“I said no.” She met his gaze steadily. “We’re in this together. You don’t get to protect me by running off into danger alone.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are. It’s exactly what you’re doing.” She shifted Ari to one arm, reaching out to touch his face with her free hand. “I understand the instinct. I do. But you can’t ask me to leave you here, not knowing if you’re alive or dead, not knowing if I’ll ever see you again.”
His expression softened, but the stubborn set of his jaw remained. “If something happens to me, Ari still needs to be protected. She’s the priority.”
“You’re a priority too. To me.” Her throat tightened. “I can’t... I won’t...”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. The words tangled together, weighted down by all the fear and hope and love she didn’t know how to express.
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
“Okay,” he said softly. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
The tension in her chest eased slightly. She knew it wasn’t really a resolution—they’d argue about this again, probably many times—but for now, it was enough.
“Twenty minutes?” she asked.
“Give or take.” He pulled back, his hand lingering on her cheek. “Enough time for one more lesson, if you want.”
“Always.”
He smiled, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “Alright. Show me what you learned yesterday.”
She reached for the nearest data pad, pulling up her practice exercises. She’d been working on reading basic information like signs and directions, the kind of phrases that would help her navigate without having to ask for help.
“Food market,” she read aloud, sounding out each symbol. “Tailor. Sanitary facility. I can’t remember this symbol.”
“Information,” he supplied.
“Right. Information.” She traced the symbol with her finger, committing it to memory. “Why is written Galactic Standard so different? The translation bug handles speech just fine, but reading is like learning a completely new language.”
“Because it is a completely new language. Written Standard was developed separately from any spoken tongue—it’s a visual system designed to transcend the differences between species. Some races communicate through clicks and whistles, others through subsonic vibrations, others through electromagnetic pulses. Written speech can’t be standardized across such diversity. But symbols...” He tapped the data pad. “Symbols can be understood by anyone with eyes. Or equivalent sensory organs.”
She absorbed this, fascinated despite herself. “So everyone in the galaxy learns to read the same way?”
“More or less, although every race has its own written language as well. But in Standard, the symbols have consistent meanings regardless of how you pronounce them. A Kajdari and a Hothian might say the same word completely differently, but they’d write it identically.”
“That’s actually brilliant.”
“The Precursors developed the original system. The modern version evolved from their texts.” His expression turned wry. “Another gift from our mysterious benefactors. Along with hyperspace technology, artificial gravity, and most of the medical advances we take for granted.”
“And the Vault.”
“And the Vault.” He glanced at the navigation display. “Which brings us back to our current destination. Ten minutes.”
She set aside the data pad, her attention shifting to the viewport. The swirling lights of hyperspace were beginning to change, the patterns becoming more chaotic as they approached the exit point.
“What do we do if there’s nothing there?” she asked. “If the Key is gone, or if there never was one?”
“Then we try the next point on the map. And the next. And the next.” His voice was carefully neutral, but she could hear the undercurrent of determination and something else. Desperation, maybe. The obsession that Athtar had warned about.
“And if they’re all empty?”
