“She’s so small,” she murmured. “So helpless. I can’t imagine what the Grorn want with her.”
“Power,” he said flatly. “The Keys aren’t just symbols. They’re biological components of a security system designed millennia ago. Without all seven present, the Vault remains sealed.”
“The Grorn want to open it, and you want to as well.”
It wasn’t an accusation, not exactly. But he heard the question beneath the words.
“I want to prevent them from opening it. But yes, I want to open it as well,” he said quietly. “The knowledge it contains... My mother used to tell me stories about her people. They were explorers. Scholars. They mapped the first hyperspace routes and cataloged more star systems than any other species.”
“And that history is in the Vault?”
“Some of it. Maybe all of it.” He looked away, uncomfortable with how much he was revealing. “It sounds foolish, Iknow. Chasing ancient history when there are more practical concerns.”
“It doesn’t sound foolish,” she said softly. “It sounds like you’re looking for where you come from.”
He’d never thought of it that way, never framed his obsession in such personal terms. But she was right, wasn’t she? He’d spent his entire life feeling like he didn’t belong—not Tajiri enough for his father’s people, not Markelian enough for his mother’s world. The Vault represented something more than treasure or power.
It represented answers.
“You’re dangerously perceptive for a human,” he said lightly, deflecting with humor. “I should be more careful around you.”
“Probably.” She smiled. “But I’m too tired to be dangerous right now.”
He glanced at the chrono display. They’d been awake for over twenty hours, and she looked ready to collapse. The circles under her eyes had darkened, and her movements had taken on the sluggish quality of exhaustion.
“You should sleep,” he said. “I can convert the bench seat into a bed. It’s not exactly luxury accommodations, but it should be comfortable enough.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take the pilot’s chair. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but exhaustion won out. She nodded, letting him help her transfer Ari to the drawer-bed before stepping back so he could work on the conversion.
The seat folded down easily, panels sliding and locking into place to create a flat, cushioned platform. He found a thermal blanket in the emergency supplies and spread it over the makeshift bed.
“Your accommodations, madam.” He gestured with an exaggerated flourish. “I apologize for the lack of room service.”
“I’ll manage.” She sat on the edge of the bed, testing the surface. “This is actually more comfortable than the bed in my first apartment.”
“Now you’re just being polite.”
“I’m really not.” She lay back, her dark hair spreading across the pillow-substitute he’d fashioned from spare fabric. “My apartment was terrible. But it was cheap, and that was what mattered.”
He should go back to the cockpit, settle into the pilot’s chair, and maintain an appropriate distance between them, but his feet refused to move.
“Well,” he said, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile, “if you get lonely, there’s technically room for two. Though I warn you, I’m told I’m a restless sleeper.”
He expected her to laugh and roll her eyes, responding with the same gentle mockery she’d deployed all evening. Instead, she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.
“Then stay.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“I—” He blinked, certain he’d misheard. “What?”
“Stay.” She shifted over, making room on the narrow bed. “I don’t... I don’t want to be alone right now. Is that stupid? It feels stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
