Chapter Text
Emerie slowly opens her eyes, still dazed. Her eyelids feel as heavy as if weighed down by stones. Blurred vision clings to the edges of her sight, and the moment she tries to focus on her surroundings, a sharp pain shoots through her temple, forcing her to gasp. She raises her hand and gently massages the bridge of her nose over and over, until the pain eases only slightly.
She turns her head left, then right. Darkness engulfs the entire room, making it nearly impossible to distinguish anything. Emerie reaches out, searching for the familiar lamp switch by her bedside. Even when she stretches her arm as far as she can, her fingertips touch nothing.
“Hm… wait a second…” she murmurs softly, as if the sound of her own voice can confirm the reality unfolding around her. Her fingers pat the sheets in search of the bed’s edge while she rolls her body slightly. Only then does the strangeness reveal itself.
This is not her bedroom. The bed is wide and immaculate white, soft as if she sinks into clouds. A cool aroma lingers faintly in the air around her… none of this belongs to her cramped little room.
“Where… am I?”
The attempt to recall what happens earlier makes her heartbeat quicken. Fragments of blurry memories surface one by one, like shards of shattered glass.
Yes… she tries to escape from Hemlock after he discovers the truth about who she really is. And after she learns the brutal truth about the Kaminoans who want her erased. Everything feels like a bottomless pit pulling her down with no way to climb back. No matter how she tries to hold on, no one reaches for her.
Except… him. Hemlock is the one who reaches into that darkness. And she, without thinking, embraces him. That is where her memory cuts off. After that, she remembers nothing.
The silence of the pitch-black room forces her mind to process everything. She knows this research facility controls all systems through datapads—elevators, doors, even the lights in a single room. And right now… she does not have one with her.
As her eyes adjust to the dark, she notices something. A tiny red light blinks near the corner of the room, and faint blue light leaks through the narrow seam of the door.
That must be the way out.
Her eyes fix on that light without blinking. She stares for only a moment before her heart skips a beat at the sight of a shadow moving closer.
She quickly lies back on the bed, perfectly still, feigning sleep. Her eyelids press shut, pretending slumber, even as her fingertips tremble faintly in fear.
The door slides open with a soft sound. Hemlock steps inside, each footstep silent. He chooses to switch on only a warm light, letting a dim glow spread through the room so it does not disturb the figure lying on the bed.
Behind her closed eyelids, Emerie is wide awake, her heart pounding furiously. The truth strikes her like a blow—this is his room. Hemlock’s room. And the bed she lies on is his.
Shock surges through her like sudden fire. She wants to spring up and flee the room as fast as she can. Yet at the same time, curiosity rises, impossible to suppress. Slowly, she cracks her eyelids open, just enough to steal a glance.
What is he doing?
He walks to the storage cabinet and retrieves something. It looks like a medical box. She peers carefully, but the dim light makes it impossible to see what lies inside.
Hemlock quietly takes off his outer cloak and places it over the back of the nearest chair. Then he moves his hand to the collar of his inner garment. The hooks along the seam come undone one by one before he removes the layer entirely, leaving only the white shirt that fits firmly against his frame.
He slips his index finger inside the collar, pulling the fabric away from his taut skin as if to ease the discomfort that presses on him all day. His tall frame twists slightly as he tilts his head back in tension, releasing a low hum in his throat, almost as if he tries to relieve the fatigue weighing on him.
He then slowly unbuttons the top of his shirt with deliberate calm.
Emerie, lying on the bed, sees this without warning. Her eyes widen slightly before she hurriedly shuts them tight. Her hand pulls the blanket up to her face, almost covering it completely without her realizing. Her heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of her chest.
She does not even notice how silent the room is, quiet enough to hear every breath. And of course… for a man with Hemlock’s sharp instincts, there is no way he fails to notice.
His footsteps draw closer to the bed, silent and unhurried. His tall shadow falls over her tightly closed eyes. His sharp gaze sweeps over the blanket pulled high to her mouth, nearly covering her face. That alone tells him immediately—she is not asleep.
“Sleep well?”
His low voice breaks the silence, soft yet laced with an odd hint of teasing. Emerie presses her lips together and chooses silence, pretending to remain asleep even though her heart thunders in her chest.
