Engines rumble alive under me, a sound that settles in my spine like a war drum. I launch hard, cutting through the hangar exit like a blade. Nova’s fighter slips in beside me a second later, and just like that, we’re airborne.
Low orbit over Barakkus at night is a symphony of black and silver. Crater lakes shimmer like mercury under twin moons, mountain ridges slicing the sky into jagged patterns. We’re running tight formations, single-file then parallel, dipping through canyons of atmosphere and ice. She doesn’t say much. Just little corrections.
“Adjust yaw.”
“Too wide on your arc.”
“Throttle down three percent.”
I obey. For once, I don’t backtalk. Don’t try to showboat. Just fly.
And gods, it feels good.
There’s something about flying with her. The way she commands without barking. Guides without dragging. She trusts me to follow. And that trust? It’s worth more than any medal I’ve ever chased.
Thirty minutes in, we hit zero-G. A pocket of perfect drift above the equator where even gravity lets go. I let the controls float. My ship responds like an extension of my body—fluid, alive. Her fighter matches speed, nose to nose.
We just… hover. In silence.
I tap my comm. “You ever think about turning off your mic just to enjoy the quiet?”
Her chuckle is soft static. “That would assume I enjoy your company.”
“Ouch.” I tap my heart. “I’m bleeding out over here.”
Nova’s voice is gentler now. “You flew well tonight.”
“You expected me to crash and burn?”
“I expected you to turn it into a performance.”
“Would’ve, if you were watching from the bleachers.”
A long pause. Then she says, “Why did you really come to my quarters?”
I take a breath. The kind that feels heavier than it should. “Because I couldn’t sleep. Because I was thinking about that kiss. And you. And wondering why a girl who’s all alloy and command code got under my scales so damn fast.”
“That’s not a good reason,” she says, but her voice wavers. Just a bit.
“It’s the only one I’ve got,” I admit.
She doesn’t answer right away. Outside the canopy, stars drift like glitter in molasses. Beautiful. Indifferent.
“I get scared to fall,” I say.
“Everyone does.” Her voice is quiet. “You just have to do it anyway.”
I want to reach across the void between our ships, rip the canopy off, and kiss her again. Properly. Not because I’m trying to win. Not because she’s a challenge.
Because I’m already halfway gone.
Instead, I power up thrusters. “Goodnight, Nova.”
She doesn’t answer.
I peel away from her ship, carving a clean arc across the sky, afterburners trailing fire in my wake. The stars don’t look quite the same anymore. Like they’ve rearranged just to mock me.
I’m not flying to prove anything.
