“Kaz?”
I lift the manual. “Thought I should return this before you mark it as MIA.”
She doesn’t move. Just studies me like she’s trying to read the fine print of my thoughts. Her eyes soften—not enough to make me bold, but enough to make me stay.
“It’s late,” she says.
I nod. “I know.”
Another beat.
Then she steps aside. “You want a drink?”
“Only if it’s lemonade.”
That earns the tiniest huff of amusement. Not quite a laugh, but close. She disappears into the small kitchen alcove, and I step inside.
Her quarters are clean, but not spotless. Lived-in. A stack of training reports on the corner of the desk. A sweater draped over the back of the couch. Her boots kicked off haphazardly near the door like she couldn’t be bothered to line them up for once.
I close the door behind me, and the hush gets deeper.
“Real lemons this time,” she calls. “Well… reconstituted real. Alliance budget doesn’t cover Earth citrus.”
“I’ll pretend,” I say, taking a seat on the edge of her couch. “I’m good at pretending.”
She comes back with two glasses, sets one in front of me. Sits opposite, legs crossed under her. Her foot brushes mine. Bare skin. Warm. Unintentional—or maybe not.
I take a sip. Tart, cold. Crisp.
“You always this hospitable to guys who lose bets and try to grope you on your porch?”
Her eyebrow arches. “Only the ones who come back anyway.”
That lands deeper than it should. I lean back, letting the glass dangle from my fingers.
“I meant what I said that day. About keeping my word.”
“And what exactly do you think you’re keeping now?”
I look at her. Really look.
She’s not guarded tonight. Or maybe she’s just tired of the armor.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I just know I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me last night. Like I wasn’t just annoying. Like maybe you saw something worth… not walking away from.”
She doesn’t answer. Just studies me with those eyes that see too much.
Then softly, “Why do you keep coming back, Kaz?”
I don’t have a line ready. No smirk. No play.
“I used to chase flight because it was the only place I felt free. Out there, I didn’t have to be the loudest or the best—I just had to survive. But then I met you. And suddenly surviving didn’t feel like enough.”
She exhales, slow and shaky.
“I see you,” I say. “Not just the rank. Not the rules. You. The way you carry everything so carefully, like if you let one emotion loose, the whole thing will collapse. The way you pretend you don’t care but look after every cadet like they’re already part of your squad. The way you make me want to be better without saying a damn word.”
Nova sets her glass down with a precision that’s all control. Her eyes flick to mine, guarded and gleaming in the low light of her quarters.
