Chapter 9
ELLA
We’re running out of warmth.
It’s not even subtle. The heat fades in waves. Like the ship’s bones are finally admitting they’re dead and it’s time for us to join them.
The emergency cells are done. Spent. Their cores are cold metal now, leaking nothing but regret.
I’ve scoured three decks, found two flickering junction nodes, and rewired every damn power regulator I can pry open.
I cannibalized three whole consoles to re-route flow to the thermal capacitor—and we’re still short.
Every time I think I’ve caught a break, something sparks or shorts or literally catches fire.
And the kicker? The sun-angle’s about to shift.
What little solar warmth we’ve been absorbing through the ragged hull plating is gonna vanish into deep void cold.
If I don’t figure this out soon, we’re not just screwed—we’re ice sculptures with attitude.
I slam my hand on the dead panel and rest my forehead against it.
“Shit.”
“I could give you my armor battery,” Takhiss says, voice low, almost hesitant. He’s leaning against a bulkhead, arms crossed, eyes glowing in the near-dark. “Internal core holds a few kilojoules. Enough for a surge.”
I spin on him. “That could kill your suit. Isn’t it integrated into your environmental controls?”
“It is,” he says. “But I’m warm-blooded. I’ll survive.”
“Still a bad idea.”
“Better than freezing.”
He walks toward me, massive and quiet and so frustratingly calm despite the fact we’re basically orbiting death with a ‘Welcome’ sign hung around our necks.
“I’ll rig the bypass,” I say.
“I trust you.”
Those two words do something weird to my chest. They crawl under my ribs and settle there like they belong.
I don’t look at him. Can’t. Not when his voice goes that gentle.
He kneels beside me while I strip his armor of its core. It hisses as I detach it, hot to the touch, pulsing faint blue between my palms. I feel like I’m holding something alive.
“This’ll overload the relay if I’m not careful,” I mutter, sweat trickling down my temple. “I’ll run it through a step-down filter and pray it doesn’t cook the capacitor.”
Takhiss nods. “I’ll be here.”
Of course he will.
He always is.
I push the leads into the power socket and flip the switch.
There’s a second of absolute silence.
Then light floods the room in a blaze of gold.
It’s beautiful—clean, bright, warm. I let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh and collapse back against the floor, staring at the ceiling like it just gave me its blessing.
Takhiss doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, red eyes flickering in the glow, and it hits me.
He’s too quiet.
“Okay,” I say, squinting at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He shifts, just slightly. His tail flicks once—twitchy, sharp. A tell.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The don’t-get-too-close thing. The I’m-holding-myself-back thing.”
He’s quiet for a long second. Then: “It’s not fear.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“It’s discipline.”
I stare at him.
The way his muscles are locked tight. The way his claws flex, like he wants to reach for something and won’t let himself. The way his eyes burn—not with anger, but with... restraint.
“I’m not fragile,” I say quietly.
“No,” he says. “You’re precious.”
God. That word. It lands in me like a detonation.
I don’t know what to do with it.
So I sit on it. Hold it in my chest like it might shatter if I breathe too hard.
“C’mon,” I say eventually, breaking the moment before it eats me alive. “Let’s go up top. The mess roof’s gone. I wanna see the stars.”
We lie side by side on cracked tile.
The mess is nothing now. Just a skeleton of what it used to be—tables twisted, chairs welded to the walls, ceiling peeled back like a can. But the sky?
The sky’s unreal.
Stars wheel above us, bent and warped through the gravity of the singularity. They curve like brushstrokes. Colors I’ve never seen before swim in the darkness—violet-gold spirals, deep green halos, comets smeared into arcs.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” I murmur.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I glance at him. “Do you believe in fate?”
He’s quiet a long time.
“Only when it hurts.”
I blink. “What the hell does that mean?”
He turns his head toward me, eyes locked on mine. “We don’t like the idea of being controlled. Of something bigger pulling the strings. But sometimes—when things line up just right... when pain leads you somewhere you never expected... you have to believe it meant something.”
My throat goes dry.
The cold should be setting in again, but I feel flushed. Inside. Deep.
His words hit somewhere low in my spine. Deeper than fear. Deeper than hope. It’s not desire. Not yet.
It’s gravity.
I tear my gaze away, look back up at the stars.
“You’re a lot deeper than you pretend to be,” I say.
“And you’re a lot tougher than anyone sees.”
“Damn straight.”
He chuckles, low and rumbling.
“You think we’re gonna make it?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I nod.
And we lie there.
And for the first time since this nightmare started, I let myself feel it—that ache. That strange, terrible pull toward someone I’m not supposed to care about.
And I think, I already do.