Chapter 6 Vael
VAEL
The file’s wrong.
I know it the second I read it.
Medical history scrubbed clean, deployment records like swissed rations — all holes and no meat.
They left the shape of her, sure, but not the truth.
And the Alliance thinks I won’t notice?
They must think the damage scrambled me worse than I let on.
I scroll through the logs again, jaw clenched. Every timestamp’s too neat. Every commendation reads like it was lifted from a recruitment brochure. There’s no dirt. No blood. No mention of Luria.
And yet…
She’s here.
Rooted.
The staff move around her like moons to a planet — familiar, constant, deferential. She walks these halls like they’re home.
And you don’t get that from a four-year posting.
You get that from building something.
Or hiding in it.
I slam the datapad against my thigh. Pain flares where synthetic meets skin.
Good.
Keeps me sharp.
The damn rehab unit’s colder than usual. Or maybe it’s just me. Either way, I’m on edge by the time she walks in.
Rynn.
In that slate-gray medcoat with her hair pulled back too tight, like it might hold her together.
Her eyes flick over the readouts, barely meeting mine.
“Vitals are steady. Neural response within expected range,” she mutters. “Let’s start with postural re-integration.”
I grunt. “Didn’t we already do this?”
“You skipped yesterday’s session.”
“Wasn’t in the mood to play marionette.”
She sighs, not even trying to hide the frustration. “It’s not optional, Vael.”
“Funny how nothing ever is with you.”
That gets her attention. Her jaw ticks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I push off the cot. My body protests, but I force it to move — step by step. She watches me, arms crossed, eyes tracking every motion like a hawk.
“It means,” I say, stretching just enough to emphasize the point, “you’re real good at orders. At controlling every little variable.”
She glares. “You’re going to tear your subclavian linkage if you keep posturing like that.”
“Maybe I want it to tear.”
“Why? So you can avoid answers?”
That stops us both.
My breath comes hot. Her shoulders square like she’s ready for war.
We’ve circled each other for days, but now we’re both tired of dancing.
“I read your file,” I say quietly.
Her face pales. Just a flicker. But it’s enough.
“It’s full of gaps. Like someone scrubbed it with a scalpel.”
She turns away, starts adjusting a diagnostic panel. “You shouldn’t have access to that.”
“But I do. Why would the Alliance redact a war medic’s record unless they’re hiding something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’re covering their own asses.”
“Are you?”
Her fingers pause over the panel. Then slowly curl into fists.
I take a step closer. The air between us sizzles. I swear I can hear the hum of her breath — ragged and sharp.
“You’re lying to me, Rynn,” I say, low and certain.
“And you think this—” she spins, pointing to the half-metal mess I’ve become “—entitles you to answers?”
“No. But the way you look at me does.”
She flinches.
I close the distance. One step. Two.
She doesn’t back away.
“Tell me what happened after Luria.”
“I already told you—”
“No,” I cut in. “You talked around it. You never said why you disappeared. You never said why your deployment logs end the month I went dark. You never said—”
“Because I couldn’t,” she spits, voice cracking. “Because saying it out loud makes it real.”
I stop breathing.
She’s shaking.
And so am I.
The silence wraps around us, suffocating and thick.
I reach out — not roughly, not like a soldier — and my hand finds her wrist. Her skin is warm. Too warm.
She jerks, but doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t do this,” she whispers.
“Then tell me the truth.”
“I can’t.”
But before I can speak, she wrenches her arm free and storms toward the door.
She pauses on the threshold. “Stop looking, Vael. For both our sakes.”
Then she’s gone.
And I’m left shaking.
Not with rage.
Not with pain.
With something I haven’t felt since the day I lost her.
Hope.