“Wingododonogo!” he repeats, with a sense of pride.
“Alright then. Wingo it is.” I smile. “Come on, Wingo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
As we head toward the shower, I notice Wingo trying to match my steps, mimicking my stride with surprising precision. I chuckle and start exaggerating my movements, turning it into a playful game. Wingo follows along, hopping and imitating my every move with enthusiasm.
“You’re quite the quick learner, Wingo,” I say, laughing.
Inside the shower, I gently spray him down. The mud begins to slide off, revealing the rich tones of his fur underneath. He shakes himself off, sending droplets everywhere, then splashes water back at me. I pretend to be shocked.
“Hey! Watch it, buddy!” I say, splashing him back with a grin.
Wingo lets out a series of cheerful “Gnuffgnuff” sounds, clearly enjoying himself. I can’t help but smile. This little guy is full of surprises.
Once we’re done, I wrap him in a towel and start drying him off. He grabs the towel with his teeth and tugs, turning it into a game of tug-of-war.
“Okay, okay, you win!” I laugh, letting go.
Wingo looks triumphant. I give him a gentle pat on the head.
“Welcome aboard, Wingo. We’ve got a lot to figure out, you and I. But we’ll get through it. Together.”
Chapter 4.
Ileana, 18, 5126 of Polaris year.
This is the second time in less than a year that I’ve stood in this same cafeteria, surrounded by the same sterile walls, for the same heartbreaking reason. Another funeral. Another space release.
The first time was months ago, when we lost Administrator Mourad and his son Rayan. Rayan and I had been involved—quietly, secretly. Their deaths were sudden, the result of a hardware failure. The ceremony was held right here, and after their bodies were returned to space, Henri stepped in as the new administrator of BN-35. It made sense—he’d been Mourad’s right hand. Everyone admired Henri. For a while, we even thought he might become part of our family. Maybe even find a place beside Mom.
But now it’s her lying there. My mother.
She died yesterday—cardiac arrest. Alone in her lab, working late again, chasing a cure for Prianka. She gave everything to that mission. Nights without sleep, endless stress, the weight of hope and fear pressing on her heart until it finally gave out. Dr. Fanyoru told usthis morning. They found her early, but it was already too late.
It’s unbearable. But I have to hold it together. I’m all Prianka has now. I’ve been her anchor for years, and I have to be even stronger now.
I’m standing behind her wheelchair, just a few steps from Mom’s remains. I rest my hands on her shoulders, trying to warm her. She’s trembling—maybe from shock, maybe from her illness. I glance at Fanyoru. He catches my eye and gives a small nod—he’ll check on her soon.
As the ceremony ends, Prianka starts to sob. And I feel myself unraveling. I want to cry with her, to fall apart. But I can’t. Not yet.
People begin to drift away, returning to their routines. Only Fanyoru, Henri, Prianka, and I remain.
Henri clears his throat. “Ileana, could I speak with you for a moment? We need to talk about your situation now that your mother’s gone.”
I look up at him, my eyes stinging. Now? He wants to talk about this now?
“I’m taking Prianka for a check-up,” Fanyoru says quickly, stepping in. He grips the wheelchair handles and starts guiding her toward the exit. “Let’s check your vitals, Prianka. And I’ll make you a hot infusion—you’re shivering. Ileana, you can come pick her up later. Take your time. She’s in good hands.”
I watch them leave, silent, a chill creeping down my spine. This is the moment I’ve been dreading—alone with Henri. The man who stirs up so many tangled feelings inside me.
I glance up at him, wary.
“I’m so sorry for what’s happened to you and your sister,” he says softly. “Who could’ve imagined Chandra would leave us like this? She wasn’t even forty-five.”
I stare at him, saying nothing.
He’s wearing his formal uniform today—the one with the black diagonal bars across the chest that mark his rank on the base. His voice is soft, his expression full of sympathy, like always. Everything about him says he cares.
But it doesn’t matter. Henri has always made me uneasy.
