Chapter 51 Kaz
KAZ
The first thing I feel is softness.
A bed. Real bed. Sheets that smell like soap and Nova’s shampoo. The mattress dips under my weight in all the right places. There’s light on my face—natural light, filtered through gauzy curtains. Warm. Golden.
I crack one eye open and squint.
It’s morning. Or close enough. The sky outside the window’s a soft smear of orange and violet. Daveros morning.
I’m home.
That realization hits so fast, so deep, it makes my throat tighten.
I survived.
Gods, I survived.
I shift, groaning, and everything aches. But it’s the dull kind of ache that says I’m healing. My ribs are no longer screaming. My leg's out of the brace. My face—well, if there are scars, I’ll wear them like medals.
I blink again. The room comes into focus.
Nova’s quarters. Only… it’s different now.
Our coats hang side by side on the pegboard by the door.
There’s a pair of Dar’s tiny boots kicked off by the threshold, one upside down.
A canvas scribbled in bright crayon colors hangs above the couch—probably a planet, maybe a dragon.
There’s a cluttered tray on the nightstand with two half-read books, a mug that says Fly Like Hell, and…
Three mugs in the kitchenette.
Not two.
Three.
One with my name burned into the ceramic.
Roots.
That’s what this is.
I’m not just crashing here.
This is mine.
Ours.
The door hisses quietly, and I don’t move—just watch from where I’m tucked in the sheets.
Nova pads in barefoot, hair twisted up in a lazy bun, loose black tank falling off one shoulder. She’s carrying a cup of caf in one hand and humming under her breath. She sets it down, then turns—and freezes.
Our eyes meet.
“Hey,” I rasp, voice rough with sleep and emotion and gods know what else.
She stares at me for a second like she’s not sure I’m real.
Then she crosses the room in three long strides and sits on the edge of the bed.
Her hand cups my face. Thumb brushes the line of my jaw like she’s trying to memorize the feel.
“You’re awake,” she whispers.
“Takes more than a wormhole to kill me.”
Her laugh breaks on a sob. She leans down and kisses my forehead, my cheek, my lips—featherlight, frantic, like if she stops I might disappear.
I reach up and thread my fingers through hers. Pull her hand to my chest, right over my heart.
“I’m staying,” I say. “For good.”
She swallows. “You better.”
“No more wormholes. No more missions. No more maybes.”
“You’re really ready for that?” she asks, voice so soft I almost miss it.
“I don’t want space anymore,” I say. “I want this. You. Him. The chaos, the crayons on the floor, the cold caf, all of it. I want mornings with you in this bed. I want Dar waking us up too early. I want roots.”
Her eyes fill, glimmering with unshed tears.
“And I want you to know I mean it,” I add, reaching into the drawer beside the bed.
She watches as I pull out a small leather cord, threaded with something old and silver at the center—weathered, a little bent, but still recognizable.
My flight wings.
Alliance issue.
Decommissioned when I quit, retired with honors after the wormhole collapse.
I had Verzius help me punch a hole in the middle and string them on a cord.
I hold it out to her.
“I’m not good with speeches,” I say, heart thudding in my chest, “but this—this is everything I’ve been. Everything I’ve done. And I don’t want to fly anymore unless it’s with you.”
Her lips part. A soft sound escapes.
“I’m not giving you a ring,” I add. “I’m giving you this. The one thing that’s ever meant anything to me before I met you. I want you to have it. I want you to wear it. I want you to say yes.”
She blinks once.
Twice.
Then laughs—wet and shaky and perfect.
“Yes,” she breathes, voice breaking. “Of course, yes. You ridiculous, wonderful man.”
Then she’s on top of me, kissing me like we’ve got eternity.
Which maybe we do.
“Ew!” comes a voice from the hallway.
Nova pulls back just as Dar peeks around the corner, hands over his face, eyes wide.
“GROSS!”
I grin. “Kid’s got timing.”
Verzius appears behind Dar, sipping from a cup that definitely isn’t his. “I told him not to look. He didn’t listen.”
Dar runs in and launches himself onto the bed between us, clutching my arm like a lifeline.
“You’re not allowed to kiss Mama like that in front of me,” he announces. “Or ever again.”
Nova snorts. “Good luck with that, co-pilot.”
He huffs and curls into my side.
I wrap an arm around them both.