“Like I said, for some people, the line between the Confederation and the Coalition isn’t always clear.Sometimes it’s about survival. Sometimes it’s just… opportunity.”
She watches me closely, trying to figure out where I fall on that spectrum.
I lie down and slide the upper half of my body into the compartment. After a moment, I pull out two items.
Her eyes widen when she recognizes parts from a Confederation ship.
“I have to deal with traffickers,” I explain. “To stay alive, I have to play the part. So I make counterfeit parts—based on real blueprints. They look legit, but they’re structurally weak. Unreliable by design.”
She doesn’t say anything at first.
“I mostly trade them for supplies we can’t get on MyFaS. The counterfeits are just a cover. That’s all.”
“I see,” she says quietly.
Well, that went better than expected. I told her I’m kind of an explorer-slash-smuggler, and she didn’t look horrified. Honestly, I’m relieved. She’d already considered joining the Coalition’s remote outposts to offer medical help, so maybe this isn’t such a shock after all.
Ileana’s examining the two parts I pulled from the hidden compartment, turning them over in her hands, probably trying to figure out if they’re real.
“SILMAR, show us the original composition and the one I use.”
Immediately, the right front panel lights up, displaying two side-by-side lists.
The original Confederation composite includes a laminorium component—it stabilizes the structure under stress. My version doesn’t have it, which makes the material brittle and unreliable in extreme conditions, like space.
She nods, clearly impressed.
“Want to see the manufacturing plans too?”
“No, I believe you,” she says. “And I get it. Just… be careful if you ever run into those people again.”
I nod, then lie down next to the trapdoor and slide the two parts back into the hidden compartment. No need to keep them out any longer.
As I step back to close the hatch, I bump into Ileana. She’s leaning in, curious, trying to get a better look at the hidden compartment. The movement catches her off guard, and she stumbles—right into me.
I catch her instinctively, arms around her to steady us both.
For a moment, everything stops.
There she is, right there on top of me, her body pressed up against mine. I freeze, searching for her gaze. I see the same confusion in her eyes. It's impossible to miss the way she reacts to my body's response to this unexpected situation.
I've been holding back for days. I've been respecting her grief and her wounds, and a bunch of other reasons why I don't want to rush her. But now, she's here, my Soul Dedicated, in my arms, and we're both safe. What more could you ask for?
I lift my hand and stroke her cheekbone. Her skin is soft, and the short, silky strands of hair on her head cling to my fingers. The first time I saw her on BN-35, she had very long, beautifully braided hair that fell to her buttocks. She looked stunning. Her hair is now cut short, above her shoulders. She's as charming as ever. Her eyes, a shocking light gray, look at me, but don't say a word.
I confidently wrap my hand around the back of her neck and bring her head closer to mine. She follows my lead, staring at my lips. She clearly wants my kiss, and I'm ready to give it to her.
I put my mouth on her soft lips. It's an unparalleled sensation. I breathe in her scent. Her scent fills my nose, and I'm hit with this overwhelming feeling. I'll die if I don't have her.
I'm also thinking about her last relationship and how violent it was. I'm not going to let Ileana see any similarities between the Governor's way of doing things and mine. I slow things down, savoring the moment as our mouths meet.
I pause to collect myself and look at the beautiful woman nestled between my arms. Her lips are swollen from our kisses, and her gaze is still veiled by the need that possesses us. We're lying on the SIL floor. This is not the best place for my first time with my Dedicated Soul.
I push her away and help her to her feet. When I see a flash of disappointment and shame on her face, I understand. She thinks I'm pushing her away. I assessthe options and conclude that procrastination is not an option. She can't possibly think that I don't want her.
I scoop her up and carry her to my bed, giving her a kiss on the way. My hand rests on the drawer control, and it opens smoothly.
A soft surface unfolds, making it much more suitable than the cabin's rough floor. I will not stop there, even if it's not designed for this kind of activity.
