When the door clicks shut I lean back. I pull the shawl from my shoulders and straighten it over Kenron. It still smells of smoke from the hub and staleness from the stairwell but there’s a note of freedom in it now. A badge.
The light in the ward shifts around midmorning, filtering through polarized glass in long, slanted stripes that paint Kenron’s face gold and shadow. He’s still out cold, machines humming soft beside him, his chest rising in slow, shallow breaths. I haven’t left since they wheeled him in. Not once.
My body aches, but it’s that kind of pain you don’t fight. It’s the price of still being here. The cost of making it out.
I sit curled in the plastic chair, his hand wrapped in mine, thumb tracing the ridged scars I know by heart now. My head rests on the mattress edge. I should sleep. But I’m scared if I blink too long, I’ll miss it.
Then, just past the noon hour, he stirs.
It starts with a twitch—fingers flexing like they’re remembering what it means to hold, to fight, to live. Then a groan, low and gravelly, slips from his chest.
I bolt upright, eyes wide. “Kenron?”
He blinks. Slow. Bleary. Like he’s rising from underwater. Then his lips crack open and he mutters, hoarse and dry:
“You didn’t run.”
It’s not a question. It’s a benediction.
And just like that, I laugh. Loud, ugly, relieved. My throat tightens around it, and tears spill hot and fast down my cheeks.
“I didn’t,” I whisper, clutching his hand like it’s the only thing tethering me to the planet. “You’re stuck with me now.”
He tries to smirk, but it pulls at the stitched side of his mouth. His nose scrunches in protest. “Guess that makes me lucky.”
“Damn right it does,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve, not caring how I look. “You should see the other guy.”
He grunts, then winces. “Remind me to letyoudo the stabbing next time.”
I lean in, pressing my forehead to his. “You almost died.”
“You would’ve brought me back,” he says without missing a beat.
“Cocky bastard.”
His fingers curl around mine. We just breathe for a while. No explosions. No alarms. No poisoned sky. Just two fools who made it.
“I quit,” I say into the silence.
His eyes slide open again, brows low and curious. “What?”
“The archives. I turned in my credentials. Formally. Finally.” I shrug. “There’s no going back to that life. Not after this.”
He hums, like he’s thinking that through. “They probably boxed your office already.”
“I hope so,” I laugh. “They can keep my chair. That thing was cursed.”
His lips twitch in something close to a smile. “So what now?”
I take a deep breath, feel the weight of what’s coming settle on my shoulders again. “I testified yesterday. Before the tribunal. Gave them everything. The shard. The data. My own account. They’re holding emergency hearings. Global, not just planetary. People are watching.”
“Good,” he says, like it’s an order fulfilled.
“But that’s not all.” I shift in the seat, square my shoulders. “I’m launching something new. A foundation. Dedicated to interspecies justice. Cultural preservation. Reparative research.”
He whistles. “Damn.”
“I’m calling it The Shard Initiative.”
