The Anchor with Eight Days Left

Rowan slept with one hand curled beneath his throat and the other turned palm-up between us. The emergency seal under his wrist was almost invisible, a pale crescent no wider than my thumbnail. I had placed it there during our second winter in the habitat, when the western conduits froze and he spent twelve hours reading routes through whiteout conditions. If his heart stopped, the seal would spend whatever remained of me to restart it. At the time, I had called that love. I pressed my thumb to the crescent. The interface opened behind my eyes. LAST-BREATH CLAUSE Beneficiary: Rowan Thorne Revocation is permanent. Stored guarantee may be converted into covenant filing deposit. Confirm? My hand trembled hard enough to brush the blanket. Rowan made a soft sound but did not wake. I confirmed. Heat slipped beneath my thumb. The crescent vanished from his skin. Something inside my chest dropped and caught hard enough to turn my stomach. LAST-BREATH CLAUSE REVOKED Restoration prohibited. Filing deposit available for 47:59:59. I sat beside him until my breathing became quiet again. The private display over my pulse read: ANCHOR RESERVE: 8 DAYS, 4 HOURS RETENTION INDEX: 91% Eight days. Four hours. The numbers had been hidden three menus beneath the maintenance screen. Until that morning, I had believed the reserve measured energy. Halden’s terminology had made that easy. Maintenance credit. Origin balance. Anchor capacity. Never lifespan. I rose too quickly. The room tilted. I caught the wall before my knees folded. For months I had explained the fainting as mineral deficiency. I blamed the shaking on poor sleep and the gray at my temples on atmospheric stress. When Bram offered to examine me, I redirected him toward people whose injuries seemed more urgent. When Tess asked why I forgot meals, I laughed and said food in this world still tasted like boiled paper. I had hidden the worst of it. They had accepted every excuse. “Mara?” Rowan was awake. His fingers moved over the skin beneath his wrist. The clause had lived in his awareness for five years. While I remained, death could not take him. “What did you do?” “I revoked it.” He sat up. His expression stayed controlled, but his bare foot searched for the floor twice before finding it. “Why?” “Because it was mine to revoke.” “That isn’t an answer.” “It’s the complete answer.” He looked toward the wall panel and studied it with the same fixed attention he gave a bad route map. “Can it be restored?” “No.” His attention returned to me. “You did this while I was asleep.” “Yes.” “So I couldn’t object.” “So you couldn’t stop me.” “I have never stopped you from making a lawful request.” “You’ve rerouted me, delayed me, asked Halden to clarify me, and called the result agreement.” A pulse moved in his jaw. Outside, the habitat began its morning transition. Pipes clicked behind the walls. Warm air carried the metallic smell of recycled water through the vent. Rowan stood and pulled on his uniform shirt. “Where are you going?” “To eat.” “You don’t eat this early.” “Then the day is already unusual.” He crossed between me and the door without seeming to block it. “Your pulse is erratic.” “It has been erratic for eleven weeks.” “You said that was adaptation fatigue.” “I lied.” His shoulders pulled back. By the next breath, his face was blank again. “Why?” I liked watching Rowan close his eyes and point toward the safe road. Tess remembered every promise we made. Bram could lay his hands on a cracked support and make the material knit itself whole. As long as they needed me, there was a place at their table. I said, “Move.” He held my gaze, then stepped aside. The corridor lights brightened as I stepped out. A system prompt appeared at the edge of my vision. WELLNESS CONTACT INITIATED Bonded beneficiary has demonstrated proximity concern. Retention adjustment pending. I dismissed it. At the junction below the residential tier, Steward Halden stood beside the protected terminal with a young woman I knew only by sight. She worked in intake records and wore her dark hair shaved close on one side. Nia. I had seen her watching me twice in the ration hall, never kindly. Her sleeve was rolled above her elbow. A ring of calibration punctures circled her forearm. Between them glowed a provisional access mark shaped like an open bracket. Successor clearance. Halden lowered her arm when he noticed me. Nia pulled free of him a moment later, too late to make the gesture look casual. I felt the filing deposit ticking beneath my ribs. Forty-seven hours, thirty-six minutes. Halden had calculated how long I had left and marked the woman who would be spent after me.