Commander Slate Kovari never smiled where the crew could see. He ran the station on clipped orders and a cold face. But every night he left warm meals outside the doors of homesick crew, and no one knew it was him. Tonight he wanted only one thing: to learn which single person had seen the tender man under his uniform. Because someone had started leaving meals for him. The first one appeared three nights ago. A bowl of soup, still steaming, set outside his quarters. No note. He asked no questions out loud. But he watched. Someone on his station had guessed his secret and answered it. If he could find that person, he might finally be known. Loved, even. And if he guessed wrong, he would expose himself to gossip that could cost him his command. He pulled two names from the crew logs. His flight instructor, Lyra Stellaris, worked the late shift near his corridor. She flew like she feared nothing, and her purple eyes missed nothing either. She could have seen him leave a tray one night. The other name troubled him more. Iris Chen ran every event on the station. Sleek bun, glowing tablet, always tracking who sat where and who went home alone. If anyone tracked his movements, it was her. But Iris arranged joy for everyone and shared none of it herself. Slate could not picture her cooking soup at midnight. He decided on a test. No guessing. Proof. He returned to his quarters early and waited in the dark hallway. At 0200, footsteps. Lyra came first, boots quiet, heading past his door toward the launch bay. She did not slow. She did not glance down. She walked on and was gone. Then Iris arrived. She carried no tablet. She carried a covered dish. She knelt at his door, set it down, and adjusted the cloth so it would hold the heat. Slate stepped from the shadow. Iris froze. Her hand stayed on the dish. "You," Slate said. His voice cracked out of its usual ice. "I saw you leave one for the new engineer," Iris said. She did not stand. "He'd been crying in the mess. You knew. Nobody else did." She looked up at him. "I plan a hundred dinners a month, Commander. I've never sat at one. I wanted to feed the one person who feeds everybody in secret." Slate had his answer. It was her. The relief hit him hard enough to hurt. But Iris rose and stepped back. "I have to go," she said. "If the night watch sees me at your door, they'll talk. About you. I won't let that happen to you." She left the dish and hurried away before he could speak. Slate stood alone with the warm bowl. He knew who she was now. And she had just made clear she would keep her distance to protect him from the very gossip he feared.