“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” His voice was soft with genuine affection.
She opened her mouth, closed it, and tried again. “She’s... certainly distinctive.”
“The exterior’s mostly cosmetic. It keeps people from looking too closely because they assume she’s just another piece of junk hauler.” He started down the ramp towards the ship, and she hurried after him. “Most pirates won’t bother with a target that doesn’t look valuable. And the customs officers tend to wave me through without inspection.”
“Because they don’t think you’re carrying anything worth checking?”
“Exactly.” He reached the main hatch and pressed his palm to a panel beside it. “But the inside...”
The hatch slid open with a smooth hiss, revealing an interior that made her stop dead in her tracks.
Where the outside was utilitarian and ugly, the inside was a riot of color and texture. Fabrics in every shade imaginable draped from the ceiling and covered the walls—silks and velvets and materials she couldn’t identify, patterned with swirling designs that seemed to shift in the low light. Cushions and pillows were heaped in every corner, creating cozy nooks that invited lounging. Shelves lined every available surface, crammed with objects that ranged from the clearly valuable—jeweled boxes, metallic sculptures, crystalline formations—to the seemingly random—a child’s toy, a dried flower, a fragment of stone covered in unfamiliar script.
“It’s like... a dragon’s hoard,” she breathed. “If the dragon had excellent taste.”
“I prefer to think of it as curated chaos.” He stepped inside, and lights flickered on as the ship recognized his presence. “Everything here has a story. Some I bought, some I found, some I... acquired through creative means.”
“Stole, you mean.”
“‘Stole’ is such an ugly word. I liberated them from owners who didn’t appreciate them.” He set Ari down in the midst of a pile of cushions, where she immediately began grabbing at the fringe on a nearby throw. “This one, for example—” He picked up a small golden figurine from a shelf. “—was sitting in a vault on Theron VII, completely ignored. The collector who owned it had hundreds just like it. He never even noticed it was gone.”
She moved through the space slowly, trailing her fingers over the soft fabrics. Despite the clutter, there was an underlying order to it—groupings that seemed to make sense, arrangements that pleased the eye. It felt less like a ship and more like a home.
“You’ve been collecting these for years,” she realized.
“As soon as I had my own ship.” He replaced the figurine and moved deeper into the ship, gesturing for her to follow. “After my mother died, I had nothing. Not even clothes that fit properly. I swore I’d never feel that empty again.”
The corridor opened into a second common area—a large space with a curved viewport looking out at the hangar, more cushions and blankets, and a cooking station that looked surprisingly well-equipped. Beyond it, she could see doors leading to other sections of the ship.
“Living quarters are that way.” Doren pointed. “Captain’s cabin, two guest quarters, and a space that could work as a nursery. The cargo hold takes up most of the lower level, and there’s a small medical bay in the back.”
“It’s bigger than I expected.”
“She’s a modified freighter. Originally designed to haul cargo across long distances, which means plenty of storage and comfortable accommodations for extended voyages.” He turned to face her, spreading his arms wide. “So? What do you think?”
She looked around the space, taking in the layers of collected treasures, the careful arrangements, the obvious care that had gone into making this metal shell into something warm and livable. She thought about Doren’s childhood, his mother’s death and his father’s rejection. All those years of accumulating beautiful things to fill the emptiness inside him.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that you’ve built yourself exactly the home you needed.”
A hint of surprise flashed across his face. “Most people just see the mess.”
“Most people aren’t looking properly.” She crossed to him, reaching up to straighten a fold in his collar that didn’t need straightening. “You’ve surrounded yourself with beauty and stories and things that matter to you. That’s not mess. That’s a life.”
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “You’re going to make me insufferable, you know. Saying things like that.”
“I thought you already were.”
“Ouch.” But he was smiling, that real smile that transformed his face from handsome to devastating. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”
He gave her the full tour—the cockpit with its panoramic viewport and advanced controls, the guest quarters that were small but comfortable, and the cargo hold that was currently filled with crates of what he called “mostly legitimate trade goods.” The final stop was the captain’s cabin.
The cabin was larger than she’d expected, dominated by a wide bed piled with more cushions and colorful textiles. The walls here were covered in star charts and handwritten notes, fragments of maps and lists of coordinates. It felt like the inside of someone’s mind—chaotic and brilliant and endlessly curious.
“This is where the magic happens,” he said, gesturing grandly.
“The magic being sleep?”
“Among other things.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she laughed despite herself.
