Adi'sun did not return to Waystation Helios that day.

Mei'gahn encouraged him to let her be, but Kor'ven knew something was not right. Perhaps Adi'sun had dismissed him as her mate--something that was causing him no end of physical and emotional anguish--but she would not dismiss her work. It was everything to her. So much so that she had very definitively chose it over him.

Still, he allowed her "space," as Mei'gahn and Azh'lee both claimed she needed, in various degrees of helpfulness. He finished changing the code in Vazik's implant and oversaw the update. He ran diagnostics and congratulated the parents when everything appeared to be working as it should. He met with Drol'gan and discussed a strategy for deploying this information to the other Waystations.

It all felt hollow without his mate.

It even felt hollow when he received another message from Teiv informing him that he had finally isolated a strain of mutations that could potentially prove Kor'ven's theory. Without Adi'sun here to share it, it just seemed… empty.

It was a strange thing. Kor'ven had always been independent. He was the only kit born to his sire and dam, and he had learned from a young age to look out for himself and take pride in his own accomplishments rather than relying on anyone else to tell him how to feel. But now he wanted his mate's opinion. He wanted her to criticize and poke holes in his theories. He wanted her to fight him with that impassioned look in her eyes.

She would make him a better scientist. She would make him better in every way. And Kor'ven knew he could be the same for her. He would dedicate his life to that purpose, if only she would allow it.

That night, he had already made a plan to speak to her. He would not back down from this. It was his future as much as hers, and he would stand for both of them until he could assuage her fears. He might not be a fierce warrior, but he would fight for what they could be.

When she did not show up for work, though, that conviction became tainted by a sharp sense of dread. Leaving to find her was not even a question, he merely needed to know where she was. As Helios had her information in the database, Kor'ven was able to escape by mid-morning and set out into Everton to find her.

The place Adi'sun called home seemed much like Kor'ven's own home. Small. Cramped. Likely barely used because she spent so much time at the Waystation. He climbed the stairs, preparing himself for what he was going to say, hoping the unease he felt was merely an overreaction.

But as he reached her floor, he knew it was not. The suffering that occurred when mates were parted was meant to ease when they were near each other again, and while Kor'ven did not feel as if he might collapse at any moment, he still did not feel well. Instinct drove him, and he raced to her door, banging his fist against it and calling her name.

She did not answer, nor did she come to let him in, or even to tell him to leave. Her home was deathly silent, and Kor'ven wasted no time. With a roar of effort, he rammed himself into the door, shoulder first. It splintered violently and he had to catch himself before momentum sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Adi'sun," he called, his voice sounding desperate.

He did not see her, and so he made his way to the only other room in her home. He looked for her upon her bed and at her terminal, but she was not there, either.

Something called to him, though. Some silent, inexplicable force drew his gaze downward, and there he found her.

"Adi'sun," he said, fear making her name waver as it left his mouth.

She was not dead. He would have felt that loss deep within his soul. But she was not well. He dropped down to his knees to examine her. Her skin was hot to the touch, and when he lifted one eyelid, she was not responsive. But she was breathing. Shallow breaths that worried Kor'ven deeply, yet they were breaths just the same.

Again he did not hesitate, scooping her into his arms and walking out of her home. When the Matchmaker program began, he had been made aware of how fragile humans were and how disastrous it was for them to be apart from their mates, and perhaps that was what this was. It did not feel that way to Kor'ven, though. It felt like something deeper, and yet he could not puzzle out what was behind it even as he carried his mate back to Waystation Helios so she could receive treatment.

The medical staff, Mei'gahn included, stabilized her and treated her symptoms. She was in a "coma," they said, which was a human word for an unresponsive sleep--one that could last for a few days or… indefinitely.

Kor'ven stayed by her bedside, paying little heed to anything else. He only ate and drank because Mei'gahn forced such things upon him, and there was a limit to how much he was willing to be coddled.

"All of your energy must be focused on Adi'sun," he'd snapped. "She is the one who needs aid, not me."

Human and Karuvar alike had left him alone after that. For the most part. At some point during the next morning--and he only knew it was such because of the light streaming through the window--Azh'lee came to Adi'sun's room. She knocked first, which even Kor'ven recognized as polite for the youngling. He permitted her entry, hoping she was only here to see her friend.

