Chapter 14 Vael
VAEL
She’s slipping.
Rynn used to be clinical. Methodical. The kind of medic who logged everything twice and triple-checked corridor exits before passing through.
But now… her rhythm’s off. She hesitates at doors. Her shoulders twitch with nerves. She’s bracing for something.
And not just from me.
Tonight, her pattern breaks completely.
No shift. No listed diagnostics. But she’s in the staff sector after hours, moving like she’s on a mission no one sanctioned.
I track her from the access catwalk, footsteps muffled by padded boots, every inch of my body tuned to stealth. I keep distance, using shadows, air vents, and my knowledge of the facility’s blueprint like second skin.
She doesn’t notice me. She’s focused. Hyper-focused.
She slips into the old maintenance corridor behind the hydroprocessor plant — where security cams are spotty and signal strength drops. The air back here smells like old metal and disuse.
That’s when I see it.
A wall panel. Out of place.
She presses her hand against a barely visible seam, and the panel slides open with a faint hiss. She glances over her shoulder once — not enough to catch me in the dark — then ducks inside.
I count to thirty.
Then follow.
The compartment is small. A retrofitted supply closet maybe, long since written off the station's schematics.
Inside, she’s kneeling next to a crate. A soft solar lantern casts a low amber glow, spilling over her profile. Her hair’s tied back in a quick knot, and her shoulders sag with exhaustion.
But it’s not the medkits she’s sorting through that freeze my blood.
It’s the drawings.
Laid out like they matter more than the gear.
Bright, clumsy sketches. The kind only small hands could make.
One is of a ship — cartoonish, with lasers and stars.
Another is of a three-fingered creature with jagged claws and big smiling eyes.
But it’s the third that stops my breath.
A face. My face. The sharp Vakutan jawline. The scar above the brow. The armored arm.
And beneath it, written in bright uneven script:
“My Daddy”
The paper shakes in her hands.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t cry. Just sits there.
And I realize…
She’s been carrying this alone.
All this time.
I back away, slow and silent.
The edges of the world blur. My pulse roars in my ears.
My body doesn’t know what to do. Fight? Run? Fall to my knees?
I walk.
Not far. Just to the next corridor where I can breathe without feeling like I’m stealing air from the past.
The drawing burns behind my eyes.
I sit against the cold wall. Close my fists until the claws bite into my palms.
She never told me.
But she didn’t erase me.
She gave me to her child.
Even if I was only a ghost in crayon and memory.
My chest aches. Not with anger.
______________________________________________________________________________
I don’t sleep.
I lie in my bunk, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling like the weight of a collapsed building is pressing down on my chest.
Every breath tastes like betrayal. Not hers. Mine.
Because I didn’t see it.
Because I let them pull me into silence and pain and wires and rage, and I never came back.
Until now.
And now… there’s a child.
A daughter.
Ours.
I go through the motions.
Rehab. Pain management. Neural synchronization. Training sim with Kael.
I hit harder than I should. Kael notices.
“You trying to work through something,” he mutters as he blocks a strike, “or break your other shoulder?”
“Shut up,” I snap, too fast.
He raises a brow. “That’s a yes.”
I leave him on the mat and limp to the showers, letting cold water pour down my spine until my legs stop shaking.
None of it works.
Everywhere I look, I see her.
Every sound reminds me of her laugh.
Every pause makes me wonder what my daughter sounds like when she cries.
I wait until lights dim in her sector.
Officially, I'm not supposed to be out of quarters after curfew.
But I’m past giving a damn.
Her door isn’t locked.
She knows I’m coming.
I step inside. Quiet.
She’s sitting at the edge of her bed, still fully dressed, hands in her lap like a soldier waiting for judgment.
She doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t scream.
Just meets my eyes and says, voice hoarse, “So. You know.”
I close the door behind me.
The click is soft. Final.
I don’t move closer. Not yet.
“Why?”
She swallows. “You were dead, Vael.”
“You knew I wasn’t.”
“Not at first.”
“But later.”
She doesn’t answer.
I cross the room in three strides.
“I deserved to know.”
“And what would you have done? Hunted me down? Dragged us back to Vakutan high command?”
“She’s mine.”
“She’s ours,” Rynn hisses, standing.
Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “You think I didn’t want to tell you? You think I didn’t—every day—wonder if I’d made the wrong choice?”
“You did.”
She slaps me.
It’s not hard. Not really.
But it lands like a thunderclap.
I don’t move.
“Don’t you dare come in here and act like you didn’t leave me first,” she says, voice breaking. “You took that mission. You didn’t say goodbye. You disappeared without a trace. I thought—”
“I came back!”
“TO WHAT?!” she screams.
“To nothing. To silence. To a war that swallowed you and spat you out with new scars and old ghosts. I didn’t know how to find you, Vael. And when I did, you were already gone again.”
“I would’ve come back for you.”
“But you didn’t.”
Silence slams down between us. Heavy. Breathless.
Rynn wraps her arms around herself, trembling.
“I raised her alone. I gave up everything. And every day, I live in fear that someone will look at her eyes and know. That some Alliance protocol will rip her out of my arms.”
I step closer.
Her voice softens, frays.
“I’m so tired, Vael.”
I cup her jaw before I know I’m doing it.
She closes her eyes.
Tears slide down her cheeks.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
And I kiss her.
Not out of forgiveness.
Not out of lust.
Out of need.
Because if I don’t, I’ll shatter.
Her mouth opens under mine, hot and desperate, hands gripping my shirt like she’s drowning and I’m the surface.
We stumble back onto the bed, fingers fumbling, breathing ragged, pain spilling into passion.
We don’t speak.
There’s nothing left to say.
Later, I hold her against my chest.
Her body fits like it always did—fierce and familiar.
Her fingers trace the scar above my heart.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” she murmurs.
“You should’ve.”
She tenses.
I exhale, jaw tight.
“But I’m here now.”
Her hand stills.
I turn to her.
“She’s mine.”
She nods. “Ours.”
And I realize—
This isn’t the end of anything.
It’s the beginning of everything I never thought I’d have again.
But the damage… it’s still bleeding.