The stars above don’t care. They just burn on, indifferent and endless.
I sink to the tarmac, back against the cold hull.
Nova’s face keeps flashing through my mind.
The look she wore when I said she killed me.
The way she didn’t chase me.
Gods, Swan.
All that light, and now just ash.
I press my forehead to my knees.
And breathe.
If I don’t move, maybe the guilt won’t catch up.
But I know it already has.
CHAPTER 26
NOVA
The quarters feel too still.
Like the air itself knows something’s missing and refuses to move in its absence. My boots sit by the door, untouched. The tea I made yesterday is still sitting cold on the table, the lemon slice dried and curling at the edges. I haven’t touched it. I haven’t touched anything.
I don't sleep. I just lie there.
The memorial came and went in a blur of speeches and flags. Swan’s name etched in metal, sharp and sterile. He deserved more. Deserved laughter and beer and one of those garbage ballads he loved to belt after too many drinks. Instead, they folded his flight jacket like that was supposed to mean something and handed it to a squadmate who didn’t even know which hand Swan wrote with.
And Kaz, he's gone.
Not dead. But gone in a way that makes every breath feel like betrayal.
The door console pings. A file access request, another denial stamp. I’ve sent three now. All blocked. His reassignment is black box level, locked down so tight I can’t even confirm whatsector he’s in. I file again under a different clearance code. Denied. Again.
I stare at the screen until my vision blurs.
Then I press my palm to the terminal and whisper, “You coward.”
But I don’t know if I mean him.
The hangar’s quiet this time of morning. Just the hiss of coolant lines and the distant clang of tools echoing from the far bays. No one sees me as I walk the perimeter. No one stops me.
I pause by Bay 9.
Kaz’s old craft still sits there. Not decommissioned. Just waiting.
His nameplate’s gone.
I run a hand along the side of the hull. The skin of the ship feels cold. Wrong.
“Why did you leave?” I murmur. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
My voice barely echoes. The silence swallows it whole.
