So I would maintain this distance. I would be professional, respectful, the leader the universe needed me to be.
It would cost me. I could feel that already, like a weight settling into my bones. But it was the only honorable choice.
I turned my eyes back to the reports and forced myself not to feel the way my heart reached toward him anyway.
The compartment was small. Too small. The table between us felt like both a barrier and a mockery of one.
Cullen sat across from me, reviewing his own data. The way he frowned slightly when he concentrated. The strength in his hands as he swiped through reports. The faint scar along his left temple—a souvenir from his military days. The warmth that seemed to radiate from him even in the recycled air of the ship.
He looked up suddenly, catching me mid-stare.
For a moment, neither of us moved. His gray-green eyes held mine, and I felt the familiar heat rise in my chest—that dangerous pull I'd been fighting since the funeral. Since before the funeral, if I was honest with myself.
"Serna," he said quietly, and my name in his voice sounded like a question. Like an invitation.
I looked back at my reports, but the words blurred together. "The outer territories are showing increased activity. We should review the patrol patterns."
"Right. Yes." He cleared his throat and returned to his own data, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hand moved more deliberately across the display.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything unsaid. Hours remained until we reached Calpa. Hours of this proximity, this awareness, this constant battle between what I wanted and what duty demanded.
The ship jerked violently.
My reports scattered as I grabbed the edge of the table, my warrior instincts flaring to life. "Kalipuk, report!"
"Massive frigate just emerged from hyperspace!" His voice was tight with controlled urgency. "They're targeting us—weapons hot!"
The ship lurched again, harder this time, and I heard the sickening sound of energy weapons impacting our shields. Thelights flickered. Cullen was already on his feet, moving toward the cockpit with the fluid grace of a trained soldier.
"Evasive maneuvers," I commanded, following him. "Get us out of firing range."
Through the viewport, I caught a glimpse of our attacker—a massive warship, easily ten times our size, bristling with weapons arrays. Its hull was dark, unmarked. No Alliance insignia. No identifying markers at all.
Pirates? Mercenaries? Or something worse?
Kalipuk's hands flew across the controls, and the ship banked hard to starboard. The inertial dampeners struggled to compensate, and I felt the g-forces press against my chest. Another impact rocked us, and warning klaxons began to wail.
"Shields at sixty percent," Kalipuk reported. "They're faster than they should be for a ship that size."
"Can we outrun them?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Not in open space. But if I can get us into that asteroid field—" He gestured toward the viewport, where a dense cluster of tumbling rocks loomed ahead. "—I might be able to lose them."
"Do it."
The ship dove toward the asteroid field, and suddenly we were threading through a maze of spinning rock and ice. Kalipuk's piloting was extraordinary—he anticipated every trajectory, every collision, weaving through gaps that seemed impossibly narrow. The frigate followed, its weapons fire lighting up the asteroids around us in brilliant explosions of superheated debris.
"Damn, he's good," Cullen muttered, gripping the back of Kalipuk's seat as the ship rolled to avoid a particularly large asteroid. "Reminds me of Navy dogfighters back on Earth."
I glanced at him. "Dogfighters?"
"Old term—goes back to atmospheric combat with fighter jets. Pilots who could outmaneuver anything, turn on a dime, make their aircraft dance." He watched Kalipuk with obvious respect. "Takes nerves of steel and reflexes most people don't have."
Another impact, this one harder. The ship shuddered, and I heard something crack deep in the hull. Sparks erupted from a control panel, and Kalipuk cursed in his native tongue.
"Shields down to thirty percent. Hull breach in the aft compartment—sealed, but we're losing atmosphere. They're still on us. I can't shake them."
I made the decision in an instant. "Hyperjump. Now."
