The door hissed shut behind him with a hydraulic sigh.
For three full seconds, Hernan didn't move.
Not a breath.Not a twitch.
Then — finally — he exhaled.
It wasn't exhaustion. It wasn't relief.It was containment, slowly released. A pressure valve easing open, just enough to keep the structure from cracking.
He took two steps into his private dorm and stopped again, letting the quiet wrap around him like a sterile sheet. The room was spare, utilitarian — a bed with a high-efficiency thermal pad, a desk with an embedded holoscreen, a mirror above a shelf of data crystals, a single recessed vent whispering airflow.
Clean. Controlled. Deceptively empty.
He unclasped the collar of his uniform. Let it loosen. Let his chest rise once. Deep. Measured.
Then he moved to the center of the room and sat cross-legged on the floor.
His eyes closed.
Not to meditate.
To replay.
