Page 73 of Alien’s Retrieved Mate

"Always." The word carried the harmonic — the sub-vocal resonance she had once described as a bass note in a chord, something she could feel in her sternum. She claimed it was her favorite sound in the galaxy. She had ranked it above thunderstorms, coffee grinders, and the specific crunch of boots on archaeological gravel.

She turned. The starlight from the viewport lit her from behind. Her hair was longer now, healthy and loose around her shoulders. She was wearing my robe because hers was "too Valorian" and mine was "oversized in a comforting way." She had adapted to the station's gravity, which was slightly lighter than Earth's, and moved with a grace that she claimed was accidental but that came through the bond with a flicker of satisfaction attached.

She crossed to me. Settled into my arms with the ease of someone who had mapped every angle and hollow and knew exactly where she fit. My markings glowed against her skin through the robe.

"I have a briefing in the morning," I said. "The liaison post. A title long enough to embarrass me and a badge that opens no doors."

"I know."

"The Saurok slave trade still operates in the outer systems. I will be reading reports about it written by other people."

"I know that too." She looked up at me. "Is that why you're staring? Missing the field?"

"I do not miss the field."

"You absolutely miss the field. Your markings get this specific pulse pattern when you're lying to me about it. I've been cataloging it."

She had been cataloging my markings. She had a notebook, an actual physical notebook, a gift from Zhara, where she documented the patterns, the responses, the variations. She was studying me the way she studied ruins. With wonder and precision and an unshakeable conviction that there was always more to discover.

There was one human phrase she had not yet said to me, and I felt its weight through the bond every day — she knew I did. I understood why she held it. Every large thing in her new life had arrived on someone else's clock: the abduction, the crash, a wedding scheduled by a slaver's attack. This one word she was keeping for herself, to give in her own time, unextracted. The bond had never once mistaken the waiting for absence.

"I have something for you," I said.

"If it's another emergency ration bar, our marriage is over."

I reached behind me and produced a small container. Valorian design, simple, elegant. I'd had it made by the station's artisan — a Chelani craftsman who worked with metal and stone.

She opened it. Inside, resting on dark fabric, was a ring.

It was not traditional Valorian work. A band of dark metal held the same red-black stone as the Kethari ruins on Zha'kari, set with a small crystal that glowed faintly blue. The same blue as my markings.

She stared at it. Her hand trembled.

"You said 'is there a ring,'" I said. "When I asked you to bond with me. I did not know what you meant at the time. Zhara explained — out of that black-market Earth archive of hers. On your planet, a ring is given to signify a bond."

"Kel..."

"The stone is from Zha'kari. An offcut the survey team set aside and released to me — nothing taken from the ruins themselves. You would have checked." A pause. "The same formation as the stepping stones. The crystal is Valorian resonance glass. It glows near a Valorian in active resonance. It will always glow near me."

She was crying. Full, open tears running down her face. Not the kind she hid. The kind she let happen because some things were too big to hold.

"You had the survey team set it aside for you," she whispered. "You found me a piece without taking an artifact."

"You found something remarkable there. Something that mattered to you before any of this — the bond, the politics, the galaxy. I wanted you to carry that with you."

She pulled the ring from the container. Slid it onto her finger. The crystal glowed, soft and steady, responding to my resonance. She held her hand up, watching the light.

"It matches your markings," she said.

"That was the intent."

She lowered her hand and looked at me instead of the ring.

"I'm going to say something, and I need you to not be tactical about it."

"I will attempt restraint."

"I love you." No deflection in front of it. None behind it. "I told myself once I should get to say that out loud. In my own time, in my own words. So — my words. I love you. And my biology had nothing to do with it."