Quiet footsteps sound closer again before Hemlock lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed. The silence between them only makes the heat rising in her face spread even further, yet she stubbornly refuses to move an inch.
Hemlock lets out a quiet sigh, almost like someone who loses the last bit of patience. His cold hand reaches over and pulls the blanket away with ease.
Emerie startles and opens her eyes instantly. She bolts upright, her back hitting the headboard without realizing it. Her eyes blink rapidly.
“Wh-… why am I here on this bed, Doctor?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.
“I don’t know. You really don’t remember anything?” His tone remains gentle, yet still carries that teasing lilt from moments ago. The faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips churns her stomach in an unfamiliar way. That smile never brings her comfort—not once.
“I remember everything… I just don’t understand why you decided this.” Her voice softens as she finishes, confusion and unease still clear in her eyes.
Hemlock does not answer. He simply picks up a vial of medicine and places it in her hand.
Emerie slowly turns it over to read the label. The moment she sees the words, she knows it is a muscle relaxant and an anti-bruising serum—the same medicine he retrieves from the cabinet moments ago.
Hemlock unbuttons his shirt slowly, from the second button down to the third. His movements are calm, yet the atmosphere around him grows heavier with each passing moment, until Emerie cannot stop the words from escaping her lips.
“What… what are you doing?”
Her trembling voice makes his hands pause for the briefest moment. Then his calm expression shifts to something sterner.
“You must take responsibility for your actions… and you must do it now.”
His voice is cold, pressing down until her heart trembles. She flinches slightly, yet no words come out of her mouth. Both her hands clutch tightly in her lap as if to hold her own composure together.
He unbuttons his shirt completely and pulls it off his shoulders in one motion. The dark fabric lands carelessly on the bed. His tall frame turns his back to her, revealing bare skin lined with firm, lean muscles in perfect shape.
Emerie’s eyes dart away before she realizes. Heat spreads across her face instantly, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks without her knowing. The embarrassment confuses her. She has seen men’s bodies countless times on Kamino, yet never once do her eyes tremble… not like this.
A bruise of deep violet and green stretches from his left shoulder down to the middle of his back, standing stark against his pale skin. The injury looks painfully severe. Emerie knows instinctively it comes from what happened earlier—when she lifts the heavy work chair and hurls it at him, knocking him to the floor. That image still lingers in her mind, unshaken.
She swallows and forces her trembling voice to speak.
“What… what time is it now? I… I should go back to work, to make up for the time I… disappeared.”
She has no idea how long she has been asleep. Anxiety over her duties gnaws at her mind, serving as the only excuse she can cling to in order to escape the suffocating tension pressing on her.
Hemlock lifts his head to look at her, his expression calm, his cold eyes cutting straight through every excuse she hides behind.
“It is very late now… and your work is here.” His voice is flat, yet the weight behind it makes her heart tremble.
“I hope you know what to do.”
Emerie draws a shallow breath, desperately searching for any reason to delay the shrinking space between them.
“I think… maybe you should inject the painkiller straight into your vein. Isn’t… isn’t that easier, Doctor? I can help you with it.”
Her words are soft, almost a whisper, yet carry an undertone of restless pleading—begging him silently to let her go.
“No.” His reply is curt, sharp as a blade slicing her fragile hope. “Intravenous injection causes direct side effects… dizziness and drowsiness. I still have reports to finish tonight.”
His voice remains cold, yet it carries a finality that leaves no room for argument.
“And I… will not say it again, Dr. Karr.”
The words slam shut like an iron door. Emerie freezes at once, the chill in his tone seeping down her spine, impossible to resist.
“Yes… I apologize.”
Emerie’s voice softens, almost surrendering. She picks up the vial of medicated gel and squeezes the clear substance onto her fingertip. A faint menthol scent rises, cool and refreshing—strangely at odds with the heavy tension filling the room.
Her slender fingers touch lightly against Hemlock’s bare back. The cold medicine seeps into his skin. She begins spreading it slowly, following the bruised line from his left shoulder, circling in small, gentle motions to let the gel absorb into his flesh.
His back is a map of defined, perfectly sculpted muscles. Her breath catches for an instant as she feels the strength beneath the taut skin. She tries to focus on the treatment, yet her own heartbeat grows far too fast.
When her hand reaches the middle of his back, his tall frame flinches slightly. Emerie instinctively pulls away, her wide eyes blinking in surprise.
