29. Dayn
DAYN
I stand in the back of the observation bay, hands folded across my chest, as Josie leans into the hololink projection before her.
The lecture hall floats in ethereal light, a holographic panorama of student faces scattered across Novaria Academy, but everything else dims out for my gaze—because she’s not just lecturing; she’s teaching with a wrench in one hand and a coolant regulator in the other.
I hear the hiss of steam and feel a current of warm air even from here.
Her voice threads through it—sharp, melodic, intoxicating:
“Now, when thermal oscillations trigger a coolant spike, you have to override the manual servo with a harmonic pulse. Like this…”
In that moment, she’s toggling a panel while shifting hips to balance on a ladder, her utility belt swinging low.
She glances over her shoulder at me briefly, and I catch the gleam in her eye before she flicks the coolant back into steady flow.
She’s chaos incarnate—and still, somehow, every bit my salvation.
A grin quivers across my face. The galaxy hasn’t grown less dangerous.
If anything, it’s a nest of hornets. But we’ve made a dent.
She’s using our fight to train the next generation.
And as she speaks, I’m struck again by the alchemy of us—me, once a weapon with no anchor, now watching my wife mold futures with the same hands that once carved through combat armor.
Her lecture wraps, and holographic screens blink off, students exchanging thumbs-up and cheerful emojis. She straightens her composure, brushes grease from her forearm, and with signature grace bows.
I join her as the feed fades, walking down the short set of stairs to the cold metal floor she just mended. She meets me with a grin, and I thank her with a nod—no words needed. She pockets her tools in that familiar rhythm only I can read like Braille.
“Not bad,” I say—her voice low in my ear, quiet enough that only she can hear.
She elbows me playfully. “For a glorified knife-sharpener, you’re almost poetic.”
I shrug. “I keep pace.”
On the deck behind us, the Hellfighters hustle. Garrus is clearing supply crates to make room for evac gear and comm pods. Dowron leans over a datapad, obviously filling out mission specs.
Josie’s glow dimples a smile. “Warm up, hero—we’ve got a distress ping.”
As the alarm chime pulses through the hangar, I slide my combat pack onto one shoulder. My armored plating feels like a second skin again, but this time with purpose—this time, bound to someone who will step right through it for me.
Josie approaches Dowron, the hum of urgency buzzing between them. Dowron shifts the holo-comm display: coordinates at the very fringe of Vortaxian space. No planet name. Just a little dot and the words: “Unregistered colony - Distress.”
Josie’s eyes lock with me. “No one wants to own it.”
I know that look—she’s already deciding to bail me into whatever hell awaits. I nod wordlessly. Emotion boxes shut. Logic override. Only one answer applies:
“I’m in.”
She reaches for my pack—hooks a finger through the strap and gives it a soft tug. “Figures.”
Garrus hustles over. “Josie McClintock, Maverick of the multiverse, and Captain Assassins-At-Heart—again.” He smirks. “Have fun. Dowron wants a debrief on how fast we get roped into saving the unknown.”
She winks and steps closer, voice low only for me. “Let’s go rescue some misfits.”
I tuck a hand around her waist and kiss her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her utility belt beneath my fingers. “Always.”
We depart the hangar as the transport spins into life—a sleek composite shuttle with extra armor and thrusters primed for drop runs.
Inside, she’s already looping mission data—planetary sensors, suspected troop positions, unknown variables.
She bounces between each screen like she’s dancing, and I love that storm more than peace.
I strap in and lock my helmet into the console’s docking clip. She slides into her seat beside me, tools balanced on her thigh, eyes sparkling with adrenaline.
“All systems green,” she murmurs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
I reach over and squeeze her hand, warmth rushing through my gloved fingers straight to my chest. “Lounging on our honeymoon deck was nice too,” I tease.
She blows out a laugh, eyes warming. “Next one.”
The engines roar, doors seal shut, the gravity shift tangles our guts. As we lift off, headed toward a crisis on the edge of everyone’s map, I feel time unravel between us. Not because we’re separated, but because something bigger than either of us unfolds mere kilometers away.
