They rush in, a swarm of white and silver uniforms, scanners and stretchers and equipment spilling around me.
I hold his hand the whole time.
I don’t let go.
Two hours later, I sit beside his med bed in a room dimly lit by the soft glow of Dar’s starscape lamp.
Kaz is patched up now—chest wrapped, left leg braced, half his body buried in sensor pads and auto-repair gel. But he’s alive. His vitals are steady.
He’s alive.
The words loop in my head like a mantra.
“Hey,” comes a small voice behind me.
I turn.
Dar stands in the doorway in his footie pajamas, hair sleep-tousled, clutching his stuffed dragon by the wing.
“I heard him crash,” he says, solemn and sharp in the way only kids can be. “Is he broken?”
I lift my arms without thinking, and he climbs into my lap.
“No, starlight,” I whisper into his hair. “Just bruised.”
He studies Kaz’s face, so quiet it aches. Then, carefully, he slides down and pads across the floor to the bed.
He climbs up like a mountaineer—slow, determined—and curls onto Kaz’s uninjured side. Little hands rest gently on Kaz’s chest.
“You flew far,” Dar says softly.
Kaz’s eyes blink open again. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Guess I did.”
“No more wormholes,” Dar declares.
Kaz grunts. “Deal, co-pilot.”
And that’s it.
No fireworks.
No speeches.
Just us.
Together.
The Alliance will tear down the wormhole project. Stark’s being sent offworld under high security—his smug face erasedfrom every console like a bad dream. The base will shut down within the week, mothballed and buried under a hundred bureaucratic layers.
None of that matters now.
Kaz is here.
Dar is safe.
And the stars outside don’t feel like they’re waiting to devour me. They feel like home.
CHAPTER 51