“Did I… did I press too hard?” Her voice trembles faintly.
“No. This is good. Keep going.”
Hemlock’s reply is short yet laced with softness. He closes his eyes slowly, as though surrendering to her touch. Silence settles in the room, broken only by the steady rhythm of their breathing.
“Have you ever done this before… Emerie?”
His low voice comes while his eyes remain shut. There is no rush in his tone, yet a faint pull beneath it makes her heart pound even harder.
“Never… I only lock myself inside the laboratories and the library on Kamino. I never do anything beyond that.”
Emerie’s voice is soft as she answers, her fingertips moving with careful precision. The warmth of his body and the coolness of the gel seep into her senses at once.
“And now… how do you feel?” His low tone cuts through the quiet.
“Do you feel better?”
The question makes her hand stop in the middle of his back. Her heart thunders without reason. She swallows slightly before answering in a faint voice.
“It is good… At least I know the truth now. I no longer have to lie to myself.” She pauses for a soft breath, then dares to ask.
“But can I ask you something, Doctor?”
“I told you… when it is just the two of us, call me Royce.”
His words come evenly, yet his sharp eyes open and meet hers with full intensity, stealing the breath from her chest for a moment.
“What do you want to ask?”
Emerie presses her lips together for a moment before letting out the question that has been locked inside her for so long. Her voice trembles, yet it rings clear.
“Why are you doing this… when you already know my secret? You know about the mission I was sent here for… and this bruise… it comes from me.”
Hemlock does not answer right away. Silence spreads through the room, broken only by the sound of their uneven breaths. He reaches for the shirt lying on the bed and slips it over his tall frame unhurriedly. He fastens the buttons lazily from the bottom up to his chest, then rolls the sleeves to his elbows with careless motions. Only then does his deep, even voice fill the quiet.
“Soon… Tantiss will be complete.”
The name makes Emerie furrow her brows in confusion. Her voice comes out soft as she repeats it.
“Tantiss?”
“Yes.” His reply is short before he continues. His sharp eyes remain calm, yet his tone carries an undeniable drive.
“That place gathers everything that will push our future forward—scientists specialized in every field, the most advanced medical equipment, and experiments that will transform the Empire entirely.”
“And my most important experiment… is the creation of clones.”
“And I have another goal—to push the Empire to reconsider its entire security system for the galaxy.”
A faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth, a smile both cold and mocking.
“Governor Tarkin intends to replace highly skilled clone troopers with ordinary civilians who once worked only on farms, simply to cut costs.” His voice is calm, yet it slices deep.
“His vision… is painfully short-sighted.”
Hemlock’s detailed explanation stuns Emerie into stillness. Her body feels as if frozen in place, waves of conflicting emotions crashing into her heart.
Part of her… is quietly grateful that he chooses to share something so crucial with her. Yet at the same time, she cannot stop the storm of questions rising from what he has just revealed.
He truly intends to create clones—just as she has suspected all along.
But what kind of clones? Are they clone troopers, like those once made on Kamino? And whose DNA forms the foundation for them?
Her curiosity swells until she cannot hold it back any longer. Her voice drops low, trembling with an intensity she cannot hide.
“What kind of clones are you creating… Royce? They are not… clone troopers like the ones Kamino made, are they?”
He stops moving for a brief moment and turns to face her. His blue eyes hold a calculating gleam, but it is not the cold calculation she expects. There is something deeper within them—something unreadable.
“It is rather complicated…”
His voice is steady and calm, yet the more she listens, the clearer it becomes that he is hiding something. The faint, unreadable smile at the corner of his lips only fuels Emerie’s growing suspicion.
“I am sorry...” He speaks slowly, as if he wants every word to sink into her thoughts. “For now, I cannot say more than this.”
“I need you… Emerie.”
His low voice rises again, emphasizing each word until her heart trembles. “Someone with experience in the laboratory, who has created countless clones. So… you understand, do you not, what it is you are suspecting?”
His gaze fixes on her, unblinking—cold, yet unwavering enough that she cannot turn away.
“And I hope… you will give your full cooperation.”
Those words echo inside Emerie’s chest, pinning her in place as if binding her to silence.
When Hemlock finishes fastening his shirt, he rises from the bed with composed ease.
