POV: Leloma
Location: Shared Quarters, Caleront
Time: Cycle Day 13.72
Tags: birthdate, defensive hospitality, arrival cue, quiet watchfulness, Jallen chaos, Levan spark, Rhomb as signal
Leloma wiped her hands on the side towel, then flattened the cloth against the prep counter as if it might press calm into the air.
The shardnuts were already in the bowl. Veinshot steeping. Her screens locked. One message still queued, blinking beneath mesh like a slow heartbeat:
CISO Priority: Do not engage until verification.
She’d moved it behind three filters. CirrusV hadn’t seen it.
Or if he had, he was still pretending not to.
The door chimed—three quick tones, one slow. College pattern.
Jallen.
Before she could scold it, the seal hissed open.
Jallen strode in with a grin too wide for the corridor outside. Behind him, Rhomb ducked his head to clear the upper frame, and—half a beat later—Levan stepped through, eyes already drinking in the space.
“Stormcloud, we’re home!” Jallen declared, arms raised like he was winning something.
CirrusV didn’t move from where he stood near the window. His shadow softened against the wall.
Levan’s gaze slid over her—quick, appreciative, loud without saying a word.
She didn’t smile, but she didn’t scowl either. Just pointed a finger.
“You better not ФӴЦК on my utility floor like you did last time.”
Levan laughed like it was praise.
“I’ll make sure these ԎҨФҖ don’t ФӴЦК in your place—maybe I ЍЖК them.”
She rolled her eyes, but her hand didn’t drop. Not until he stepped clear.
Jallen had already found the drinks. Of course. He poured three before she could blink. A fourth appeared, and a fifth, and suddenly there were more glasses than guests.
Rhomb, ever the ghost-anchored shadow, took his with a nod. The way his eyes flicked from CirrusV to the kettle, then to her, told Leloma everything she needed:
He’d noticed the tension. And he wasn’t going to name it.
She trusted him for that.
Levan was half-twirl already, pointing at CirrusV.
“You gonna sit, droog, or just hover like a blessed monk?”
CirrusV turned slow. The Tattoo along his neck gave off the faintest glow—barely visible under the collar.
He didn’t answer Levan. But he moved.
Leloma watched him take the low seat across from her, like it was old instinct and not a decision. The room shifted around him—not dramatically, just… recalibrated.
She sat opposite, knees drawn up, glass untouched.
Outside the window, Caleront dimmed into its second dusk.
Inside, old rhythms began to stretch. Not resume. Not yet.
But the first line of the orbit had been drawn.