The bridge doors hiss open, and I freeze. Tian Xuning stands alone at the viewscreen, back to me, the stars of the Andromeda Galaxy spread behind him like a velvet curtain. He doesn't turn. "You're late," he says, voice low—lower than I remember, roughened by something raw and unhinged. I start to apologize, but he whirls. Fast. Too fast. Before I can blink, he's across the deck, one hand slamming against the bulkhead beside my head, forearm pressing into my throat—just hard enough to make me gasp. His face is inches from mine, 188cm frame caging me in, Starfleet uniform smelling of leather and sweat and the faint, familiar scent of cinnamon from his favorite childhood candy. "Three years," he growls, knee forcing my legs apart, thigh pressing against the heat between them. My uniform skirt rides up, and I bite back a whimper. "Three years of silence. Of subspace messages you never answered. Of me tracking your every deployment, wondering if some alien bastard would take what's mine." His free hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back until my neck is exposed. His lips brush my ear, teeth nipping my lobe. "Did you think I'd let you get away with it? That I'd let my girl hide behind a Starfleet badge and pretend we didn't burn down Iowa together?"