Chapter 8 Vael
VAEL
Iwake with the taste of her still clinging to my mouth.
Not in some poetic, flowery way. No — it’s real.
Tangy-sweet and storm-slick. The kind of kiss you don’t forget, even if your brain's been half-replaced with cybernetic stabilizers.
I lie still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the medbay ceiling that always smells faintly of disinfectant and recycled air.
But this morning, it smells like her. Like charged ions and cinnamon tea and that goddamn citrus balm she used to keep in the pocket of her scrubs.
I sit up, slow. My ribs grind in protest, the cyber-frame humming low under my skin. I ignore the pain. I’ve ignored worse.
It’s not the pain that drives me wild this morning. It’s her silence.
She ran. Again. Just like five years ago.
Only this time, she left a fire behind her, and it’s still burning in my veins.
I get dressed in jerky, angry motions — half torn between the urge to hunt her down or to pound the wall again until I’ve vented this tension. I settle for walking. Not pacing. Not limping. Just moving, like my body might forget what my mouth tasted last night.
It doesn’t.
When I get to the diagnostics wing, she’s already there.
She’s early.
Standing behind a console with her medcoat buttoned all the way to her throat, shoulders stiff, eyes on a datapad. She doesn’t even flick a glance my way when I walk in.
Cold air snakes down my back. Not from the room. From her.
"Morning," I say, voice low. Too calm. Controlled like a scalpel.
She doesn’t look up. “Vitals are steady. We’ll start with balance testing.”
“That’s all I get?” I take another step toward her. “No hello? No side-eye? No guilt?”
She clicks through tabs on the console like I’m a glitch in her program. “This isn’t personal, Commander. We’re here to track your rehabilitation. Not... whatever that was.”
My jaw flexes. “Whatever that was?”
She finally looks up, and damn if her eyes don’t slice straight through me like old times. “Yes. Last night was a lapse in judgment. For both of us.”
I blink at her. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
She doesn’t answer. Just sets the pad down with a little too much force.
I cross the space between us in two strides. “You made love to me like a woman who’s been starving for years, Rynn.”
She flinches. Not enough for most to notice — but I see it. Feel it. In my bones.
“You think I imagined that?” I ask, quieter now, low and rough like gravel.
She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, then lifts her chin. “You were emotional. Still disoriented from the sedatives. I should’ve kept it professional.”
I stare at her. “Professional? You kissed me like your life depended on it.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she snaps.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her eyes narrow. “You think you know me, Vael?”
“I do know you.” I don’t yell. I never need to. I let my voice drop, like the weight of it will carry the truth. “I know how you breathe when you lie. I know the way your hands tremble when you’re terrified. And I know last night wasn’t some ‘lapse in judgment.’”
“I made love to a memory,” she whispers, her voice breaking around the edges. “Not you.”
My heart stops for half a beat.
Then I close the last bit of distance between us, my breath ghosting over her cheek. “That’s a damn lie, and you know it.”
She exhales sharply, backing up until she hits the edge of the console behind her.
I cage her there, not touching, not trapping — but close enough she has to feel it too. The electricity. The unresolved war still thrumming between our bodies.
“You’re hiding something,” I say, not accusing. Just… sure. Like gravity. Like truth.
“I’m protecting something,” she shoots back instantly.
“From me?”
She hesitates.
That pause? That silence? It’s not denial.
And it kills me.
“You still think I’m a threat,” I say, stepping back like her answer physically knocked me off-balance.
“I don’t know what you are anymore,” she says, hugging her arms around herself like she’s trying to hold herself together. “You come back from the dead, half-machine, half-fury, with questions I can’t answer and eyes that—”
“What? That see you?” I snarl. “That remember what we were before you vanished without a damn word?”
Her lip trembles. She turns away. “This isn’t fair.”
“No, it’s not,” I say. “But it’s real.”
“I can’t do this, Vael.”
“You already did.”
She spins on me. Her fists clenched. Her cheeks flush with a furious red. “It was a mistake.”
“No. It was you. Finally being honest. Just for one godsdamned second.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I soften. Just a hair. “Then make it simple. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”
Her voice is barely audible. “Losing everything.”
I step closer again, gently this time. “You already lost me once. And I lost you. What’s left to protect if we keep pretending none of it matters?”
She looks at me like she wants to scream and sob all at once.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not just my secret anymore.”
And there it is.
I freeze. Something shifts. Heavy. Immense.
Not just her secret.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
She shakes her head, eyes shimmering. “Don’t push me, Vael. Please.”
I take another step back. My mouth tastes like copper.
“You’re a better liar when you’re not crying,” I mutter, barely loud enough for her to hear.
She gasps.
And I leave.
Because if I stay, I’ll do something stupid. Again. Like kiss her back. Or beg.
Or worse — tell her that I’d forgive her for anything.