Chapter 22
NOVA
Ican’t breathe.
Not really. Not the kind of breathing that reaches deep into your chest and reminds you you’re alive.
I’ve been pacing my office for forty minutes, maybe more. The floor knows the shape of my boots now. I’ve worn a groove in the cheap polymer tiles.
The walls feel too tight. The air too thick. I keep thinking about the sim footage—his hands on the controls, the precision, the fire in his eyes. The way he walked toward death like it was a sunrise he couldn’t wait to chase.
And I can’t let him go.
Not like this.
Not without trying.
My hands are damp. I wipe them on my uniform slacks. Doesn’t help. The sweat’s not just skin-deep. It’s in my bones.
I pull open the door to my office before I can change my mind and head straight to Trozius’ wing. I pass cadets in the corridor, their chatter a muted blur. None of them look at me. Good. I don’t think I could fake composure right now.
By the time I reach his door, I feel like I’ve aged a decade.
I don’t knock. I just enter.
Trozius is at his desk, as always, posture perfect, eyes on a data slate.
He looks up.
“Captain,” he says. “To what do I owe—”
“I need to report a violation.”
That gets his attention.
He sets the slate down slowly. Steeples his fingers.
“I’m listening.”
I swallow. My throat’s dry. “Cadet Kazimir and I… We were involved. Personally.”
His expression doesn’t change. Not even a flicker.
“How long?”
“A few weeks. It wasn’t— It didn’t affect my evaluations. I stayed objective.”
“You didn’t disclose it.”
“No.”
“Because you knew it would disqualify him.”
“Yes.”
The silence that follows is cavernous.
He exhales through his nose, like he’s tired. Like he’s already heard every version of this from every officer who ever thought they were immune to consequences.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” he asks, voice low.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Why now?”
“Because I can’t let him fly that mission. Not when I know what it is.”
Another pause. He stands. Walks to the viewport behind his desk.
The light outside is fading. Golden, like the war doesn’t exist. Like we’re not quietly feeding our best pilots into a machine built to consume them.
He doesn’t look at me when he speaks.
“You realize this forces a retraction.”
“I know.”
“He’ll be removed from First Ray consideration. Effective immediately.”
My hands shake. I clench them into fists. “I know.”
“You’re sacrificing your career.”
“I’m aware.”
Still, he doesn’t turn.
“Why now?” he asks again, quieter this time.
“Because he matters,” I say. “More than rules. More than my pride. More than what this system tells us to value.”
He turns back to me.
His face is unreadable.
But he nods.
Just once.
And that’s it.
I walk out of his office like I’m walking underwater. Every step thick. Drenched in something I can’t name.
The air feels different. Not lighter. Just… quieter.
I should feel relief.
Instead, I feel like I’ve broken something sacred.
I make it halfway back to my quarters before I pivot. Instinct, maybe. Or guilt. Or some twisted need to look him in the eye and explain.
To tell him it wasn’t pity.
It was love.
I head for his room.
The corridors are emptier now. Shift change lull. Just the hum of the overhead lights and my footsteps echoing like I don’t belong here anymore.
When I reach his door, I hesitate.
Then I knock.
No answer.
I try again. Louder.
Still nothing.
I press my palm to the access panel. It blinks red. Locked.
He’s not here.
Just the nameplate on the wall—KAZIMIR, D.—still smooth, still unscarred.
But everything else is silence.
No movement. Not even the soft thrum of his music through the walls, which always used to bleed into the hallway like smoke under a door.
I lean against the frame, closing my eyes.
I should’ve said something sooner.
I should’ve stopped pretending I was stronger than this.
Now he’s gone—somewhere out there in the base, unaware of the storm I just dropped into his life. Unaware that the slot is no longer his.
Unaware that I broke the rules to keep him breathing.
I slide down to the floor, knees tucked in, arms wrapped tight around them.
I don’t cry.
I don’t move.
I just sit there, listening to the empty silence where he used to be.