Chapter 23
KAZ
Iknow something’s wrong the second I walk into the courtyard.
It’s too quiet.
Usually, announcement mornings buzz—cadets talking, betting, pretending they don’t care when every one of them’s dying to see the updated rankings. But today, there’s this uneasy hush. The kind that smells like static and bad news.
The digital board looms above the plaza. A wash of names, ranks, designations, all scrolling in order of merit.
My eyes go straight to the top three.
Yoris. Swan. —
That’s it.
No third.
Then the line blinks.
And there it is.
1. Swan
2. Yoris
3. —
The dash burns more than any name could.
The crowd murmurs. A ripple of confusion passes through the gathered cadets. Someone whispers my name. I feel it more than I hear it. A hundred glances. A thousand silent theories.
My chest goes cold.
Then hot.
Someone must’ve pulled it.
No. No way.
I start walking before the thought’s finished forming.
Trozius’s door doesn’t survive my first knock. I slam it open so hard the frame protests.
He doesn’t even look startled. Just looks up from his terminal like he’s been expecting me.
“Lieutenant Kazimir,” he says, calm. Controlled. The kind of tone that makes you want to throw a punch.
“What the hell is this?”
He doesn’t ask what I’m talking about. He just sighs and taps a key. A datapad slides across the desk toward me.
“Your file.”
“I don’t need my—”
But then I see it. The header. The seal.
Formal Complaint: Conduct Violation – Instructor/Student Impropriety.
My name.
And hers.
Right there at the top.
The world tilts.
I stare at the letters until they blur. Until they stop looking like words and start looking like betrayal carved into glass.
Trozius leans back, arms crossed. “Effective immediately, you are removed from First Ray contention and placed under review pending reassignment.”
“You can’t—” My voice cracks. I force it steady. “You can’t do this.”
“It’s already done.”
“Who filed this?”
He doesn’t answer.
But I know.
I can see it in his eyes. The flicker of pity. Of justification.
My throat burns. “She told you.”
“Captain—”
“She told you?” I snap, slamming my hand on the desk. “After everything—after all this—”
Trozius stands, voice sharp now. “Watch your tone, Lieutenant.”
I laugh. It’s ugly. Hollow. “You want me to watch my tone while you gut me?”
He doesn’t flinch. “I suggest you take this with some dignity.”
“Dignity?” I hiss. “I earned that post. I bled for it.”
“And now it’s done. Go cool off.”
I stare at him for a long second, chest heaving. Then I grab the datapad, hard enough that my knuckles pop.
I don’t remember leaving the office. I just remember sunlight hitting me like a slap. The courtyard spinning. The sound of engines overhead, distant and cruelly normal.
Her porch.
Of course she’s there.
Sitting like she’s waiting for a verdict she already knows the outcome of.
When she sees me, she stands. Lips part. Breath catches.
“Ka—”
“You killed me.”
Her mouth stays open. The words freeze there.
I don’t yell. I don’t need to. The quiet is sharper.
She takes a step forward. “Kaz, listen—”
“I did.” My voice shakes, low and guttural. “I listened every damn time you said I was worth believing in. Every time you looked at me like I wasn’t just some name on a roster.”
“I had to,” she says. “You don’t understand what they—”
“Don’t,” I bite out. “Don’t make this sound noble.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry. Of course she doesn’t. Nova never cracks where anyone can see it.
“I was trying to save you,” she says softly.
I laugh. It comes out like a snarl. “Save me? You buried me.”
“I couldn’t let them send you on that mission. It’s suicide, Kaz.”
“You think I didn’t know that?” My voice rises, raw. “You think I didn’t walk into that sim knowing exactly what it meant?”
Her hands shake now. “Then why—”
“Because it meant something!” I shout. “Because for once in my life, I wasn’t running from something—I was flying toward it. Toward being someone.”
I take a step closer. The air between us hums with everything that should’ve been said weeks ago.
“You took that from me,” I whisper.
“I took a bullet you didn’t see coming.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
We stand there, breathing the same air, too close and too far all at once. I can smell the faint citrus from her shampoo, the same scent that clung to my skin for days after that night. It twists the knife deeper.
Her voice cracks. “Kaz…”
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
She tries again. “Please—”
“Don’t,” I repeat, quieter now. “You can’t fix this.”
Her lips press together, trembling with everything she won’t say.
I look at her one last time.
And gods help me, even now—after everything—I still want to touch her. Still want to believe she did it out of love. Still want to forgive her.
But I can’t.
So I turn and walk away.
She calls my name once.
I don’t look back.
That night, I sit on my bunk, the datapad still on the table beside me. The official seal stares back at me, cold and final.
The reassignment request is half-filled on my console.
Destination: Classified.
Status: Pending Approval.
I type the last words.
“Voluntary deployment. Off-world. Immediate transfer requested.”
My hands don’t shake this time.
Because there’s nothing left to tremble for.
I hit Send.
The confirmation tone rings hollow in the dark.