“Consider today your full day off,” he says evenly as he reaches for the datapad on the bed. “I will mark the reason in the system as illness. You may continue to rest.”
“Thank you, but...”
Before Emerie can finish speaking, the sound of his footsteps grows distant. Hemlock walks back to his desk without even glancing her way.
Emerie’s eyes instinctively follow him, trailing after his retreating figure. An unexplainable feeling stirs within her, growing quietly amid the chaos of her thoughts.
------
All the terrible things feel as if they have just passed, like she has awakened from a nightmare only hours ago. She once thought of leaping from this room as fast as she could—fleeing from his looming shadow, fleeing from the painful truth that pierced her heart. Yet in the end… she still sits here.
And what is strange is that her mind now feels clearer than before, impossibly so. Even though he has just made it clear that he intends to use her, why is it… that deep inside, she feels an inexplicable sense of relief?
The soft click of a switch pulls her from her thoughts. Hemlock begins powering up the equipment on his desk. The blue glow of a hologram washes over his pale face, the shadows around his sharp eyes only making him look more intimidating.
A single glance is enough for Emerie to recognize what fills the glowing screen—research data on cloning, pages of genetic codes and familiar molecular schematics.
It’s already so late… and he’s still going to work? she thinks, confusion welling between quiet concern and something she cannot quite name.
Suddenly, her heart compels her body to rise from the bed before she even realizes it. She does not walk toward the door to escape. Instead, she moves toward him.
Now back in work mode, his expression turns grave again. The traces of stress sharpen as his piercing eyes fix on the data before him. But not long after, he allows his gaze to leave the chaos of his work and turn to her.
“Do you need something, Emerie?” His deep, calm voice carries a quiet authority that makes her heart skip a beat.
“No, I don’t feel sleepy. I guess it’s because I already slept a lot.” Emerie answers softly, her lips trembling slightly with nerves before she lifts her eyes to the hologram before him. Her gaze brims with curiosity.
“Let me stay and watch you work… maybe there’s something I can help with, Royce.”
Hemlock does not say a single word. For a fleeting moment, the silence that falls over the room feels strangely long. He turns back to focus on his work. The weight pressing against Emerie’s chest only grows heavier, yet she chooses to quietly sit down at the corner of the desk.
‘Cloning begins with the selection of the prototype cell, often the one with the most stable and complete chromosomes. This cell is taken into the process of nuclear extraction, using micro‑nanometer precision equipment to carefully remove the nucleus that contains all the genetic material of the donor cell, without damaging any internal structures.’
Hemlock’s fingers move rapidly across the keys. The speed and precision of his movements bring forth streams of new data that continue to appear on the screen. A three‑dimensional simulation displays the meticulous separation of cells in fine detail. Every step is deeply complex, and he continues typing without pause.
‘The extracted nucleus is then transferred into an egg cell, followed by a low‑frequency electric pulse to fuse the cell membranes together. The newly formed cell is forced to begin dividing, mimicking the natural growth of an embryo. It will gradually split from two cells to four, from four to eight, continuing until it becomes a blastocyst the stage just before the embryo implants itself.’
‘This stage requires the most precise environmental control—temperature, pH levels, oxygen concentration, and nutrients. Every factor must be exact, flawless, to prevent abnormalities from occurring at any moment during growth…’
Emerie sits silently by the desk, her eyes fixed on the holographic text and images before her. She reads intently, trying to follow the first two stages he has outlined. His meticulous precision is astonishing. The fact that he can decode the secret technology of the Kaminoans leaves no doubt in her mind why Lama Su and Nala Se are so desperate to uncover his plans.
Then, Hemlock’s fingers halt on the keys as his sharp eyes fixate deeply on the data on the screen. His brows knit tightly together, the calm composure he usually carries shifting into unspoken tension. Slowly, he lifts his hand from the keyboard and rests his chin on it. His breathing grows slightly heavier.
Emerie notices every small change in his demeanor. An odd weight presses against her chest. She cannot explain why simply seeing him in this state of stress unsettles her so deeply. Hesitation grips her for only a brief moment before she slowly rises to her feet.
She walks toward the desk until only a few steps separate them. Her unexpected movement draws Hemlock’s attention—he lifts his head, his piercing eyes meeting hers, a mix of stillness and surprise flickering across his face. Even with the crushing pressure of work hanging over him, he does not utter a single word to stop her or send her away.
