Chapter 65
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
This transport pod is hauntingly familiar.
Roktusians don’t use them for everyday travel, but I suppose they must condone flying for serious business, like emergencies—and Selecting omegas.
I glance around the snug interior, noting the way the seats are arranged.
It might not be the exact one Norabi and Rask had the day I arrived, but it looks the same.
I’d thought I was unconscious for that trip, but hazy memories drift back to me as our pilot hurtles us over Rholoko.
Did Rask really hold me the whole way home?
Was he purring to help me sleep so I wouldn’t be afraid?
How did I not see all of this before?
I’m not sure, but there isn’t any time to figure it out. Cylus is tense beside me, his body stiff under his own black-metal breastplate. I’ve never seen him wear one before, but he snapped it on before we got on the transport, along with his usual healers’ belt.
He listens to the transmissions rolling in over their alien equivalent of a radio. It’s in a mix of Galactician and Roktusian that’s hard for me to keep up with, so when he releases a deep breath, I raise my eyebrows.
“The shots we saw falling from the sky are not enemy blasts,” he says, slow and careful.
Too careful.
“That… sounds like good news?”
He shifts in his seat, expression grimmer than ever. “They were not enemy blasts—they were debris. From Rask’s ship.”
Debris.
Rask’s ship.
In pieces.
Falling from the sky.
“We should turn back,” Cylus decides. “Return to the palace to wait for Zolkan.”
Numb urgency clamors through me. “No,” I reply, toneless. “I want to see.”
I would know if he was dead.
I would know.
“Sofi,” my mate starts, clasping my hand. “My heart—”
“No,” I repeat, stronger. “I need to see him.”
Dead or alive.
Because either way? He’s mine.