Chapter 17
BELLA
The canyon yawns below me like the throat of some sleeping beast. Wind claws at my hair, grit stinging my face, but I keep the shard of mirror steady between my fingers.
The glass is cracked, edges jagged enough to slice, but it throws a hard beam of sunlight down into the ravine, flashing like a heartbeat.
Three short, three long, three short. Old signal.
The kind you only learn if you’ve done too many emergency drills.
“Tell me again why you’re dangling off a cliff with a razor blade,” Kage rumbles from behind me, voice low but carrying over the wind.
“Because that’s how you call for help without a comm,” I snap, biting back a shiver as I lean out farther. “Now hush before I lose my hand.”
He mutters something in his own language, frills rippling, but his claws hover near my pack straps like he’s ready to yank me back at the first sign of trouble. His shadow stretches long over the stone, a dark outline with silver glints.
Below, a flicker of motion.
The ship.
Not a sleek predator drone this time, but a real patrol vessel, its hull scuffed and patched. It glides along the canyon’s belly slow and deliberate, scanners sweeping like lazy eyes. My heartbeat spikes.
“They see us?” Kage asks.
“They will,” I mutter, angling the mirror again. The light bounces sharp against the cliff. “Come on, come on…”
The ship banks, engines whining. It slows. Tilts.
“They saw us,” I whisper.
It lands on a flat ledge below, thrusters gusting hot wind and ash up into my face. The smell of scorched metal and hydraulic fluid hits me hard.
Kage shifts behind me, claws scraping stone. “It’s too easy.”
“Not every rescue is a trap,” I snap, but even to my own ears it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself.
The ramp drops.
And real people step out.
Not spider-things, not empty shells. Humans in battered evac armor, a Vakutan with medic patches sewn crooked on his sleeve, a Brall with a limp and a medbag slung over one shoulder. All wear the insignia I know too well—caduceus stylized with three stars. Recovery corps.
My throat tightens.
These are my people. My unit’s cousins. My training school’s rivals. The ones who come after the shooting stops, who patch the bodies and tag the dead.
I should feel relief.
Instead, my stomach twists.
Because standing behind me, looming like a stormcloud, is Kage.
And suddenly I don’t feel like their people anymore.
“Medic down!” one of them shouts, jogging toward me. “Two medics! Bring stretchers!”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, scrambling down the rocks. “We’re fine—”
Then hands are on me, steadying me, pulling me away from Kage. Too many hands. My pulse spikes.
“Easy,” another says. “We’ve got you. We’ll get you out of here.”
Kage growls low, his frills flaring, claws flexing. The medics freeze but don’t let me go.
“He’s with me,” I bark, jerking free.
“He’s a combatant,” someone snaps. “He’s a threat—”
“He saved my life,” I lie, voice sharp enough to cut. “He’s defected.”
A murmur ripples through them. The Vakutan medic frowns. “Defected?”
“Yes,” I say, doubling down, heat rising in my face. “He’s not a soldier. He’s a civilian caught in the wrong place. He helped me. Without him I’d be dead right now.”
“That thing?” the Brall mutters.
“That thing,” I snap. “He’s with me.”
The commander steps forward—a tall human woman with lines around her eyes and a scar across her jaw. She studies me, then looks at Kage. “There’ll be a tribunal when we reach the fleet. Defection or not, he’s dangerous.”
My mouth goes dry. “We’re not going to the fleet,” I say, but it comes out too soft.
She arches a brow. “You’re still under Alliance protocol, Medic Senjak. You don’t get to decide that.”
I glance back at Kage. His silver eyes meet mine, steady and grim. He knows. I know.
We can’t win this one. Not by talking.
I lean toward him, voice a whisper. “We run at nightfall.”
His nostrils flare, but he nods once, slow.
Night drops like a curtain, the canyon lit only by slivers of moon and the soft glow of portable heaters. The recovery team sets up camp by the ship, tired voices murmuring, the smell of reheated rations wafting through the air.
I wait, sitting stiff beside Kage while a Vakutan medic rewraps the cut on my arm. He’s polite, efficient, but his eyes flick nervously to my “defector” every few seconds.
As soon as the sentries settle into their patterns, I tap Kage’s leg under the blanket. “Now,” I breathe.
We move like shadows.
He takes the lead, carrying the supplies on one shoulder as easily as if they’re nothing. I slip behind him, heart hammering, counting the steps between each sentry’s glance, every hum of a scanner. We weave through the dark like we’ve been doing it for years.
When we’re far enough, I risk a glance back. The camp’s heater glows faint, a warm dot against the cold cliffs. My chest feels hollow.
I’m lying to everyone. My people. Kage. Myself.
But I can’t let them take him.
Not now. Not when he’s become… whatever he’s become to me.
We find a grotto hidden behind a curtain of icicles. Inside, the stone walls glitter with frost, and water drips slow from a crack above, the sound echoing like a heartbeat.
Kage sets the packs down, his massive frame filling the space. I lean against the wall, breathing hard, my pulse still racing.
“You lied,” he says, voice low.
“I know.” My laugh comes out shaky. “Story of my life.”
He studies me, head tilting, silver eyes catching the faint light from my wrist console. “Why?”
I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, not meeting his gaze. “Because they’d take you. Because you’d vanish into some black-site lab or tribunal room and I’d never see you again. Because…”
“Because?” His voice softens.
“Because I didn’t want to lose you,” I whisper.
The words hang between us, heavier than the cold.
Kage steps closer, slow, deliberate. His claws brush the wall near my head, not touching me, but caging me in with heat. “You won’t,” he says, low and rough. “Not unless you want to.”
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe.
So I reach for the holoprojector in my pack and thumb it on. Fake stars scatter across the grotto’s ceiling, blue-white and glimmering like the real sky we can’t see. The illusion casts Kage in ghostlight, silver patterns shimmering across his scales.
“It’s stupid,” I murmur. “Old training tool. Helps calm recruits during simulations.”
“It’s beautiful,” he says.
I step closer, the fake starlight catching in his eyes. “Yeah,” I whisper. “It is.”
And then I kiss him.
It’s not careful. It’s not polite. It’s like tearing open a wound and finding fire inside. He kisses back, claws flexing at my hips, his mouth hot and rough against mine. The cold air vanishes, replaced by heat so intense it makes me dizzy.
I press my forehead to his, breath ragged. “This doesn’t mean—”
“I know,” he murmurs. But his arms tighten anyway, holding me like I’m something precious he’s terrified to break.
Under fake stars, with smoke still clinging to our clothes and the taste of blood and metal on our tongues, I kiss him again.
Because maybe this is the end of the world.
And this is how I want to face it.