She blinks. “I’ll try both—if you’ll show me your world first.” Her tone is playful. But I hear the weight behind it.
I grin—scarred, crooked. “Then tonight we’ll steal dessert from the kitchens.”
She laughs. Light, unexpected, and it loosens something dark in me. “You’d get kicked out for that.”
“Worth it.”
We walk side by side through the bioluminescent shrubs, quiet except for the soft hum of vines. I point to a glowing leaf. “On Vakut, flowers sing for mates. Light pulses in rhythm. But only to those… attuned.” I hesitate. “It’s awkward. A lot of misfires. Like broken songs.”
She turns to me. “Broken songs can be beautiful.”
I want to lean in. Smell her hair. Promise her I’m not what she fears. But the memory of night, of explosions, of tribunals, weighs me back.
We keep walking. She tells me about Earth food—the tang of summer berries, the snap of fresh bread crust, coffee strong enough to land a starship. I listen, surprised I know so little of the planet I live on now.
She asks about Vakutan mating rituals. I stammer through that, describing color shifts, pheromones, and awkward initiation dances. She laughs at my descriptions. I hate how much I like the sound of it.
We circle the garden path until we reach the gate. I’ve walked beside enough warriors, commanded legions, walked through fire and ash—and none have spoken to me like this. None have asked me to be more than armor.
Her hand brushes mine as we part. The air between us crackles. She freezes.
In the dark, I say softly, “If I were someone else—someone without your wars—would you look at me the way I look at you?”
She doesn’t answer. She steps through the gate. Her outline blurs in the glowing vines. I watch until she disappears.
That night, I don’t sleep. I dream of broken wings, of golden skin under human stars, of her voice pulling me out of ruin. I wake with my chest raw, heart still pounding, lungs tasting of moth wings and regrets.
And I want her. Not in fragments. As something real.
CHAPTER 5
JAELA
The corridor lights flicker as I step into the rehab wing, and I swear I can hear whispers twisting behind the hum of the life-support systems. My heels click against sterile tile. I feel eyes—dozens of them—trail the sway of my lab coat, the shadow of Kyldak’s return hanging over me like static.
In the corner, a tech nurse murmurs, “That’s the one.” Another leans in, an eyelash flicking me as I pass. I stiffen. My palms itch with professional armor.
I nearly walk into Commander Rolth’s office before he summons me in.
“Jaela,” he says, voice low. The blinds are drawn. The room smells of stale coffee and tension. “We need to talk about your assignment.” He ducks under the low light and waits until I close the door behind me.
I fold my arms. “We are talking.”
He sighs. “You know what people are saying.”
I don’t blink. “Rumor is the favorite pastime of those who can’t do their job.” I force it to sound like a joke.
Rolth leans back, shadows falling across his face. “This is real scrutiny. High-profile incidents. Veterans’ advocates watching. One misstep with your Vakutan patient and?—”
“And the program’s accused of favoritism? Of being reckless?” I finish for him. My throat tightens. I force a steady voice. “Don’t worry. I know the stakes.”
He studies me. “This is politics, Jaela. Your passion won’t save you. Your caution might. Don’t forget that.”
I drop my gaze. My throat tastes of pressure. “I won’t.”
He lets me go. The door slides shut behind me and I emerge into the buzzing wing, braced for whatever’s next.
In the therapy bay, Kyldak is already there—standing. Barely steady, butstanding. No stagger, no apology. He meets my eyes when I step in, and that look—they say everything unsaid. I press my lips into a thin line and mask it with business.
