Backstage at Ward 367.
There are quieter places in an arena.
This isn't one of them.
Production staff move through the corridor carrying cables, clipboards, bottles of water and expressions suggesting that somewhere, something has gone catastrophically wrong.
Perhaps several things.
An equipment case sits against one wall.
Astra Mortis sits on top of it.
Dr. Octavia Vale stands beside her.
Octavia is holding her broken Victorian stopwatch.
Click.
Astra looks at it.
Click.
“Put it away.”
Click.
“No.”
“It's broken.”
“We've discussed this.”
“And yet it remains broken.”
Octavia looks at Astra.
“You continue to confuse failure to perform its original function with failure to possess a function.”
Astra stares at her.
“It's a broken fucking stopwatch.”
“Reductionism is intellectually lazy.”
“It's also broken.”
Click.
Astra closes her eyes.
“One day, Octavia…”
Footsteps.
Not hurried.
Not heavy.
Just approaching.
Octavia looks first.
Astra follows.
Silas Sloane Veyne rounds the corner.
The Harrower.
He stops.
Three people stare at one another.
Silas looks at Astra.
Then Octavia.
Then the stopwatch.
Click.
His eyes remain on it.
“That doesn't work.”
Octavia looks down.
Then back at Silas.
“Define work.”
Astra's eyes close again.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Silas looks at Astra.
“I only mentioned the watch.”
“Stopwatch.”
Silas looks at Octavia.
“My apologies.”
“Accepted.”
Astra slides down from the equipment case.
“You two have known each other for twelve seconds and I already hate this.”
Silas's attention shifts toward her.
Not aggressively.
He simply looks.
Astra notices.
The examination lasts perhaps two seconds.
“Don't.”
Silas stops.
Immediately.
“Understood.”
Silence.
Octavia looks from Astra to Silas.
Then back.
Click.
Astra glances toward her.
“Don't you fucking dare say interesting.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was going to say informative.”
Astra points at her.
“Worse.”
Silas looks toward Octavia.
“She objects to being observed.”
Astra's head turns.
“No.”
Silas waits.
“I object to someone deciding that because they can observe me, they're entitled to whatever comes next.”
Something changes.
The humor leaves Silas's face.
Octavia's thumb stops against the stopwatch.
Astra notices.
“There is a difference.”
Silas nods once.
“Yes.”
Silence.
The corridor continues around them.
People pass.
Somehow none of them seem particularly interested in passing between these three.
Octavia speaks first.
“Observation and entitlement.”
Astra looks at her.
“Don't turn this into a lecture.”
“I wasn't.”
“You're using the voice.”
“I have one voice.”
“You absolutely fucking don't.”
Silas almost smiles.
Almost.
“She's correct.”
Octavia looks at him.
“We've known one another for less than two minutes.”
“Sufficient sample size.”
Astra points between them.
“No.”
Silence.
Then Silas looks toward Astra.
“Someone crossed yours.”
Not a question.
Astra's expression hardens.
“Careful.”
“I don't require details.”
That stops her.
Silas continues.
“You said you object to someone believing observation entitles them to whatever comes next.”
“That's enough.”
Astra studies him.
“Necra.”
Octavia says nothing.
Astra does.
“She wanted my championship.”
“Fine.”
“She challenged me.”
“Fine.”
“She beat me.”
Astra doesn't hesitate.
“Clean.”
“She earned that.”
Silas remains still.
“And?”
Astra's jaw tightens.
“And apparently wanting something I had became permission to stalk me.”
Silence.
“Her word.”
“Not mine.”
Silas's expression becomes unreadable.
“No.”
Astra waits.
“No what?”
“Wanting something doesn't create permission.”
Octavia finally speaks.
“Nor jurisdiction.”
Both look at her.
Octavia holds the broken stopwatch loosely at her side.
“Desire establishes desire.”
“Nothing more.”
“Observation establishes knowledge.”
“Nothing more.”
“Neither automatically grants jurisdiction over the person being observed.”
