The base mess smelled of toast and chlorine. Kom ordered two Choco Kom, prepared them himself, long, thick, foamy. He handed one to Elena. She wrapped her hands around the cup like around a secret.

"I want the full specifications for Sentinel 7. Not the public version. The real ones."

She lowered her eyes.

"Doctor Kom, I've never had access to the original blueprints. Nobody on my team has. We work off the declassified version."

He set his tablet between them. Thermal signatures of the satellite, red curves, blue curves.

"The file mentions an A-7 optical module. These readings scream B-12. Two generations newer. Elena, quelqu'un don chop le vrai dossier avant qu'il n'arrive sur ta table."

She took a slow sip.

"I requested this assignment, doctor. After reading your thesis. A copy I should never have held in my hands."

He looked at her a long moment. She did not look away.

Eleven at night. Guest quarters. Kom pushed the door open, switched on the nightlight. A white envelope, no name, slid across the tiles. He tore it open with his thumb.

A photograph. Him, that morning, walking out of the mess. A red cross, thick, drawn across his forehead.

Curious about who's holding the camera? Message me on Messenger, I'll answer before he reloads. ☕