“You okay?” she murmurs.
“Better than okay.”
She laughs, soft and low. “Same.”
Later, we sit shoulder to shoulder near the working console. I offer her what’s left of the preserved fruit paste I found in a sealed ration locker. She takes it without hesitation, her fingers brushing mine in passing. I heat a canister of broth for her and hand it over.
“You’re spoiling me,” she says, cupping the warmth.
“I was taught to care for what matters.”
Her gaze flicks to me, sharp. “Was that a line?”
“No,” I grunt, then hesitate. “Yes. Maybe.”
She laughs again, then rests her head on my shoulder while sipping. I pretend not to notice the way my pulse jumps.
We talk while we work. Cleaning weapons, recalibrating heat sensors, mapping out egress vectors. She suggests we try a long-range pulse next cycle to see if anyone responds. I agree, even though the dread’s already clawing up my spine.
Because we get the ping that afternoon.
I’m running diagnostics when the console chirps. A low, insistent chime.
Ella darts over. “That’s an Alliance signature. Civilian search grid. Probably a rescue op.”
I stare at the screen. The frequency patterns are distant. Erratic. But they’re real.
She beams. “We’re getting out.”
I nod. Force a smile. My jaw aches from the strain.
She doesn’t see it.
She’s already bouncing on her toes, fingers dancing over the interface. “I’ll prep a response burst. Let them know we’re alive. Maybe get an ETA.”
I want to tell her.
I don’t.
Because how do I say it without ruining the warmth in her eyes? How do I tell the woman I just held, just loved, that her people will see me as nothing more than a beast?
That to the Alliance, I’m not a survivor.
I’m a war criminal.
They’ll put me in a cage. Maybe worse. I won’t even get a trial.
And if she tries to protect me… they’ll turn on her too.
So I sit. Watch her program the beacon. My claws dig into my thighs, hidden beneath the bulk of my body. I focus on her voice. Her energy. The way she bites her lip when the signal strength wavers. The way her hair curls at the nape of her neck in the heat.
If this is the end, I’ll rememberthis.
But she’s not letting me go that easy. Not now.
And maybe I’ll fight harder than I ever did for any banner.
Not for glory.