“The next step… is close to the stage of genesis, Dr. Hemlock.” Emerie’s voice is soft, imbued with a respect she cannot deny. She knows how deeply he is consumed by his work at this moment. Her gaze flicks to the clock displayed on the datapad—its blue numbers mark the hour clearly. Three in the morning.
He has been working relentlessly all day without rest. No human body should be pushed this far. That thought whispers in her mind, steals her breath, and before she can stop herself, she gathers the courage to step closer.
“Please… let me help you,” she whispers, barely louder than a breath. “It’s already 3 a.m. You need to rest… please, go get some sleep.”
Hemlock raises his head slowly, locking eyes with her without uttering a word. The silence between them crashes down heavy and unrelenting. His calm expression alone is enough to make Emerie’s heart stumble.
“I— I apologize. I should stop bothering you.” Her voice trembles slightly as she hurriedly turns away, about to step back. But before she can retreat, warmth coils firmly around her wrist.
“Do not go anywhere.”
The words are soft as a whisper—too gentle to be a command, yet too firm to be a plea. That ambiguity freezes her in place, her body rigid as though pinned where she stands. In that split second, her heart pounds so hard it aches in her chest. Slowly, the heat of his hand loosens its hold on her wrist.
“I need to prepare something. Do not touch anything until I return.”
This time, his tone is firm, unmistakably a command. Hemlock places a steady hand on Emerie’s shoulder and presses gently, guiding her into the chair he has just vacated. She nods without protest, unable to do anything else.
He walks into the small room beside the bedroom, leaving her in the silence of the office with only the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her chest.
Ten minutes pass. The silence slowly gives way to something soft drifting toward her nose. A sweet, warm scent calms her nerves.
The door to the small room opens. Hemlock steps out holding two mugs in his hands. He walks in silence and sets them on the table with careful movements. A soft clink follows as one cup slides toward Emerie.
Emerie looks down at the brown liquid that sends up warm steam. The rich scent of cocoa softens the air in a way that feels almost unreal.
“Drink it… Cocoa. It helps ease anxiety,” he says calmly. His eyes do not pressure her, yet they are impossible to avoid. “If it feels too plain… drop a sugar cube in.”
He reaches for a small tray lined with sugar cubes and slides it toward her without rushing her.
“Thank you,” Emerie nods slightly. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. She lifts the mug to her lips with hesitation and takes a small sip.
The moment the flavor hits her tongue, the sweetness bursts sharp against her taste buds. It is so sweet it almost stings, as if the entire tray of sugar cubes melts into this one mug. Her eyes squeeze shut instantly.
“Mm… It’s so sweet…” she murmurs softly. Heat rises to her cheeks, startled and shy about admitting the truth.
She glances at him as he raises his own mug and sips the cocoa. Hemlock lowers his eyes, as if savoring the subtle sweetness in silence.
“What is it, Emerie? Is it too hot?” His tone sounds calm, yet there is care in it that catches her off guard. “Give it to me.”
He leans slightly forward and takes the mug from her hands without hesitation, blowing gently across the rising steam. The sight makes her chest tighten. A strange warmth spreads through her until her cheeks turn faintly pink.
“N-no… It’s fine,” she says quickly, stumbling over her words as she tries to hide the warmth creeping over her face. “I think… you should finish your work first. Once you’re done… the cocoa will cool down enough, and it’ll be easier for me to drink.”
Emerie turns her face away without meaning to, forcing herself to focus on the data displayed on the screen. She pretends to concentrate on the unfinished work to avoid his eyes.
“Are you not going to sleep? It’s really late,” her voice is soft, yet carries quiet concern.
“No…” he answers shortly, his eyes still fixed on her movements instead of the report on the screen. “Watching you like this… I learn more as well.” His deep, steady voice makes the atmosphere heavier. “I admit… I haven’t studied their essence closely enough.”
“Yes, Doctor…”
Her voice is calm, soft, but full of quiet determination. She takes a slow breath and begins explaining the final process with serious focus.
