I saw the council convene. Emergency reforms. Earth First supporters scattering like dust in a hurricane. I logged every shift in the atmosphere—every tremor of fear under power, every sigh of relief in the sectors we freed. All of it triumph. All of it real.
And yet, I’m here by his side, holding Kenron’s massive hand. His fingers twitch in sleep, and I feel the callouses I used to fight beside. I feel the warmth of his skin, the faint scent of spice and steel he never managed to wash away.
“What comes after,” he whispered once before the pain meds took him, “is what we do with what we’ve saved.”
Shockingly simple. And terrifying.
I lean over and press my lips to his knuckles.
“You did it,” I say. My voice catches.
He doesn’t move.
But that’s fine.
The monitors beep. A nurse walks by, asking if I need anything. I shake my head, fingers tightening around his. I don’t want “anything.” I just want him.
Outside, the city hums differently. I can’t hear the crowds from here, but I feel their ripple. The tiles in the plaza vibrating even now from the pulse of change. The air tastes fresher—oh gods, I thought it did—and maybe for the first time in years, I believe things can heal.
Yet, I still taste salt in the back of my throat. Not from tears—at least not this time. From the memory of blood on concrete tiles, from the stench of power rotting beneath the festivals. From the cost of knowing.
Kenron stirs, his thumb brushing against my fingers. I count every scar on his hand, every line that mapped a war none of us asked for.
“Hey,” I whisper.
His eyelids flutter. He opens them slow. Blue-grey eyes, swollen. He smirks, just a flicker.
“Thought you might leave me here,” he mumbles.
“When you can walk out of this with me, I will.”
His hand squeezes mine. The bed pagers near his shoulder beep and flash. I ignore them. For now, this room holds us. And for now, that’s enough.
There’s a buzzing in my ear—my commpad sparking to life. I pull it out and look at the screen: holonet headlines scrolling.
“Montana Arrested Live! Festival Attack Foiled!”
“Planetary Security Initiates Council Reform!”
“Alien Sectors Liberated—Holonet Files Show Hidden Genocide Plot!”
Pinned at the top: a still frame of Kenron and I in the plaza, garb pulled tight, blades hidden, resolve blazing. Ghosts become heroes.
I tap the headline. A clip starts playing—crowds screaming, canisters failing, drones crashing, the stage lights dying mid-blessing, and then the dock mutiny—live stream ends with a shot of Dennis’s cuffed profile and the shard shining in Kristi’s hand.
My chest tightens.
We did this.
I scroll further. Reaction from sectors. Alien communities flooding safe-zones. Earth First strongholds collapsing from within. The ripple we started is rolling outward—and I’m part of it.
Kenron shifts and the bed squeaks. A nurse hovers again.
“Can I get her anything?”
“No,” I say firmly.
She nods, steps back.
