Chapter 20 Lonari #2
Clint: “You are not allowed to die on me, kid.”
Jordan: “Stop calling me kid. I’m literally an adult with trauma.”
Clint: “That’s what makes you a kid.”
I pause outside the doorway, listening for a beat longer than I should. The sound of Jordan alive—talking, arguing, insulting—loosens something inside me I didn’t realize was clenched.
Then I push the door open.
Jordan is propped up slightly, medical wraps visible, color still pale. Her eyes snap to me immediately—sharp, assessing. Clint’s voice crackles from the comm unit on her bedside.
Clint says, “Who’s that?”
Jordan doesn’t look away from me. “The mobster who ruined my life.”
I snort. “I saved your life.”
Jordan: “Semantics.”
Clint: “Is that Lonari?”
Jordan: “Unfortunately.”
Clint’s voice turns wary. “Put him on.”
Jordan tilts her head toward me like she’s daring me. “He wants to talk.”
I step closer and lean toward the comm unit. “Rogers.”
Clint: “Kaijen.”
I can hear the Marine under the tech. The protective bite. The suspicion.
“Your ship’s alive,” I say. “You’re alive.”
Clint exhales, audible relief he tries to hide. “Yeah. Thanks to you making a mess loud enough for the galaxy to choke on.”
“Jordan did that,” I reply.
Clint: “I know.”
Jordan shifts, winces, then says, “Clint, listen. Morazin is in cuffs. Alive. On camera.”
Clint goes quiet for a beat. Then: “Good.”
Jordan’s eyes flick to mine. “We’re going to need you.”
Clint: “For what.”
Jordan’s voice hardens, pain and rage welded together. “For when institutions try to bury this.”
Clint exhales. “They will.”
I step back slightly, letting them have their moment, but Jordan’s eyes keep tracking me like she refuses to let me fade into the background.
Clint says, quieter, “Jordan, I’m sorry.”
Jordan’s jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
Clint: “I should’ve—”
Jordan: “You did what you could. I did what I had to. We’re alive. That’s the metric right now.”
Clint: “…Yeah.”
Jordan’s voice softens just slightly. “Also—Honeybear’s okay?”
A faint laugh crackles through the speaker. “Honeybear is currently eating peanut butter with a spoon and pretending nothing happened. Spewey threw up twice.”
Jordan: “Sounds like home.”
Clint: “You coming back to IHC space?”
Jordan’s mouth tightens. She glances at me, and for a second I see the conflict—instinct to run back to the devil she knows versus the knowledge that the devil she knows is also the one that put her in a box.
“I don’t know yet,” she says honestly.
Clint: “Be careful.”
Jordan: “Always.”
Clint: “And Jordan?”
Jordan: “Yeah?”
Clint’s voice goes low. “I’m proud of you.”
Jordan’s eyes shine dangerously. She blinks hard. “Okay. Ew. Emotional.”
Clint laughs softly. “Call me when you’re safe.”
Jordan: “Define safe.”
Clint: “Not actively bleeding.”
Jordan glances at her bandages. “No promises.”
Clint sighs. “Kid—”
Jordan: “Bye, Clint.”
The channel cuts.
Jordan exhales and slumps back, face pinched with pain and exhaustion.
I step closer. “You good?”
She scoffs weakly. “No. But I’m alive. Apparently that’s enough for everybody.”
My voice goes low. “It is.”
Jordan’s eyes lift to mine. “What now, Lonari?”
The question is loaded. It’s about Morazin, yes. But it’s also about us. About Gur. About the fact that her truth just set the galaxy on fire and we’re standing in the middle of the smoke.
I keep my face neutral. “Now we don’t let them bury it.”
Jordan’s mouth curves faintly. “How.”
“We force a public custody handoff,” I say. “Shared jurisdiction. Open feeds. Alliance and IHC both sign, both watch, both get implicated.”
Jordan studies me, then nods slowly. “Good.”
I add, “And we go back to Gur.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Gur is a war zone.”
“Gur is my war zone,” I correct. “And the Nine will retaliate. If we’re not there, they’ll chew civilians.”
Jordan’s jaw tightens. “No civilian collateral.”
I nod once. “No civilian collateral.”
She looks at me for a long beat, then says quietly, “You really changed the rule.”
“I changed the doctrine,” I correct. “Rules are what you write when you’re pretending you control people. Doctrine is what you enforce when the world is burning.”
Jordan exhales, shaky. “You’re terrifying.”
I shrug slightly. “You like it.”
Jordan rolls her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks betrays her. “Shut up.”
I lean in a fraction, keeping my voice low so the medbay doesn’t feel like it’s listening.
“Jordan,” I say, “you did the hard part. You made the truth loud. Now we keep it alive.”
Her gaze holds mine. “And if they try to kill me again?”
My jaw tightens. “Then they better bring more than a ‘routine inspection.’”
Jordan’s mouth twitches. “That’s your Scorsese line.”
I bare my teeth. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Yes you do,” she whispers, and there’s humor in it, and there’s fear, and there’s something warmer underneath both.
I straighten before the warmth can turn into a mistake.
“Rest,” I say.
Jordan glares. “Bossy.”
“Strategic,” I correct.
She exhales and closes her eyes for half a second, then opens them again like sleep might steal her.
I get it.
I glance at the monitors—her vitals steadying, her breathing still a little shallow. I step back and turn to leave, but her voice catches me.
“Lonari.”
I pause. “Yeah?”
Her voice is quieter, rough around the edges. “Thanks.”
The word lands heavier than gunfire.
I don’t look back right away because if I do, I’ll show too much.
When I finally turn, my face is neutral again.
“Stay alive,” I say.
Jordan’s mouth curves faintly. “Not sentimental, remember?”
I nod once. “Stall them.”
She blinks, and I see recognition flare—because she heard that message in the shape of my actions, even if I wiped the file.
Then I leave, because the ship still hums with war, and Gur still burns, and Morazin still breathes in cuffs, and the galaxy is about to decide whether it’s brave enough to accept the truth.
And if it isn’t—
Then criminals will have to teach it.