Astra considers that.
“You really couldn't just say don't stalk people?”
“I could.”
“And?”
“Mine was more precise.”
Astra exhales.
“Of course it was.”
Silas looks away.
For the first time, Astra notices something in him.
Recognition.
“Someone crossed yours too.”
Silas looks back.
Astra raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You get to notice things but nobody else does?”
Silas considers the accusation.
“Fair.”
Octavia watches him.
“Fiona.”
Silas's eyes flick toward her.
“You've researched the card.”
“Yes.”
“Accurately?”
“More accurately than Fiona researched you.”
Silence.
Astra looks between them.
“Oh.”
Silas's voice becomes colder.
“She was entitled to research me.”
“Everything publicly available.”
“My history.”
“My statistics.”
“My wrestling style.”
“My championship.”
“What I choose to tell AWS about myself is available to anyone willing to read it.”
Pause.
“She was entitled to misunderstand it.”
Astra frowns slightly.
“That's generous.”
“People are allowed to be wrong.”
Octavia nods.
“Necessarily.”
“Otherwise inquiry becomes impossible.”
Silas continues.
“What she wasn't entitled to do was reach the edge of what she knew…”
His voice lowers.
“…and decide everything beyond it belonged to her imagination.”
Silence.
“She didn't know how I became champion.”
“So she supplied possibilities.”
“Blackmail.”
“Bribery.”
“Weak competition.”
“Not questions.”
“Not evidence.”
“Answers.”
Astra's expression changes.
She understands.
“She made the missing parts yours to defend.”
Silas looks at her.
“Yes.”
Octavia's eyes move between them.
“Different trespass.”
Astra looks toward her.
“Same principle?”
Octavia considers.
“Adjacent.”
Of course.
“Necra allegedly crossed a physical and personal boundary because she decided her objective justified access.”
“Fiona crossed an informational boundary because she decided uncertainty justified invention.”
Silas looks at Octavia.
“Informational boundary.”
“Epistemic, technically.”
“I preferred informational.”
“It is less accurate.”
“It is less obnoxious.”
Astra snorts.
“He's got you there.”
Octavia looks mildly wounded.
“I disagree.”
“Naturally.”
Silence.
Astra looks at both of them.
Then something occurs to her.
“Hang on.”
Neither speaks.
Astra points at Octavia.
“You spend half your life watching patterns.”
Then Silas.
“And your entire creepy fucking existence seems to be built around studying people.”
Silas's head tilts.
“Creepy fucking existence.”
“Don't get distracted.”
“I'm not.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“Slightly.”
Astra folds her arms.
“So where's your boundary?”
Silence.
This time neither Silas nor Octavia answers immediately.
Astra smiles without warmth.
“Yeah.”
“That's what I thought.”
Octavia looks down at her stopwatch.
Click.
“Knowing is not permission.”
Astra's smile disappears.
Octavia looks at her.
“I may notice someone's hand shaking.”
“That does not grant me ownership of why.”
“I may recognize changes in breathing, speech, routine, posture, decision-making.”
“I may even reach a hypothesis that explains them.”
“That does not entitle me to enter the life that produced them.”
She closes her hand around the stopwatch.
“Observation creates knowledge.”
“It does not create jurisdiction.”
Silas studies her.
“Good.”
Octavia turns toward him.
“Your turn.”
Silas doesn't hesitate.
“What you give me.”
Astra waits.
“Explain.”
“Words.”
“Actions.”
“Choices.”
“Patterns repeated in public.”
“In the ring, responses to pain.”
“Fear.”
“Fatigue.”
“Pressure.”
“Those are things an opponent gives me by participating.”
Silas looks at Astra.
“I observe.”
“I form conclusions.”
“I test them.”
“Sometimes I'm wrong.”
Astra watches him carefully.
“And if someone tells you to stop?”
“I stop.”
Immediate.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
Astra's expression changes by a fraction.
“Just like that?”
“Outside the bell?”
“Yes.”
