“How are you feeling?” Lieutenant Commander Blanchefleur Courtemanche sat on a loveseat across from Gracie Lothan, who lay on the longer couch. The counseling office felt more like a living room. Soft lamps lit the room, casting a comfortable glow from wall to ceiling.

Lothan’s eyes searched the pale blue canvas above her. “I feel…better, Dr. Court.” Courtemanche watched her take a deep breath before letting it out long and slow. She seemed to ponder her position in life as she continued, “I was never alone growing up. When they died…I worried I was going to be left behind with no one.” Her quiet smile warmed the room. “But I’ve always had someone with me since it happened. I’m starting to feel like I have a family here on the station…like a second family.”

Courtemanche made notes on her PADD. It had nearly been a month since the colony’s destruction on Bunden III and the desperate evacuation of its neighboring colony, Bunden II. Gracie’s family had called Bunden II home. “How has the journaling been going?”

Lothan didn’t answer right away. The Director of Counseling Operations had assigned her to write about her good memories of her family and her time with them. Lothan found her voice. “I…it was hard at first. It’s helped to draw them as I write about them.” Courtemanche had discovered the young woman’s artistic abilities early in their conversations – her doodles would quickly take solid form into shapes of people in her life. “The groups are making it manageable.”

Courtemanche had quickly organized grief-sharing groups. The loss of 750 civilians had carved a deep wound through the Bunden community. The counselors in her department had responded in kind, organizing social events, quiet music performances, and simple remembrance ceremonies. She asked, “How can I continue to support you, Gracie?”

Another long silence. She had grown used to Lothan’s quiet valleys of contemplation as the mind of the young woman worked to grasp onto a semblance of normalcy in the face of what, at times, felt like an undying and unending cycle of grief. The young woman had struggled to identify the emotions that rose and fell in her heart. The images in her drawings at first were erratic, full of sharp red and deep black lines. Slowly, the once cragged lines had begun to smooth, and the understated colors had begun to appear, transitioning to softer blues and yellows. Gracie replied, “I just need to feel what I’ve been feeling from everyone. There’s always something to do – and all of it is helping. It feels like I’ve got a harsh sunburn, but each moment with everyone is like a quiet layer of ice…soothing the hurt.” She turned her head to face Courtemanche for the first time, “I feel good, Dr. Court. I know I’ve got a long road…but it’s the right road with the right people.”

“She left you,” Hasara said as he sat across from Dain Kessler, the apparent former partner of Selene Voss. The woman had an active contract to kill the older Cardassian and his partner, Tareya Khorlett.

Dain’s expression vacillated between fury, frustration, and hope. “She left three days ago on a cargo ship bound for who knows where. I tried to track her, but she changed ships several times.” He sat back in his chair. “I told her she needed to move past this thing about killing you.”

Hasara chuckled, “I’m aware of her contract. Does she know I was an ancillary piece to the puzzle of her former partner’s death? Whoever put her on our trail has been cleverly covering their trail for some time.” He tapped at his console, and the screen on the wall lit up with a traced path with photos. Some had identifiable faces, while others were empty. “We’ve been doing some work to trace more into this plot. I had hoped to reveal this to your partner…”

Dain held up a hand, saying, “Former.”

“…former partner. I had hoped to reveal it to her and possibly bring her into the fold in the operation here.” He leveled his gaze at the civilian operator. “Do I need to worry about you being an operative on her behalf? You seem like a good asset. I would hate to have to remove you prematurely from the board.”

Kessler’s eyes widened. “I was the mouth, Hasara. I worked the channels, spoke to contacts, and was the face of our partnership. I don’t do violence well. My face and name are all over the galaxy – that was intentional. Keeping her name and face in the dark was the game.”

Hasara glanced over at Sinai t’Parthok, who stood in the corner of the office, hands resting on her phaser blasters. He asked her, “What do you think?”

Her expression remained placid, staring him down with malicious intent. She pushed off the wall and ambled her way to stand just before him. Her lidded eyes searched his own. Minutes passed as she walked circles around him slowly, sniffing in derision. Sinai scoffed as she returned to face Kessler, “If he tries anything, I will not hesitate. He will die.” Her eyes slowly searched his face as she repeated the fact to him. “I will kill you. You will die. Just as we know your reputation, you know mine.” He gave a small nod, and Sinai retreated to her corner.

Hasara pulled a device onto the desk. “You will be assigned as a Hasara House Employee as a contractor. Once you clear probation and Sinai doesn’t kill you for any foolish attempts to play us, you’ll be brought on permanently. Any contracts you signed before this moment – oaths, whatever…are no longer valid. Loyalty is to Hasara House and no one else.” He slid the unit across the desk. “Any questions?”

Kessler reviewed the displayed contract carefully. He scrolled back and forth, nodding as he went. A few minutes later, he signed. Stepping back from the desk, he asked, “What is my first assignment?”

Hasara grinned deviously, “We’re going to find the bastard who set your old partner on my trail. And we’re going to kill him…and anybody else that gets in the way. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder, even out here in the rimward. It’s time to settle the old debts.”