This mission may not be the start of everything—that happened already, with a bolt and a proposal in the dark. But it's the next chapter: two people born from conflict, forging purpose and love above the void. We’re bonded by chaos. Kissed by destiny. And I—blade turned husband—am home.
I cup her cheek before we drop from hyperspace, voice firm with promise:
“I’ll keep you safe, no matter what..”
I feel the familiar jolt as the shuttle transitions into lightspeed, the trip-hammer of hyperspace humming through the floor and into my bones.
Beside me, Josie leans against the bulkhead, one arm slung across my chest. I glance at her, hair drifting weightless in the cabin’s artificial gravity, eyes bright with mischief.
She nudges me. “You realize we never had a honeymoon.”
I smirk, brushing my knuckle along her cheek. The movement cracks the tension in this sealed ship. “Wanna detour?” I ask, voice low, promising worlds on a razor’s edge.
Her grin curls wickedly. “Only if it involves danger and bad decisions.”
I laugh, deep and slow, because I know us. I clear my throat, tone shifting to playful self-seriousness. “So… course set for uncharted asteroid belt with amateur pirate activity?”
She cackles and nudges me with her knee, the hum of lightspeed around us paling beside the electricity in her eyes. “And maybe a spa day? Please, I’ve earned a spa day.”
I shake my head. “You’re a renegade engineer, you don’t do spa.”
“Well, I’m reformed now. And I’ll take a mud bath with you in a cave under a volcano.” She props her chin against my shoulder. “Deal?”
I press a soft kiss behind her jaw. “Deal,” I whisper.
The ship’s cabin dims into throbbing blue lines as hyperspace unfolds outside the viewport.
I feel the weight of possibility pressing in—political crises, unknown threats, alliances waiting to form.
But in this moment, all I need is right here.
Josie curled against me. My ring finger warm from hers. The soft cadence of her breath.
She sighs, long and content, and I follow each of her breaths like a tide drawing me closer. “We’ve been through hellfires and bureaucrats, Vortaxians and pseudo-pirates,” she murmurs. “But you know what?”
I shift to look at her, thumb tracing her jawline. “What’s that?” My voice deepens, soft with love.
Her lips part in that fierce smile. “You are the stupidest, toughest, most wonderful mistake I’ve ever made.”
Heat flares in my chest. “Sunshine rebel, meet growly assassin.”
She laughs again. “Best accessory I ever picked.”
I capture her mouth in a kiss—one that tastes of starborn dust and rebel adrenaline, tastes like this moment: unbreakable. We slide together and she hums against my chest—a tune I created back on Snowblossom, a lullaby of promise.
“Dayn,” she rasps when the world returns, “whatever’s next... we face it side by side?”
I shift to the forward station and rest my hand on the tactical rail, thumb brushing a carved insignia I added: two rings interlocked around a starburst. “Fated and chosen, Josie,” I say softly. “Forever.”
Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. She presses into me. “And, always, a detour.”
A signal pings from the comm console—Dowron’s voice crisp, clipped. “Edge of Vortaxian space. Coordinates inbound. Ops window opens in ten.”
She stands, determination ignited, eyes bright. Played out? Done? Not us. “That’s our cue,” she breathes.
I lean in, pressing my forehead to hers. “Together... again.”
We step into the control station as the shuttle hums through the void, the glow of hyperspace receding at the destination jump. The future is wide open. A galaxy steeped in danger, hope, promise—and us.
Growly assassin and sunshine rebel, ringed in armor and composite fabric, fated and chosen and forever ready.
I slide the shuttle’s throttle forward, steering us into the unknown, trusting the girl at my side and the fire in my chest. And I mean it—this time, we’ll find time to breathe, laugh, maybe even spa, and wage wars worth fighting.
Because whatever comes next, we’ve already won. Together. eternity-long peace? Probably not. But this? This is real. And it's ours.