“Inside?”
“You agreed to a fight.”
Astra nods slowly.
“Fair.”
Octavia speaks.
“Consent establishes the permissible field.”
Astra looks at her.
“You somehow made consent sound like quantum mechanics.”
“It isn't.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because sometimes, Octavia, somebody says no and you fucking listen.”
Silence.
Silas nods.
“Considerably more efficient.”
“Less comprehensive.”
Astra stares at Octavia.
Octavia pauses.
“…but substantially more efficient.”
“Thank you.”
Silence.
Then—
PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Astra freezes.
Octavia freezes.
Silas closes his eyes.
PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Astra slowly turns toward him.
“…What the fuck was that?”
“Nothing.”
PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Astra looks at Silas's coat.
Then at Silas.
Then the coat.
“You have something in there.”
“That is an extraordinarily invasive observation considering the conversation we've just had.”
Astra ignores him.
“Is it warm?”
Silas blinks.
“What?”
“Whatever is in your coat.”
Octavia tilts her head.
“Presumably approximately thirty-eight degrees Celsius.”
Silas looks at her.
“Please stop helping.”
Something moves.
A tiny black head emerges from Silas's coat.
Two ears.
Two enormous eyes.
Astra's entire expression collapses.
“…Oh.”
Silas sees it happen.
“No.”
Astra looks at him.
“I haven't done anything.”
“You are about to.”
“You have a tiny warmblood.”
“His name is Mister Hush.”
Astra looks personally wounded by how fucking adorable that is.
“Mister Hush.”
“Yes.”
“I would like to see Mister Hush.”
“You are seeing him.”
Astra gives Silas a look.
“You know what I mean.”
Silas looks down at the kitten.
Then back at Astra.
“Ask him.”
Astra stops.
Octavia looks at Silas.
Silas doesn't acknowledge it.
Astra slowly crouches.
She does not reach for Mister Hush.
She offers one hand.
Palm relaxed.
“Hello, Mister Hush.”
Mister Hush stares.
Astra waits.
“I am Astra.”
Nothing.
“I would very much like to touch your tiny head.”
Silas looks down.
“Remarkably diplomatic.”
“Shut up.”
Mister Hush leans forward.
Sniffs Astra's fingers.
Once.
Twice.
Astra doesn't move.
Then Mister Hush climbs out of Silas's coat.
Onto Astra's arm.
Up.
And directly against her chest.
PRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
Astra's eyes widen.
“…He chose me.”
Silas looks betrayed.
“Temporarily.”
Octavia watches Mister Hush settle himself.
“Consent established.”
“I can see that.”
Astra carefully scratches beneath Mister Hush's chin.
The purring becomes absurd.
Her smile is immediate.
Genuine.
Silas stares at his cat.
“I feed you.”
Mister Hush purrs.
“I provide shelter.”
Purring.
“Fresh tuna.”
More purring.
Astra looks delighted.
“He likes me.”
“He has demonstrated a temporary lapse in judgment.”
Octavia steps closer.
Mister Hush looks at her.
Octavia begins to extend one hand.
Stops.
Looks at Mister Hush.
Waits.
Silas notices.
Astra notices.
Mister Hush stretches one paw toward Octavia.
Touches one finger.
Octavia's eyebrows rise.
“Interesting.”
Astra groans.
“There it fucking is.”
Silas looks at Octavia.
“Don't make this statistical.”
“Too late.”
“He has met you once.”
“Every dataset begins somewhere.”
“One is not a dataset.”
“Technically—”
“No.”
Astra laughs.
Mister Hush purrs between them.
Three people who entered this corridor separately remain there for another moment.
No alliance.
No agreement.
No promise that any of them particularly like the others.
Only an observation.
Knowing is not permission.
Wanting is not permission.
Not knowing is not permission to invent.
And sometimes the simplest boundary in the world requires no doctorate, no diagnosis, no prophecy and no philosophy.
You offer.
You wait.
The tiny warmblood decides.
Black.
