Chapter 26
NOVA
The quarters feel too still.
Like the air itself knows something’s missing and refuses to move in its absence. My boots sit by the door, untouched. The tea I made yesterday is still sitting cold on the table, the lemon slice dried and curling at the edges. I haven’t touched it. I haven’t touched anything.
I don't sleep. I just lie there.
The memorial came and went in a blur of speeches and flags.
Swan’s name etched in metal, sharp and sterile.
He deserved more. Deserved laughter and beer and one of those garbage ballads he loved to belt after too many drinks.
Instead, they folded his flight jacket like that was supposed to mean something and handed it to a squadmate who didn’t even know which hand Swan wrote with.
And Kaz, he's gone.
Not dead. But gone in a way that makes every breath feel like betrayal.
The door console pings. A file access request, another denial stamp. I’ve sent three now. All blocked. His reassignment is black box level, locked down so tight I can’t even confirm what sector he’s in. I file again under a different clearance code. Denied. Again.
I stare at the screen until my vision blurs.
Then I press my palm to the terminal and whisper, “You coward.”
But I don’t know if I mean him.
The hangar’s quiet this time of morning. Just the hiss of coolant lines and the distant clang of tools echoing from the far bays. No one sees me as I walk the perimeter. No one stops me.
I pause by Bay 9.
Kaz’s old craft still sits there. Not decommissioned. Just waiting.
His nameplate’s gone.
I run a hand along the side of the hull. The skin of the ship feels cold. Wrong.
“Why did you leave?” I murmur. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
My voice barely echoes. The silence swallows it whole.
I could’ve told you, I want to say. I was going to tell you. About the baby. About the decision. About why I stepped in.
But I didn’t. And now I’m alone with the aftermath.
Trozius doesn’t flinch when I barge into his office.
“I want a transfer,” I say.
He looks up slowly from his desk, folds his hands.
“Request denied.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You’re not thinking,” he corrects coolly. “You’re grieving. Differently. But grieving.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not grieving. I’m angry. I’m stuck in a system that lets people like Kaz disappear while I stand here carrying the consequences.”
His eyes narrow just a touch. “You mean his child.”
I freeze.
He leans back, sighs like he’s already exhausted by the drama.
“You really think I didn’t know?”
“You didn’t report it.”
“Wouldn’t have helped,” he says. “Alliance brass already made their move. His mission’s classified because it’s dangerous. Volatile. And someone upstairs decided your emotions were compromising your judgment. You protected him. They buried him.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“So that’s it?” I whisper. “He’s just… lost?”
Trozius nods, slow. “You did what you thought was right. Doesn’t mean it didn’t cost you.”
I want to scream. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk out before I do something stupid.
Back in my quarters, the air still hasn’t moved.
I sit in front of the mirror. Not because I want to look at myself—but because I need to see the person who made this call. The woman who broke every rule, risked every shred of her career, for a man who left her with nothing but silence.
I look tired. Hollow.
But not weak.
My hand drifts to my abdomen. No bump. Not yet. But I feel the ache. The pressure of change.
“I’m not sorry,” I whisper.
I don't know if I’m lying.
I pick up the last note he left me. Still tucked in my locket. I haven’t opened it since that night.
No regrets. Just truth.
My throat tightens.
“Then here’s mine,” I whisper to no one.
I reach for the terminal again. Open a new message. No header. No address.
Just the words.
I’m carrying your child. I did what I did to keep you alive. I don’t know if it was right. I only know it wasn’t goodbye.
I save the draft.
Then close the screen.
The sky outside shifts to dawn. Another day. Another fight.
And I swear, no matter what, this child will never feel abandoned.
Even if I have to do it all alone.