Chapter 8
A'Vanti
Iam exhausted. Bone-deep and soul-weary.
The walk back to the shuttle feels endless. Every step sends a dull pulse through my skull, and my thoughts have gone thick and slow, like silt settling in still water. Dust clings to everything. To my clothes, my scales, even the inside of my nostrils. I want nothing more than to stop moving.
I resist the urge to scratch my chafed skin, knowing it will only make things worse. Instead, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
It shouldn't be this hard. It was a full day's work, yes, but nothing extraordinary.
Nothing I shouldn't be able handle without complaint.
I straighten my spine and match my stride to the rest of the team, refusing to let the effort show on my face.
I am fine. I will be fine, I just need to get to the transport.
The medics cleared me for duty months ago.
All my wounds have long been healed. But Diamalla's experiments took more from me than I sometimes want to admit, and my body has not fully forgiven what was done to it.
Stamina that once came easily now must be rationed carefully.
Strength that I once took for granted must be rebuilt day by day.
I am getting better. I know this. But days like today remind me that recovery is not a destination. It is a journey, and I am still walking it.
And then there is the other weight. The one that has nothing to do with my physical body.
I am haunted by every empty, dust-filled room. The desolation follows me out of the facility like a shadow. Everything sits empty, and I cannot look at any of it without seeing the ghost of what was lost.
The grief is exhausting in its own way. A weariness that settles into my bones and cannot be slept away.
Dr. Petrova's voice drifts back to me, and I blink, surfacing from my morose thoughts.
She walks ahead, her tablet clutched to her chest as she murmurs to L'Stourn.
Their excitement is palpable even through their fatigue.
The water reclamation systems are in better condition than any of us dared hope, and I know the report they'll deliver to Chancellor L'Forn will be optimistic.
That knowledge should fill me with satisfaction.
And I am satisfied. I am. But the feeling is muted, smothered by how tired I am.
My thoughts drift toward the immediate future. Toward the promise of sitting down. Of cool water sliding down my throat. Of air free of dust.
And toward Cody.
The thought of him waiting for us quickens my pace without my permission. I try to sort through my anticipation, to categorize it neatly the way I would organize data in an assessment report. Shouldn't I be more eager for the prospect of a shower and a meal than the sight of his face?
The shuttle comes into view, its hull gleaming dully in the early evening light, and I see him through the viewport. He's watching for us, that much is obvious from the way he's leaning forward in the pilot's seat.
When our eyes meet across the distance, his face transforms.
That smile. Wide and unguarded and so genuinely happy to see me. His whole expression brightens, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and I realize I have my answer.
It was never really a question at all.
The shower and the meal will be welcome. But this – this is what I truly craved. A connection to another; this proof that someone was waiting for me and thinking of me
Cody steps out of the vessel as we approach, moving to help secure the equipment. When he reaches my side, his hand finds the small of my back, guiding me up the ramp and toward my seat. The urge to lean into him is almost overwhelming. I resist, but only just.
"How'd it go?" he asks.
"Better than expected." I settle into the co-pilot's chair beside him, allowing myself a small sigh of relief as the weight comes off my aching legs. "Dr. Petrova is optimistic about restoration timelines."
"That's great news."
There is more he wants to say, I can see it in the way his gaze lingers on my face, in the slight parting of his lips. But we are not alone, and whatever words hover between us will have to wait.
Movement catches my eye.
High above the horizon, silhouetted against the pale lavender sky, something soars on wide-spread wings.
"Cody." I lean forward, pointing. "There. Do you see it?"
He follows the direction of my gesture, squinting against the glare. "What is… Oh. Oh, wow. Is that a bird?"
"A gho'ba," I tell him, and I cannot keep the wonder from my voice.
The creature wheels in a slow, graceful arc, riding the thermal currents that rise from the sun-baked sand. Even at this distance, its wingspan is impressive, easily wider than I am tall.
"It's huge," Cody says, and he sounds about twelve years old. He leans eagerly forward, his shoulder flush with mine as he cranes for a better view. "I thought… When you described them, I pictured a hawk-sized bird. Maybe a little bigger. But that thing looks like a condor. Probably even bigger."
