03-08-2026, 04:53 PM
Riley had just finished speaking when the briefing room doors opened again.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Chief d’Tor’an entered like a storm front.
Riley straightened slightly in her chair the moment she recognized the familiar figure. Art didn’t acknowledge anyone as she crossed the room, her focus fixed ahead with the kind of intensity that made most people instinctively give her space. The chair scraped loudly when she pulled it back from the table, and Riley watched her settle into it with the restrained force of someone holding far more emotion than the room could comfortably contain.
Riley didn’t stare, but she noticed.
Security training had taught her long ago how to observe without making it obvious. Her attention tracked the Chief only briefly before returning to the PADD near her hands.
Still…
She knows.
The loss of Tomer had shaken the ship.
It had shaken Riley more than she had expected it would.
After all, she had been the one Captain Braggins had ordered to escort him to the Bridge. At the time it had seemed like a routine task—something any security officer might do without a second thought. Instead it had become the first moment since joining Starfleet where Riley truly felt like she had failed.
For a while there, she had nearly fallen apart over it.
Her fingers shifted slightly against the tabletop as the memory resurfaced. What had pulled her back from that spiral hadn’t been a speech from a superior officer or some polished lesson about duty.
It had been T’Varen.
Her friend had arrived on the Yeager at exactly the right time—steady, quiet, and completely unwilling to let Riley bury herself in guilt. T’Varen hadn’t tried to soften the truth of what had happened. Vulcans rarely did.
Instead she had reminded Riley of the one thing that actually mattered.
You learn. You adjust. You move forward.
Riley inhaled slowly and let the breath out again as Art rose from her chair and crossed toward the replicator.
“Mint mocha latte.”
The drink materialized, and Riley allowed the faintest hint of a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth before she looked back down at the PADD.
Comfort drink.
She understood the concept.
When Art returned to the table, Riley lifted her eyes again briefly. The tension in the Chief’s posture hadn’t vanished, but the sharpest edge of it had softened slightly.
Their eyes met for only a moment.
Riley didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t her place to.
But the look she gave her department head was steady and calm, her expression softening just enough to carry the message without a single word.
I understand.
After a second, Riley inclined her head the barest fraction before letting her attention drift back toward the center of the table.
The Captain still hadn’t arrived, which meant the briefing hadn’t technically begun yet. Until then Riley settled back into quiet attentiveness, posture composed, gaze occasionally moving between the officers gathered around the table.
Listening.
Watching.
And doing what every junior officer eventually learned to do in a room full of senior staff.
Staying aware of the emotional weather.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Chief d’Tor’an entered like a storm front.
Riley straightened slightly in her chair the moment she recognized the familiar figure. Art didn’t acknowledge anyone as she crossed the room, her focus fixed ahead with the kind of intensity that made most people instinctively give her space. The chair scraped loudly when she pulled it back from the table, and Riley watched her settle into it with the restrained force of someone holding far more emotion than the room could comfortably contain.
Riley didn’t stare, but she noticed.
Security training had taught her long ago how to observe without making it obvious. Her attention tracked the Chief only briefly before returning to the PADD near her hands.
Still…
She knows.
The loss of Tomer had shaken the ship.
It had shaken Riley more than she had expected it would.
After all, she had been the one Captain Braggins had ordered to escort him to the Bridge. At the time it had seemed like a routine task—something any security officer might do without a second thought. Instead it had become the first moment since joining Starfleet where Riley truly felt like she had failed.
For a while there, she had nearly fallen apart over it.
Her fingers shifted slightly against the tabletop as the memory resurfaced. What had pulled her back from that spiral hadn’t been a speech from a superior officer or some polished lesson about duty.
It had been T’Varen.
Her friend had arrived on the Yeager at exactly the right time—steady, quiet, and completely unwilling to let Riley bury herself in guilt. T’Varen hadn’t tried to soften the truth of what had happened. Vulcans rarely did.
Instead she had reminded Riley of the one thing that actually mattered.
You learn. You adjust. You move forward.
Riley inhaled slowly and let the breath out again as Art rose from her chair and crossed toward the replicator.
“Mint mocha latte.”
The drink materialized, and Riley allowed the faintest hint of a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth before she looked back down at the PADD.
Comfort drink.
She understood the concept.
When Art returned to the table, Riley lifted her eyes again briefly. The tension in the Chief’s posture hadn’t vanished, but the sharpest edge of it had softened slightly.
Their eyes met for only a moment.
Riley didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t her place to.
But the look she gave her department head was steady and calm, her expression softening just enough to carry the message without a single word.
I understand.
After a second, Riley inclined her head the barest fraction before letting her attention drift back toward the center of the table.
The Captain still hadn’t arrived, which meant the briefing hadn’t technically begun yet. Until then Riley settled back into quiet attentiveness, posture composed, gaze occasionally moving between the officers gathered around the table.
Listening.
Watching.
And doing what every junior officer eventually learned to do in a room full of senior staff.
Staying aware of the emotional weather.