Page 297 of Reaper Said Mine

"Terrifying."

"It should be."

His laughter rumbles beneath my cheek.

I smile.

The sound follows me into the quiet, into the warmth, into the fragile peace we've fought so hard to reclaim.

I allow myself to believe we might actually have a future waiting on the other side of the war. The danger hasn't disappeared, and victory remains uncertain. Yet as I listen to his heartbeat beneath my ear and feel the steady pulse of the bond between us, hope no longer feels foolish.

Neither of us intends to let it go.

CHAPTER 36

GNASH

The war refuses to wait for recovered ribs, repaired ships, or healed hearts.

Three days after bringing Ursa back to Guyver Station, I stand once more in the command center while another casualty report scrolls across the tactical display.

The room smells of hot circuitry, stale caf, and exhausted people. Outside the viewport, Guyver hangs suspended amid a forest of warships. Coalition shields still cover the civilian corridors. Alliance observation groups continue hovering near the Trask Fold. Combine patrols lurk along the edges of disputed space like predators pretending they are merely curious.

The shooting has slowed, but casualty reports continue to arrive every day.

Krell finishes reading the latest report and lowers his datapad.

"Bravax confirmed another fourteen deaths from radiation exposure."

The words settle heavily across the room. No one speaks immediately because there is nothing useful to say.

Fourteen more dead from the aftermath of war.

I stare at the casualty list. Names, ages, and occupations fill the display: a mechanic, a hydroponics worker, a school administrator, and two children.

Always children.

My stomach twists.

I ask, "Medical shortages?"

Krell nods. "Partially. Infrastructure damage too."

The names remain on the screen. The dead are stubborn that way.

A soft chime sounds from the command center entrance, and I turn to see Ursa step through the doorway.

The bruising along her face has faded somewhat. Her shoulder remains bandaged beneath civilian clothes. She moves carefully, though not carefully enough to satisfy the medical staff constantly attempting to imprison her in recovery.

She carries three datapads.

That immediately catches my attention, and apparently Skahar's as well.

"Oh good," Skahar mutters.

Ursa arches a brow. "What does that mean?"

Skahar gestures toward the datapads. "It means every time you carry more than one datapad, governments become nervous."