I read it three times before tucking it inside the locket again.
This time, it stays.
Right next to my skin.
Where it belongs.
CHAPTER 25
KAZ
Idon’t say goodbye.
Can’t. Don’t know how to shape the words without choking on them.
Swan’s sitting on the edge of his launch kit, hands laced behind his head like he’s sunbathing instead of about to pilot a one-way drop. His feet bounce off the floor like there’s a rhythm only he can hear. Like the world hasn’t shifted out from under both of us.
“You gonna stand there all grim-faced, or do I get a send-off line?” he asks, not even looking at me.
I try to swallow. It sticks.
“You sure you want a joke?” I say, voice dry. “Could go out with something poetic.”
“Please don’t. If I gotta die, I’d like it to happen without hearing your tragic metaphors.”
He grins. But I can see it now—how pale he looks under the light. How tightly he’s gripping the fabric at his knees. His usual chill vibe’s wearing thin around the edges.
“I should be in that seat,” I mutter.
He finally looks at me. Eyes steady. Clear.
“And yet, here I am.”
I can’t look away from the ship behind him. The way it hums like it’s holding its breath.
“I’m sorry.” It slips out.
Swan stands. Walks over. Claps a hand to my shoulder so hard I sway.
“Don’t be. Just…” He exhales, smile faltering. “Don’t waste this. Live something worth the trade.”
And then he’s gone.
The room’s dead silent.
The mission stream plays across every surface of the observation gallery. I’m standing at the back, shoulders pressed to the wall like it might hold me together.
Nova sits up in the tower. I see her silhouette, sharp against the console light. She hasn’t moved since launch.
I don’t think she’s blinked.
Swan’s voice crackles through the speakers, casual like always. Calling out trajectory markers. Running diagnostics like it’s a drill.
Then silence.
He reaches the satellite.
Charges deploy. They stick.
