes hunted the room: Elias, the cuffs, the camera dome.
"Pilot," the inspector said.
Elias met his eyes. "Inspector."
He took a seat in front of him, placing the evidence pouch on the table, and began removing its contents.
He didn't rush. Every motion looked practiced, like he'd done this for years and refused to let the room dictate his heartbeat.
Inside the pouch sat a small metal cylinder with a mouthpiece and a dosing dial.
The chem doser.
Elias's eyes flicked to it. That was all.
"It may be controlled," the inspector said, "but they shouldn't have taken this from you."
He nodded toward the guards without looking at them.
"Not when I'm the one walking in here."
The guards shifted against the door frame.
Elias didn't react. Not grateful, not annoyed. Neutral.
The inspector leaned in slightly, voice still mild.
"I'm not authorizing use," he said. "But I'm also not interested in turning a medically dependent pilot of unknown origin into a crisis because my people wanted to feel righteous."
He slid the doser a few centimeters closer, not all the way. A boundary. Control.
Then he tapped his terminal.
"Now," he said, "we're going to keep this boring."
A guard interjected. "Sir, he showed up running combat output."
An ear turned toward the guard.
The tip of his tail twitched once, betraying interest he didn't show anywhere else.
"I saw the readout," the inspector replied. "He requested docking clearance. He complied. And now he's cuffed in my room. Boring."
The inspector's attention returned to Elias.
"State your callsign."
"Hangman."
"Handshake checks out," the inspector said. "Active contractor. No registry on Hangman." He tapped the screen once. "But your credential history shows a shuttle-class callsign. Remind me what that is?"
"Judge"
"And where is it?"
"Destroyed during operations," Elias added. "Hangman was recovered from pirates."
He said it without emphasis, like the words didn't weigh anything at all.
"Reason for approach."
"Dock. Inspection. Resupply."
The inspector nodded once, and it wasn't approval. It was confirmation. Like he was building a clean box around the facts.
He glanced at the doser, then back.
"Any medical dependencies my team needs to not mishandle," he asked, tone casual.
Elias'seyes didn't change. "You already found it."
"Good," the inspector said. "Then we're aligned."
"One-seater frame," he continued. "No drones. No live ordnance. No attachments."
"Correct."
"Any reason I should believe you're here to hurt the station?"
Elias didn't scoff.
"No."
The inspector held his gaze a moment longer than necessary.
Then he nodded once, like he'd made a decision and moved on.
"Alright," he said. "You stay here until a Guild verifier arrives. That's the process. You're not in trouble. You're in paperwork."
Elias's voice stayed level. "Understood."
The inspector stood.
"And for the record," he added, glancing at the guards, "if someone confiscates that doser again, it won't be because they're brave."
A beat.
"It'll be because they're stupid."
The door hissed behind him.
The room returned to its bright silence.
Elias sat. Calm. Waiting. Managing his own chemistry the way other people managed their breathing.
Minutes passed in thin strips.
Then the door hissed again.
This set of footsteps was lighter.
A young woman stepped in wearing a Guild liaison jacket over a neat uniform. Badge at her collar. Hair done up in a tight bun. Tablet in hand. She paused in the doorway for the smallest fraction of a second when she saw him.
Her eyes went straight to his face, like she'd seen it a hundred times. Like she'd watched his name move across terminals and never expected the person to be sitting under a white light in cuffs.
Then her gaze dipped, just slightly, and the room betrayed her.
The flight suit fit the way a skin fit.
Her cheeks warmed fast. A blush was something she could fight but not beat.
She corrected her gaze upward immediately. Eyes on his face. Professional. Trying very hard.
Elias watched it happen and kept his expression flat.
He knew her.
Not well, but enough to recognize the shape of her features. Eyes he'd seen once while signing something he hadn't read. He couldn't pull the name.
So he didn't try.
She took two steps in, stopped at the table, and set her tablet down as if it weighed more than it should.
"Contractor," she said, voice steady enough to pass. "I'm from the Imperial Mercenary Guild. I'm here to confirm your credentials and discuss today's incident. "
She said it steadily like a practiced script.
A guard shifted, relieved that someone else was now the highest-ranking adult in the room.
The liaison lifted the tablet.
"I need an identity confirmation," she said, a little too quickly. "Facial match. Standard protocol."
Elias blinked once. "Go ahead."
She stepped closer, careful to keep her eyes above the collar line. She didn't quite manage it.
The tablet activated over Elias's face. Brow. Jawline. A faint burn scar over his right cheekbone. The overlay tracked with clinical precision.
Her hands were steady. Her breathing wasn't.
The tablet chimed.
Then it chimed again.
It was only supposed to chime once.
Her thumb had moved, subtle and practiced, saving a still frame. Not just his face. Wider than necessary. A slice of collarbone. Upper torso under the thin material.
She didn't react to what she'd done. Not outwardly. She lowered the tablet in the normal procedure and cleared her throat, loud enough to reset the room.
Elias didn't call it out.
The tablet pinged.
[MATCH CONFIRMED.]
[CONTRACTOR: ELIAS JOURNEYMAN]
[GUILD CREDENTIALS: ACTIVE.]
[STATUS: PLATINUM.]
Her eyes flicked to the last line, and something almost pleased crossed her face before she smothered it.
She looked up quickly, professional mask back in place.
"Confirmed," she said. "You're cleared as a Guild contractor. No active warrants under Guild authority."
She glanced at the cuffs.
"Release him."