Chapter 20
RYNN
The room is quiet.
Not the forced kind, like the sterile medcenter halls. This quiet is warm. Breathing. Like the hush of a heartbeat shared between two ribs.
The lights are dimmed to a low amber glow, casting Vael’s skin in a burnished bronze. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back to me, bare from the waist up. The scars across his spine look like constellations — stories I’ve never been brave enough to trace with my fingers.
Until now.
I walk to him, slow. My palms are clammy. My breath shallow.
I touch his shoulder.
He turns.
And for the first time, we don’t speak.
We just look.
Because there’s nothing left to explain.
I lift my hands to his chest, pressing my fingers to the thick ridges of his muscles. He’s fire and steel and something softer beneath it all. Something I’ve never stopped needing.
He exhales as my touch trails up his throat, into his hair.
My voice cracks like brittle glass.
“I’m scared.”
He wraps both arms around me, pulling me in until my forehead rests against his.
“I know,” he whispers.
“I keep thinking… what if this is the last night? What if we don’t make it?”
His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw.
“Then let’s make it count.”
We fall into the bed together like we’ve been doing this every night for years.
But it’s not frantic this time. Not desperate.
It’s slow.
Every touch is a question.
Every answer is breath and skin and trembling.
He kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
I kiss him like I’m already grieving.
His hands are reverent. He maps every inch of me like a soldier reading battle terrain—but with the awe of someone who’s just learned what peace feels like.
I arch under him, sighing into his mouth as our bodies fit like puzzle pieces carved by time.
No rush. No war behind our eyes.
Just us.
Just love.
After, we lie in sheets that smell like lavender and salt and sweat.
My cheek rests against his chest. I can hear his heart—steady, heavy, strong. The weight of it comforts me.
But the fear never really leaves.
“I used to dream of this,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “You coming back. Finding me. Finding her.”
His arm tightens around me.
“I dreamed it, too,” he says. “Only I never thought it would hurt this much.”
I laugh, but it’s wet and broken. “I feel like I’m made of cracks.”
He kisses the top of my head. “That’s how the light gets in.”
I lift my eyes to meet his. “You don’t know if we’ll survive this.”
“No,” he says honestly. “I don’t.”
“Then why do you keep promising me we will?”
He cups my face with both hands, rough palms against my damp cheeks.
“Because if I didn’t… I’d fall apart.”
I press a kiss to his chest, right over the scar that curves above his left heart. “I don’t want to run anymore.”
“Then don’t,” he whispers. “We fight. Together.”
We lie in silence for a while, the clock blinking down toward morning.
His fingers trace lazy circles across my back.
“Nessa said I smell like warm metal,” he murmurs.
I smile. “She’s not wrong.”
“She’s brilliant. Strong. Fierce.”
“She’s you,” I whisper. “The best parts of you.”
He kisses me again—slow, lingering. Like he’s carving the moment into memory.
Then he pulls me tighter.
And for the first time in years, I fall asleep in peace.
__________________________________________________________________________
The silence after is deeper than anything I've ever known.
Vael’s breath is slow beneath my ear, a quiet rhythm that anchors me in place.
His skin is warm against mine, chest rising and falling like tides against the shore of my thoughts.
I’m cocooned in his arms, my leg draped across his, sheets twisted around our limbs like we’re trying to tangle ourselves into permanence.
But nothing is permanent.
Not in this life.
Not in ours.
Outside the window, the soft amber glow of the base spills over the cold alloyed walls. I can hear the hum of the atmospheric converters in the distance—a low, almost musical vibration that’s become background noise to my existence here on Corven-7.
I close my eyes and let the sound blend with the memory of his voice. The way he whispered my name earlier like it was something sacred. The way his fingers threaded through mine like a man clutching onto the last solid thing in the universe.
Vael shifts slightly, just enough to press his forehead against mine. His breath mingles with mine in the shared heat between us.
Still, he doesn’t speak.
Maybe he knows I need this moment. Maybe he’s afraid that if he does, the spell will break.
So I do the talking.
“I never believed in fate,” I say, barely above a whisper. “Never thought the stars had a damn plan for me. I always figured it was chaos. One breath to the next. You survive, or you don’t. That’s it.”
He doesn’t answer.
