Chapter 40
HRASK
The resignation terminal smells like ozone and old decisions.
The room is smaller than I expected for something that’s supposed to end a career, tucked into a quiet wing of the station where the traffic thins out and the voices don’t carry as far.
The lighting is softer here, less clinical than the command chambers, but it doesn’t make the moment feel any less sharp.
The console hums low in front of me, the interface already open, my name sitting at the top of the display like it still means something.
“Final confirmation required,” the system prompts.
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, staring at it.
My hand hovers over the panel, not because I’m unsure, but because I can feel the weight of everything behind it. Years of orders, missions, lines drawn and held whether they made sense or not, all of it condensed into a single decision that doesn’t come with a way back.
“You gonna keep staring at it,” a voice says from behind me, “or are you actually gonna do it?”
I glance over my shoulder.
Jolie leans against the doorway, arms crossed, her posture relaxed in a way that isn’t careless, just controlled, like she’s already made peace with everything I’m still standing here thinking about.
“You waiting for a speech?” I ask.
She snorts softly.
“Please don’t give one,” she replies. “I don’t have the patience for it.”
“Good,” I say. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
I turn back to the console.
“Final confirmation required,” the system repeats.
“Yeah,” I say, pressing my hand to the panel.
The interface changes immediately, processing, the noise deepening for a second before settling back into its baseline tone.
“Commission terminated,” it states. “All operational privileges revoked.”
“Sounds official,” I mutter.
“Feels different?” Jolie asks from the doorway.
I consider that for a second, rolling my shoulders slightly as I step back from the console.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Quieter.”
“Quieter’s not bad,” she says.
“No,” I reply. “It’s not.”
I turn toward her fully this time, taking her in properly now that we’re not in motion, not under fire, not forcing decisions in real time.
She looks the same.
And not.
There’s something steadier in the way she holds herself now, something that wasn’t there when we first crossed that line at the fence, when everything between us was friction and challenge and barely controlled heat.
“You done?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “You?”
She pushes off the doorway, stepping into the room.
“Walked out on their offer,” she says. “Didn’t even pretend to consider it.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
She shrugs slightly.
“They wanted me to fix it,” she says. “From the inside.”
“And?” I press.
“And I told them exactly what I thought of that,” she replies.
I huff a breath, something close to a laugh slipping through.
“I would’ve paid to hear that,” I say.
“No you wouldn’t,” she counters. “You already know what I said.”
“Fair,” I admit.
She stops a few steps in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint lines of exhaustion she’s not acknowledging, the way she lists just slightly to ease the strain on her side.
“You good?” I ask.
“I’m here,” she replies.
“That’s not the same thing,” I say.
“It is right now,” she counters.
I study her for a second longer, then nod once.
“Alright,” I say.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward.
It’s… clear.
Everything that needed to be said already has been, in one form or another, and what’s left isn’t about convincing each other of anything.
It’s about choosing.
“So,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “That’s it, then?”
“That’s it,” I reply.
“No going back,” she adds.
“No,” I agree. “Not for either of us.”
She lets out a slow breath, something settling in her shoulders.
“Good,” she says.
I step closer, closing the distance between us without rushing it.
“You sure about that?” I ask.
She meets my gaze without hesitation.
“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”
I nod once, something locking into place in my chest that feels a lot like certainty.
“Then we’re doing this,” I say.
“Doing what?” she asks.
“This,” I reply, gesturing between us. “Whatever this turns into.”
She huffs a quiet breath, something softer threading through it.
“You’re not great at definitions,” she says.
“Never claimed to be,” I reply. “I’m better at decisions.”
“Then make one,” she says.
I don’t hesitate.
“I’m choosing you,” I say.
The words land clean.
No edge.
No deflection.
Just truth.
Her expression mutates, not surprise, not disbelief, something deeper than that, something that settles instead of spikes.
“Yeah?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I reply.
She studies me for a second, then nods once.
“Good,” she says. “Because I’m choosing you too.”
Something in my chest tightens, then steadies.
“Alright,” I murmur.
I reach for her then, not tentative, not uncertain, my hand settling at her side, careful of the injury but not avoiding the contact.
“You realize what that means,” I say.
“Yeah,” she replies. “No sides. No lines. No going back to what we were.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Exactly that.”
She edges closer, her hand coming up to rest against my chest, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric like she’s grounding herself there.
“Good,” she says again.
I exhale slowly, something heavier than relief settling into place.
“Then I’m not letting you go,” I say.
She arches a brow slightly.
“That a threat?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “A friendly one.”
She huffs a quiet laugh.
“You’re terrible at those,” she says.
“Yeah,” I admit. “But you get the point.”
“I do,” she says.
The moment stretches, not fragile, not fleeting, something solid enough to hold.
“My people have a word for it,” I say after a second.
“For what?” she asks.
“This,” I reply. “When you choose someone like this. When it’s not about convenience or timing or anything else.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Alright,” she says. “What’s the word?”
I meet her gaze.
“Mate,” I say.
The word sits there, heavier than anything else I’ve said, not casual, not something I throw around lightly.
Her expression darkens again, something sharper, more focused.
“That’s not a small word,” she says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
She studies me, searching for hesitation, for anything that would make it less real.
She doesn’t find it.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Alright.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
She smirks faintly.
“What, you want a ceremony?” she asks.
“I’d settle for confirmation,” I reply.
She steps closer, closing the last bit of distance between us.
“You’ve got it,” she says.
I nod once.
“Good,” I murmur.
The future stretches out in front of us, undefined, uncertain, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like something we’re reacting to.
It feels like something we’re choosing.
“So what now?” she asks.
“We get off this station,” I reply. “Find somewhere that doesn’t care who we used to be.”
“And then?” she presses.
I shrug slightly.
“Then we figure it out,” I say. “On our terms.”
She considers that, then nods.
“Yeah,” she says. “I can work with that.”
I glance toward the door, then back at her.
“Ready?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate.
“Always,” she replies.
I take her hand.
Not because she needs it.
Not because I do.
But because it feels right.
“Let’s go,” I say.
And this time—
We walk away together.