“Brave or stupid—the line is thinner than people think.” She rose on her toes and kissed him, soft and brief. “I’m not asking you to choose right now. I’m not asking you to give up the Vault or make promises you can’t keep. I’m just asking you to be honest with me. With yourself.”
“Athtar said something similar.”
“Then maybe you should listen.”
He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like the soap from Athtar and Faith’s guest quarters, clean and floral and nothing like the sterile recycled air of a starship. He wanted to bottle that scent, carry it with him always.
“I’m trying,” he said into her hair. “I know I’m not good at this. At feelings, at relationships, at anything that requires actually trusting another person. But I’m trying.”
“That’s enough.” Her arms tightened around him. “For now, that’s enough.”
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other while Ari slept peacefully nearby. The ship hummed around them, waiting.
Finally, he pulled back. “We should go. The longer we stay, the harder it is to leave.”
“Is it? Hard to leave?”
He thought about Faith’s warm hospitality and Athtar’s rough friendship, about Laella’s endless questions and the peacefulrhythm of life on Sherae. About what it might be like to stop running, to let this be home.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Harder than I expected.”
She squeezed his hand. “Then let’s go before you change your mind.”
The cockpit of theVagabondhad always been his sanctuary. He’d spent countless hours here, running through hyperspace, evading pursuit, and calculating routes to places that existed only in legends. The pilot’s chair knew the shape of his body; the controls responded to his touch like extensions of himself.
But today, everything felt different.
Emma sat in the co-pilot’s seat, Ari secure in a carrier strapped to her chest. She was watching the viewport with wide eyes as he guided the ship up from the docking bay.
“Hold on,” he said, and pushed the engines to full.
TheVagabondshot free of the cliff and Emma gasped, clutching the armrest with one hand while the other cradled Ari protectively. The baby, predictably, seemed delighted—gurgling with excitement at the sudden acceleration.
The ocean fell away beneath them, vast and endless and impossibly blue, dotted with the scattered pink islands that made up most of Sherae’s landmass.
“Atmosphere in thirty seconds,” he reported, his eyes on the instruments. “Then we’re clear for hyperspace.”
“Already?” She twisted in her seat, looking back towards the planet. “Shouldn’t we... I don’t know, say goodbye properly?”
“We said goodbye. Multiple times.” But he understood what she meant. There was something final about watching a planet shrink in the rear viewport, about knowing you might never return.
Sherae dwindled behind them—blue and pink and beautiful, a sanctuary in a galaxy that had precious few of them. He watched it go and felt something twist in his chest.
You could stay,a voice whispered in his mind.You could give up the search, settle down, build the life Athtar found.
But even as the thought formed, he knew it wasn’t true. Not yet. Maybe not ever. The pull of the unknown was too strong, the need to prove himself too deeply rooted. He wasn’t ready to stop running.
He just hoped he didn’t run away from everything that mattered in the process.
“Entering hyperspace,” he announced, and pulled the lever.
The stars stretched into lines, and Sherae vanished. He immediately began entering their destination coordinates into the navigation computer.
The first point on Faith’s star map was a system in Syndicate territory. Not ideal, but not impossible. He had done business with the Syndicate before, and he knew how to move through their space without attracting too much attention. As long as they kept their heads down and didn’t stay too long, they should be fine.
Shouldbeing the operative word.
“Where exactly are we going?” Emma had relaxed now that they were in hyperspace, leaning back in her seat while Ari dozed against her chest.