And it seemed that she was. She moved to the opposite bedside, her brow set in a deep furrow. Kor'ven watched, his heart aching as she reached out and brushed Adi'sun's hair from her forehead.

"My sister said once that Adi'sun would work herself to death," Azh'lee began quietly. "And I always thought… nah. I won't let that happen. I won't let her do that to herself. But… here we are."

Azh'lee's words were choked with emotion, and Kor'ven could see tears racing down her cheek. He knew he should comfort her in some way, but he did not know how.

"She is not dying," he said, pointing out a fact. "She is strong. She will recover from this."

"Yeah. Well." Azh'lee sniffed, then swiped at her eyes. "I, um. I have some equipment in the hall I need to wheel in if it's cool with you. Or even if it's not, I guess. Addi usually does this, but hey."

Kor'ven nodded, though he suspected it would not matter. Azh'lee was set on her task, and she brought in equipment that was typically used to scan implants.

He was silent as she did this, but he watched her, and specifically watched her expression. Azh'lee was as expressive as many Karuvar, and though her ears did not move and she had no tail to give her away, her eyebrows said a great deal.

"Okay, these must be bogus results," she muttered. "Maybe I did it wrong…"

"Let me see," he said, more a command than a request.

Rising from his chair, Kor'ven crossed to the other side of the bed to examine the terminal that displayed the results of the scan. His own brow creased as he read the words: anomaly detected.

"Run it again," he said.

But again the scan revealed the same thing. Taking Azh'lee's place, he delved into the results, looking for the data the scanner compiled before it gave such a result. What he found left him cold.

"What?" Azh'lee asked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

He had seen this before. Just days ago with Adi'sun, and again in his own work many years prior. It was far too easy to identify.

"Her implant's code has been altered," he said numbly.

There was a chance someone else had done it, or perhaps it had been altered for some time, lying dormant. But Kor'ven did not believe in coincidences, and it was too much of one to think that this had simply happened by chance.

And that meant she had taken her life into her own hands, thrown away their future together to tamper with her implant. The only question now was: why?

* * *

Adi'sun awoke that evening, and Kor'ven was there the moment her beautiful eyes fluttered open. He felt relief greater than he had ever known, and gratitude to the Stars for bringing her back from the brink.

But he wished those were the only things he felt.

Kor'ven summoned the doctors and had them examine her to be certain everything was as it should be. He said nothing through this process, and tried not to be affected by the emotions he felt rolling off of his mate, or the agonized look she gave him when it seemed as if she was about to speak, but faltered.

When they were at last left alone, Kor'ven finally spoke. "You altered your implant."

It was a statement of fact, and one he knew she could not dispute.

"Yes," she admitted, though the proud tilt of her chin suggested she was not entirely remorseful. "How many know?"

"Azh'lee discovered it," he said. "It has not been disclosed."

Drawing in a breath, Kor'ven rose from his chair. His heart ached with the weight of what he knew he must ask, and what he knew he must do after he had the answer.

"Why did you do it?"

"I couldn't stand by and watch Drol'gan make this costly of a mistake. I had to prove how dangerous these alterations could be."

Already he could see moisture glinting in her eyes. Some part of him wished to stop pressing; to not say what needed to be said. But he could not.

"The genetic code built into an implant determines a great many things. When you reach maturity, when your life will naturally end. Who your mate is."

Adi'sun choked back a sob at the last few words, but Kor'ven forced himself to continue.

"Altering it… alters the course of your life. And even when it is changed back, some of the damage will persist." He looked into her eyes, barely managing to speak again. "In altering your code, you have severed your connection to me. We are no longer mates."

He saw Adi'sun grip the sheets, her jaw trembling in an effort to keep from crying. It was of little use. Tears still streamed from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I had to."

Kor'ven's eyes closed as he slowly accepted those words; let them pass through him like a blade to his heart. Because that was what they were. He would not perish from this. But in making such a decision, she had condemned his soul to a black pit of nothingness.

If she was no longer his mate, then Kor'ven could not even fathom the future. It did not matter that he understood why she had done it--on some level, at least. It did not matter that he could even respect her decision.

She had still ripped him in two by doing so.

"As am I," he said, and turned to leave.

He heard her call his name, heard her heart-wrenching sobs, but he could not turn back.

Even if he was and would always be hers, she was not his any longer.