Chapter 30
NOVA
The docking bay smells like heated metal and burnt ozone. The scent curls into my nostrils, sharp and familiar. It’s the kind of smell you learn to brace for, the one that tells you you’re not in Kansas anymore. Or Barakkus. Or anywhere soft.
Daveros.
Even the name feels like a warning.
I shift Dar higher on my hip. Verzius is a step behind me, humming to himself like we’re here on vacation. His sunglasses are too big for his face, his coat far too stylish for this godsforsaken rock. Dar’s got chocolate on his chin and a toy shuttle gripped in one sticky fist.
And I’m carrying a sealed briefing that says I’m supposed to train the Alliance’s most elite wormhole pilots. No background. No roster. Just orders and coordinates.
“I hate this already,” I mutter.
“Because it’s red and dry or because the pay’s suspiciously high?” Verzius chimes, adjusting his scarf.
“Yes.”
We clear security. No fanfare. No welcome banner. Just a stone-faced officer who scans our IDs and waves us through like he’s half-asleep. Typical.
The barracks are sterile. The air recycled to the point of staleness. I drop our bags inside our tiny suite and do a quick sweep. No surveillance cams.
Dar crashes onto the cot with a dramatic sigh. “Momma, where’s the snack pouch?”
“In my bag. Bottom zipper.”
He flops off the bed like he’s melting and begins digging with all the focus of a miner mid-strike. I rest my forehead against the doorframe, exhaling slowly.
“You okay?” Verzius asks gently.
“No.”
He doesn’t press.
The flight deck is worse. Blinding white under the overhead lights. Lines of ships, all gleaming too bright, like they’re trying too hard.
I’m halfway through checking the manifest when I feel it.
A ripple. Like the air’s been sliced open and stitched back together wrong.
Then I see him.
Kaz.
My legs forget how to move. My stomach drops, then clenches into something ugly and molten.
He’s standing by a craft, talking to a mechanic. He’s taller now. Bulkier. The shadows around his eyes have grown darker, deeper. His stance is sharper—like every muscle in his body’s permanently braced for impact.
Then he turns.
And for a moment, time stops.
His eyes find mine like magnets snapping into place. His mouth twitches—not a full smile, more a muscle memory trying to remember how.
I can’t breathe.
We just stare.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
A lifetime.
Then I turn and walk away.
Verzius finds me outside the hangar, sitting on a crate, hands shaking.
“You look like someone told you carbs were canceled,” he says lightly, passing me a thermos.
“I saw him.”
His expression softens instantly. “Kaz.”
“Yeah.”
He sits beside me. “And?”
“And nothing. He was there. I was there. We looked at each other like ghosts.”
“You knew this might happen.”
“I didn’t think it would feel like this.”
“You didn’t think you’d still want him.”
I sip the tea. It’s too sweet. Too warm. My hands are too cold.
“I hate him,” I lie.
“No you don’t.”
“I want to.”
“That’s different.”
Later that night, I sit by Dar’s bed, brushing curls off his forehead. He’s got Kaz’s hair. Kaz’s smirk when he’s about to do something absolutely against the rules.
I should have told him.
I should have told him before everything fell apart.
But now I’m just another ghost in his rearview.
And he’s a collision I don’t know how to survive.