“The final main step… Once the embryo reaches the proper stage, it is transferred into a bioreactor tank that replicates the environment of a human womb as closely as possible. The surrounding nutrient fluid contains amino acids, vitamins, minerals, and specific hormones to accelerate stem-cell-level development and enhance the perfection of every organ. Each stage is monitored in detail through real-time three-dimensional imaging to ensure that the muscles, blood vessels, nerves, and brain tissue form according to the genetic blueprint without defects.”
She pauses for a brief breath before continuing with the same unwavering tone.
“The central nervous system begins forming during the fifth week, especially the hypothalamus and the cerebral cortex. Brain development in the new generation of clones is modified to increase synaptic connections and to regulate behavioral traits or responses to align with the purpose of each project.”
“If everything proceeds as planned, the clone emerges with physical and genetic characteristics identical to the template. The difference is that their brains are pre-programmed with data embedded in a neural processor.”
The entire room falls silent for a moment. Hemlock lifts his gaze to her. His blue eyes, usually cold, now hold an unmistakable glimmer of satisfaction. His lips curve faintly, as if he never intends to hide it.
“Excellent…” His low, smooth voice.
“I never fail to see people for who they are.”
Emerie holds her breath for a brief moment before slowly letting it out. A shy smile appears on her lips.
“Thank you, Doctor… no… Royce.” Her voice softens without her realizing it. “It is almost 4 a.m. You should sleep now.”
He pauses for only a moment when he hears her suggestion that he should rest. No one has ever dared to speak to him like that. A quiet, unfamiliar feeling stirs in his chest.
“…All right. Give me a little more time. I need to finish the simulation graphics for this data first.”
“In that case… I will return to my room,” Emerie says softly as she rises from the chair.
But as she turns, her face moves unexpectedly close to his—so close their noses nearly touch. Their eyes meet for a fleeting instant. Emerie freezes, her cheeks flushing faintly before she lowers her head in a quick, respectful gesture and hurries away toward the door.
Hemlock’s gaze shifts slightly as he watches her retreating figure. A faint emotion stirs in his expression, something even he is not familiar with. Then his deep voice breaks the silence, carrying an unexpected pull.
“Tomorrow…”
Emerie stops in her tracks and turns back to him immediately.
“There will be a grand exhibition at the Coruscant central convention hall,” Hemlock says slowly and deliberately. “Scientists from every field will gather to present new innovations that will serve the Empire.”
“The Emperor himself orders me to attend… Would you like to come with me?”
Emerie’s eyes widen the instant she hears those words. The meaning is clear—far too clear to interpret any other way. Is this… an invitation? Her heart pounds uncontrollably. Images of Coruscant flood her mind at once. It would be another chance to set foot there since the day she boarded the transport that brought her here. The memory of towering skyscrapers and bustling crowds still lingers. That vibrancy feels worlds apart from Kamino. And deep down… she wants to see it again.
“You will come… as my personal assistant.”
Hemlock speaks slowly as he steps closer every second until the space between them almost disappears. His deep voice carries a weight that cannot be ignored.
“You should already know what duties an assistant is expected to perform.”
Emerie presses her lips together. Hesitation and unease swirl in her chest before she finally lets a question slip out in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Why do you… trust me? A few hours ago I was about to kill you…”
She turns her face away, unable to meet his eyes. The blue gaze fixed on her does not blink, as if it reads every thought inside her head.
Hemlock steps closer again and leans down slightly. His voice is deep, flat, and so cold it makes the blood in her veins feel as if it stops flowing.
“Because… you have no other choice, EMR-0001.”
The answer cuts through her heart like a sharp blade. Emerie snaps her head back toward him immediately. Her eyes glimmer with restrained anger, the tense set of her face forcing a thin smile to form at the corner of his lips.
This is the expression he likes the most.
“You have to stay here tonight. The exhibition starts in the evening, but we need to prepare everything by morning.”
His tone is flat but decisive as he speaks, never taking his eyes off Emerie, who stands before him.
Emerie presses her lips tightly before replying, her voice laced with growing frustration.
“I think I should go back to my own room. If I stay here, where are you going to sleep? And it’s not just late—it’s almost morning…”
She pauses briefly, takes a breath to steady herself, then continues with a voice that rises higher than usual.
“You haven’t even rested yet, Royce!”
The reprimand, tinged with concern, makes the air in the room grow suddenly heavier. An uncomfortable silence wedges itself between them.
Emerie turns away, irritated at him and at herself.