His fingers just slide up the curve of my spine, slow and warm and grounding.
“But…” I swallow. My throat’s tight. “Sometimes I wonder. What if some things… some people… are written into you? Like no matter how far you run, the universe just keeps pulling you back to them.”
A beat of silence. Then another.
He exhales through his nose and presses his lips to my hair. It’s not a kiss. Not exactly. More like a promise, silent and searing.
I tilt my head to look at him. He’s already watching me.
The planes of his face are softened by the low light. His eyes, normally so sharp and unrelenting, are unreadable now—like the still surface of a deep lake. But his arm wraps tighter around me, fingers flexing slightly against my hip.
“You don’t have to say it,” I murmur. “I know this doesn’t change everything. I know we’re still in danger. Still hunted. Still broken.”
He closes his eyes.
I watch his lashes flutter. Watch the shadows dance across his face as he breathes me in.
And then, quietly—soft enough I almost miss it—he says, “I just wanted to remember what it felt like.”
My throat burns.
“To hold you. Like this. Without war. Without orders. Without the end of the world waiting outside.”
I press my face into his neck. “I wanted that too.”
We stay like that for a long time.
Wrapped up in each other. Pretending that this night exists in a vacuum. That tomorrow won’t come. That Tarek’s boots won’t thunder down the corridor. That the alarms won’t sound. That the lies we’ve built our lives on won’t shatter like glass.
But the truth hangs there, unsaid. Heavy. Real.
Tomorrow, we run.
Or fight.
Or both.
I listen to the faint creak of the pipes overhead, to the flickering pulse of the oxygen recyclers. I can feel Nessa’s presence, just a room away. Her tiny breaths, her soft weight curled under too-thin blankets, clutching that stuffed kida-beast like it’s armor.
“I hate this,” I whisper. “I hate that we can’t just be.”
“I know.”
His voice is raw. Low. Like gravel underfoot.
“I hate that I lied to you.”
He opens his eyes.
“I hate that you had to,” he says. “I hate what this war made of us.”
My fingers slide across the scar on his shoulder.
“Do you regret it?”
He lifts his gaze, meeting mine fully.
“Regret surviving? No. Regret coming back to find you? Never.”
I blink hard. “Even after what I hid?”
His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look away. “You did what you had to. To keep her safe. To keep yourself safe.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” he says. “But it makes it real.”
I bury my face in his chest, clutching at him like he’s my last breath.
He strokes my hair. Slow. Methodical. Like the motion itself is holding him together.
“I don’t want her to grow up like this,” I say, voice muffled. “Always running. Always scared.”
“She won’t,” he murmurs. “Not if I can help it.”
The way he says it—calm, certain, unwavering—makes me believe him. Even if just for a second.
I kiss the center of his chest, where I know his second heart beats. The Vakutan side of him that survived even when everything else tried to break.
And maybe that’s what I’m finally learning.
We don’t survive despite the cracks.
We survive because of them.
______________________________________________________________________________
The sky inside the dome flashes crimson—too much color, too much noise—and my gut twists before the sirens even start. I know that scream. That tremble in the forcefield dome, the metallic groan in the floor. It’s not chaos. It’s the plan. Our plan.
My heart stutters anyway.
"Collapse sequence initiated," the automated voice drones. Drones like it’s not my whole damn life teetering on the edge of this bluff. I press my fingers against the override on the med-station wall and sprint. Every step echoes like a countdown.
Through the thick blast-proof glass, I see Vael.
He’s on his knees, one arm locked straight against the floor like he’s holding himself up by will alone. His other hand claws at the back of his neck—right where his cybernetic implant connects. There’s a glow there, pulsing. Too bright. Too fast.
The overload.
“Dr. Sorala!” a technician barks, panicked. “We’ve got a neural spike! Subject’s crashing!”
I burst into the dome.
Vael collapses.
His massive body slams to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud, limbs twitching, sensors flaring red. I drop to my knees beside him, already pulling the stabilizer from my belt.
“Override medlock,” I shout. “Triage in progress!”
The team hesitates for half a second—just long enough to look to the lead. Drel’s already moving.
He taps his compad and the emergency hatch opens behind us. “Loss of vitals,” he calls out. “Transport for containment.”
