Chapter 33
ELLA
The workshop smells like warm metal and promise. The low hum of power relays pulses beneath my ribs. Light filters through greasy windows, dancing over tools, spilled coolant, circuit boards half-wired. It’s chaos and home.
Takhiss is crouched beside the hover crib, working on a stabilizer cradle he’s built.
He fits a fine alignment bar into place; Vex’s sleeping module sways slightly—then steadies.
The cradle’s frame hugs the crib like armor.
He stands, brushes his fingers across the edge, checks tolerances.
I hand him a sensor probe. He nods, voice low:
“Balance is good now. No drift.”
I lean over to test it. The crib stands firm. Success glints between his jaw and the crib’s frame. I grin.
He laughs—a rich, soft sound that makes the circuits stutter. “You should see your face when I fix your problems.”
Vex stirs. He’s awake, blinking. I hurry over, lifting him from his sleeper pod. He yawns, squints, then grins. He brings his hands up and splashes formula across Takhiss’s scales. The liquid drips, shining against green and black.
“Oh,” Takhiss says, his face frozen. Then he shakes slightly, flicks the drop off, and laughs again.
Vex babbles in delight. I sit on a box beside them, watching. They’re beautiful together—small family snapshot. I want to memorize it so nothing can ever erase it.
Later, Dad calls me into his office. The smell of engine grease and old jokes lingers in the doorway. He’s sat behind a battered desk with maps and registration files. The air hums.
I clear my throat. “You wanted to talk?”
He studies me through the narrow window of his glasses. “Yeah. I been thinking.” He pushes a file across. “I can add Takhiss to the hover-taxi registry. Give him a share in Cab 27. He works good, you know. Doesn’t cut corners.”
My heart jolts. I look at the file, then at his face. It’s earnest. Hesitant. It’s a small thing—but in this life, small things are survival.
“He’s a good one,” Dad says, quiet. “Got the look of a fighter, but the heart of a mechanic.”
I swallow. It’s the closest he’s come to saying you stay. To giving me permission to believe.
I nod. “Okay.” My voice cracks. “Thank you.”
He shifts, looks away. “Don’t thank me yet. Just… be careful.”
That night I don’t sleep. Vex nestled between us, light from the window weak and trembling. Takhiss breathes against my neck. His arm curves around me. I feel the rise and fall of his chest. His scent—oil, rain, his skin—fills me up.
I watch his face in the dark. He looks tired. Late lines beneath eyes. He’s pushing too hard. But he doesn’t complain. Doesn’t ask. He just holds.
I whisper: “You did good today.”
He doesn’t say much. Just presses me closer.
I let my mind drift—over memory, over fear, over possibility. Over truth I haven’t told.
Maybe this won’t end in heartbreak. Maybe I’ll let myself believe that these nights, these moments, are the way.
Because I’m fixing what I can. And with him—maybe it’s enough.