Forget it… she tells herself. Whatever he does has nothing to do with me anymore.
Without waiting for an answer, she spins around and strides toward the door. A tightness in her chest threatens to burst out as words she does not want to say. She commands the door to open, but it responds with a red flash and the same alert as before.
'ACCESS DENIED
RESTRICTED COMMAND – AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED'
“..........” Emerie rolls her eyes in annoyance.
“It depends on whether I allow it or not. Don’t get upset with the door, Emerie.”
Hemlock’s lazy voice drifts from behind, carrying a teasing undertone. It makes her feel as if he is deliberately toying with her.
Emerie whips around to look at him. She sees him arranging data reports and swiftly generating graphic displays through the hologram. The soft blue light illuminates his face, and in that glow, she notices a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips.
That smile again…
She lets out a sharp sigh, so strong she feels it echo in her chest.
Today she spends all her strength trying to fight him—through words, reasoning, and stubborn defiance—yet nothing changes.
The only way to keep this small matter from spiraling further…
is to surrender.
She strides back into Hemlock’s bedroom without another word, as if conceding defeat to a winner who does not even bother to argue back.
If he comes in to sleep, she thinks, she will move to the floor. Or maybe that chair outside.
The thought lingers in her mind as she drops onto the bed, exhausted.
Her slender hand grabs a pillow and hugs it tightly, kneading it as if to pass the time.
But then… an odd feeling begins to creep in. The silence stretches too long. Why hasn’t he come back yet? Curiosity mixes with unease, pushing her to rise from the bed. She steps quietly toward the door and eases it open.
The sight before her the hologram still glows faintly on the desk, blue light washing over Hemlock’s face as he sits asleep in his chair. His head leans against the backrest in complete exhaustion, his hands resting together on his lap.
The face that always looks tense now appears strangely calm, as if his weariness has slipped out unintentionally.
Emerie slowly walks closer. She lowers her gaze toward him in silence.
Her slender fingers reach out to switch off the hologram. The soft click whispers into the stillness, and when the blue light vanishes, the dim darkness fills the room with a quiet too deep to describe. She glances at his cocoa mug on the desk—completely empty.
Hers remains untouched, cold, and overly sweet, a flavor she never likes. But he drinks his to the last drop. She never imagines he enjoys something like that.
Emerie stands motionless, eyes fixed on him slumped in the chair. She tries to think of a way to move him to the bed without waking him, but as she stares at that tired face, every thought dissolves.
Finally, she turns back to the bed, picks up a large blanket, and carefully drapes it over him. Every motion is slow and cautious, so as not to disturb his sleep.
When she is sure he is warm enough, she steps back and walks quietly toward his bed.
Even though she has slept for hours earlier, fatigue still clings to her body. Her eyelids grow heavier by the second. Before she realizes it, Emerie lets herself sink into the soft warmth of the bed and drifts back into sleep in the calm silence.
------
The crashing waves slam against the building so hard that the glass framework trembles. Storm winds roar as if they will tear everything to shreds. The sky is so dark that almost nothing can be seen.
Lama Su stands still before the tall window, his gaze fixed on the swirling waves below with no hint of emotion. But the fingertips gripping the rail tighten.
“Prime Minister, tomorrow there is the annual science exhibition at the central convention hall in Coruscant.”
The report comes from his subordinate behind him, rising above the wailing wind.
“Hmm…” Lama Su responds softly, his eyes never leaving the storm’s horizon. “Scientists from everywhere will attend…” He pauses briefly, as if pondering something.
“Will he be there?”
Nala Se, standing not far away, replies immediately. “You mean Dr. Royce Hemlock.”
Lama Su’s brow twitches slightly. “Hmph… Of course.” His voice carries a trace of bitterness.
“I truly don’t understand why the Emperor trusts him so much… and gives him everything!”
He slowly turns around and fixes his subordinate with a determined gaze.
“Find a skilled bounty hunter. Make the deal, and be ready to begin tomorrow. Report to me once it is settled.”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” comes the curt reply. “And… what is the order for this mission?”
Lama Su falls silent for a moment. He clasps his hands behind his back and walks forward, the storm still howling outside. His footsteps strike heavily against the metal floor before his lips move, each word slow and deliberate.
“It will be easier… if that man does not exist.”
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