Vael’s eyes flicker once—just for me. Just enough.
I slip the stabilizer under his collar and whisper, “Stay still. We’ve got you.”
Then I press the injector.
His body goes limp.
Around us, chaos simmers. The exercise commanders shout into comms. Techs rush in with gurneys. Smoke curls from one of the blast panels where a minor detonation simulates a misfire. Just enough to draw eyes.
Drel waves over a transport drone. “Containment sequence engaged,” he says, voice perfectly flat. “Subject presumed medically unsalvageable.”
I help lift Vael’s body. Every part of me wants to scream. But my hands are steady.
We strap him down. I press one last check into his pulse—there, faint but real—and give Drel the nod.
The decoy is already prepped in the side chamber. A full Vakutan frame, stripped of identity, rigged to match Vael’s vitals for just long enough to fool the exit scans.
We make the switch in thirty-two seconds.
No one sees.
Not even the tech three feet away with eyes full of panic.
The decoy is carted off toward incineration protocol.
Vael… he’s ghosted.
Off-grid.
Gone.
Dead.
On paper.
I file the report myself. Sign it with a shaking hand. "Dr. Rynn Sorala, Chief Cyberneticist. Loss during exercise. Neural system failure due to overload." Clinical. Clean. Exactly how they want it.
But inside… inside I feel like I’ve just buried a part of myself.
I scrub my hands clean in the sink long after the medbay’s empty. Water scalds my skin, but it’s not enough to burn off the lie.
He’s gone.
But not lost.
Not this time.
We’re just getting started.
I pick up Nessa from school like I always do, but my hands are shaking through the drive.
The tram hums beneath us; its steel hull reverberates with each track joint, a low bass tremor in my chest. Nessa’s tongue is flicking out to the side, cleaning melted root-pie from her lip.
She glances at me, eyes gold shimmering in station light, and I manage a small smile.
“We’ll grab something at the bistro, okay?
” I say, voice steady but with falter in the corners.
She nods once. “Can Razorclaw ride in the cart with me?”
“Of course.” I fish the stuffed raptor toy from the bag. She hugs it tight to her chest—little claws pressing in, and I feel a jolt of fear: those claws aren’t just toys anymore.
We pass the kiosk, lights flicker in the corridor, and I pause. I note the timing of shadows. The corridor’s hum is louder than usual. I stand, momentary, listening. Something’s changed.
I glance at Nessa. She’s safe—for now.
“Are we going home first?” I ask.
She nods. “But can we go to the vent-field lookout after dinner?”
I inhale sharply. The vent-field… the distant sulfur shields. The only place I know where we can disappear.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s do that.”
We grab the food and head out. Nessa chatters about planets and space-whales, her voice a bell in the dim station corridors. I smile, but I’m scanning. Eyes flicking to overhead vents, to the corners where cameras might catch angular movements.
When the dishes are done and Nessa is back in her student uniform (hoody over it), I lead her into the sublevel ducts.
The vents are large enough for small frames.
I open the grille by the storeroom, feel the coolness of the duct air wash over me—metal cool and raw against my palms. Nessa giggles softly, stepping inside, pushing Razorclaw ahead of her.
“Mom… are we on a game?” she asks, voice echoing in the metal tunnel.
I nod. “Yes. A secret game. Just you and me.”
The smell of recycled air is sweet-sharp. Our boots echo. I pull the grille shut behind us. Behind the metal mesh, the corridor lights switch off again. We’re in the underside now: pipes clanking, the hum of mainframe fans vibrating around us.
My heart drums. My ears ring with each breath.
We slip through five bends, ducking low under support beams. I keep Nessa close. She’s quiet now, alert.
When we emerge at the old mining-rig by the vent-field ridge, the air is sulfur-sweet, the sky above domed with haze. I help Nessa out, carry the bag. She looks around, wonder in her eyes.
We make it to the hiding point behind the access dome. I set up the emergency comm pad inside the vent shelter. I feel the heat of the vents on my face—dry, static. I watch Nessa sculpt little planets in the dust on the ledge.
“Mom… will he ever meet me again?” she whispers.
I pause. The question hits like a star going supernova.
She looks up.
I pull her close. “Very soon.”
She nods, then sighs, and that about sums it all up.