"They are magnificent hunters," I say. "Capable of taking prey twice their own weight."
"No kidding."
He's still watching the gho'ba with rapt attention, and I watch him.
The childlike wonder on his face, the way his eyes track every movement of those distant wings.
He looks the way I felt the first time I saw a gho'ba, that same breathless amazement at encountering a creature so beautiful and wild.
Then he reaches into a pocket on the breast of his uniform and withdraws something. The light catches it as he holds it up, and I recognize the carving instantly.
The gho'ba I gifted him.
He carries it with him.
The realization floods through me, staggering and sweet. He did not leave it in his quarters or tuck it away in storage. He keeps it close. Against his heart.
I want him.
The thought rises unbidden and undeniable.
Not just his smile or his kindness or the way he makes me laugh.
I want all of him – his steadiness, his courage, his goofy nature, his ridiculous optimism that somehow makes me believe impossible things might actually be possible.
I want to wake beside him and fall asleep in his arms and build a future with him in whatever form that might take.
The intensity of the wanting frightens me a little.
"Look," Cody says, oblivious to my revelation. He gestures with the carving still in his hand. "It's coming closer."
He's right. The gho'ba has shifted its path, riding the currents in our direction. As it draws nearer, more details emerge. I watch the powerful beat of its wings, the sharp curve of its beak, and most striking of all, its coloring.
"Wow." Cody's voice sounds almost reverent. "I assumed they'd be brown. You know, tan or sandy, to blend in with the desert. But it's so red. It looks like a phoenix."
I glance at him, uncertain, and he catches my expression.
"A phoenix is a bird from human mythology," he explains. "When it dies, it bursts into flames and is reborn from the ashes. New life rising from destruction."
New life rising from destruction. I turn the idea over in my mind, finding unexpected comfort in it.
The gho'ba's plumage is a deep, rich crimson across its body and wings, darkest at the shoulders and gradually lightening as it extends toward the tail feathers. There, the red softens into shades of orange and copper, like embers glowing at the heart of a fire.
"They use the color to attract mates," I explain. "The more vibrant the plumage, the more desirable the gho'ba."
"Huh." He tilts his head, still watching.
Before I can think better of it, I reach over and gently tweak the curve of his ear between my fingers.
"It is the same color as your ears," I say, "when you get embarrassed."
The effect is immediate and deeply satisfying. Color floods into those ears, spreading across his cheeks in a flush that proves my point perfectly. I cannot help the smile that tugs at my lips.
"You think you're pretty funny, don't you?" he asks, but he's smiling, easily laughing at my teasing.
"I think I am hilarious," I manage.
Cody does not pull away or duck his head the way I expect.
Instead, as I withdraw my hand, he catches it. His fingers close around mine, sure and deliberate. He holds my gaze as he does it, and there's no embarrassment in his expression. Just a tenderness that makes my pulse quicken.
Still holding my gaze, Cody lifts my hand to his mouth. His lips press to my knuckles. The touch is gentle, almost chaste, and yet it sends heat racing through my entire body.
The laughter dies on my lips.
I swallow a gasp, but I cannot hide the way my scales flush darker along my throat, cannot control the sudden hammer of my heart. His eyes meet mine over our joined hands, and I see my own want reflected back at me.
I lean toward him, pulled as if by some inexorable force—
"Oh, this is fascinating."
L'Stourn's voice cuts through the moment like a blade.
He's not even looking at us, his attention fixed entirely on his tablet as he reviews data.
"Dr. Petrova, have you seen the scans the drones collected?
It's excellent news. The sediment buildup in the filtration chambers is minimal.
If the purification systems are equally preserved—"
I freeze.
How could I have forgotten? We are not alone. The entire engineering team sits mere feet behind us, separated only by the back of our seats, and I was about to lean across and kiss Cody like we were the only two beings in the universe.
Heat of a different kind floods through me.
I gently tug my hand from Cody's grip. He lets me go without resistance, though disappointment flickers across his features before he schools his expression.
I turn my attention to the ship console, busying myself with readouts I don't actually need to check.
"I should contact L'Zaen and D'Rett," Cody says, his voice impressively steady. "Let them know we're heading back."