In the debrief, she tears into each of us methodically. When it’s my turn, she doesn’t hesitate.
“Cadet Ten. You’re flying like you’ve got something to prove. Which would be fine if we were grading ego instead of precision.”
I don’t rise to it. Not in front of the squad.
But afterward? I wait.
She’s alone, wiping down the holoslate, lips pursed. I step into her line of vision.
“You couldn’t even say hello?”
She freezes. Then, calmly, “You disappeared.”
“You made me.”
Now she looks at me. The cool cracks, just for a second. I see something flicker—hurt, maybe. Or fury.
“I saved your life.”
“And killed everything else,” I snap.
We’re too close now. Her breath is shallow. My jaw’s locked.
“I did what I had to do.” Her voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.
“You think I didn’t want to fight? For you? For us?”
“There is no us, Kaz.”
She moves to brush past me. I catch her wrist—gentle, but firm.
Her eyes lock on mine, molten and sharp. “Let go.”
“Nova—”
“Let. Go.”
I do.
She turns. Walks out. Door slams shut like a gunshot.
Later, I’m sprawled across my bunk with the lights dimmed low and a bottle open beside me. Cheap stuff from the supply room. Tastes like engine coolant, burns worse.
The silence isn’t empty—it’s loud as hell. The kind that presses against your skull, squeezes behind your eyes, makes you feel like screaming just to fill it.
I can’t stop picturing her. The way her voice cut through my comm. The precision of her critique. The glint of betrayal hiding behind those command-level eyes.
Eventually I pull out the encrypted data slate. I shouldn’t still have her eval files. But I do.
I scroll.
Her words are burned into the code like scars.
“Instinct unteachable. Heart unshakable. Reckless. Necessary.”
I run my thumb over the screen. Like touching it might make it real again. Like I might find her in those syllables.
My chest aches. Not with pain. With something worse—hope I didn’t ask for.
