I don’t yell. I don’t need to. The quiet is sharper.
She takes a step forward. “Kaz, listen?—”
“I did.” My voice shakes, low and guttural. “I listened every damn time you said I was worth believing in. Every time you looked at me like I wasn’t just some name on a roster.”
“I had to,” she says. “You don’t understand what they?—”
“Don’t,” I bite out. “Don’t make this sound noble.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry. Of course she doesn’t. Nova never cracks where anyone can see it.
“I was trying to save you,” she says softly.
I laugh. It comes out like a snarl. “Save me? You buried me.”
“I couldn’t let them send you on that mission. It’s suicide, Kaz.”
“You think I didn’t know that?” My voice rises, raw. “You think I didn’t walk into that sim knowing exactly what it meant?”
Her hands shake now. “Then why?—”
“Because itmeant something!” I shout. “Because for once in my life, I wasn’t running from something—I was flying toward it. Toward beingsomeone.”
I take a step closer. The air between us hums with everything that should’ve been said weeks ago.
“You took that from me,” I whisper.
“I took a bullet you didn’t see coming.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
We stand there, breathing the same air, too close and too far all at once. I can smell the faint citrus from her shampoo, the same scent that clung to my skin for days after that night. It twists the knife deeper.
Her voice cracks. “Kaz…”
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
She tries again. “Please?—”
“Don’t,” I repeat, quieter now. “You can’t fix this.”
Her lips press together, trembling with everything she won’t say.
I look at her one last time.
And gods help me, even now—after everything—I still want to touch her. Still want to believe she did it out of love. Still want to forgive her.
But I can’t.
So I turn and walk away.
She calls my name once.
I don’t look back.
That night, I sit on my bunk, the datapad still on the table beside me. The official seal stares back at me, cold and final.
The reassignment request is half-filled on my console.
