“I was exactly where you needed me.” She reaches up, her small hand covering his massive one. “Just like I am now. You need someone running tactical, coordinating the defensive squads, keeping the upload protected. That’s me, Henrok. That’s what I do.”
His crystalline veins pulse brighter—a sign of distress, I realize. Fear. Not for himself, but for her.
“If they get past us—”
“They won’t.” Her voice is absolute certainty. “You know why? Because the First Blade of Zater Reach has never lost a fortress defense. And he’s not going to start now. Especially not when his wife is watching.”
Something in his expression shifts. The fear doesn’t disappear, but it’s joined by something else. Pride. And beneath that, a fierce, possessive love that makes my chest ache with recognition.
“You have too much faith in me,” he says, but his voice has gentled.
“I have exactly the right amount of faith in you.” Suki rises on her toes, and he bends down so she can press a kiss to his crystalline jaw. “Besides, if you let them through, I’m going to be very annoyed. And you know how I get when I’m annoyed.”
“Terrifying,” he agrees, a rumble of amusement in his voice. “You threaten to reorganize my armory again.”
“Damn right I do. Weapons sorted by lethality? That’s chaos, Henrok. Pure chaos.”
“It is efficient.”
“It’s the classification system of a maniac.” But she’s grinning now, and I see the tension in her shoulders ease. This is what they do, I realize. They use humor to cut through the fear, to remind each other that they’ve survived worse. That they’ll survive this.
Henrok pulls her close—carefully, always carefully, aware of his strength and her fragility. She fits against his chest like she was made for the space, and for a moment they just stand there, her ear pressed to where his heart would be if Zaterran biology worked like human biology.
“I would burn this galaxy to cinders before I let them touch you,” he says quietly. Not a threat. A promise.
“I know.” She tilts her head back, looking up at him with eyes that hold three years of shared battles, shared laughter, shared life. “But you won’t have to. We’re going to win this one too. And then I’m going to make you that Terran dish I’ve been promising—the one with the noodles and the spicy sauce—and we’re going to celebrate.”
“Your human food is always too spicy.”
“You love it.”
“I loveyou.” He says it simply, matter-of-factly, like he’s reporting tactical data. But the weight of it fills the room.
Suki’s smile softens. “I love you too, you overgrown rock monster. Now get back to your station before—”
The main screen flickers back to life.
Voros’s face appears, and the man who sneered at me minutes ago is gone. In his place is something raw. Furious. Unhinged.
“Youlied,” he snarls. A vein throbs at his temple. His pale eyes have gone wild, and I can see his crew exchanging nervous glances behind him. “The stream is still active. You are still transmitting. Youlied to me.”
“It was a tactical deception,” I reply calmly. The mask is back, smooth as glass. “You should be familiar with the concept. The Consortium invented it.”
“You arrogant—” Voros cuts himself off, visibly wrestling for control. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. Deadly. “All units. Resume bombardment.”
“Commander—” someone on his bridge starts.
“RESUME BOMBARDMENT!” Voros screams, slamming his fist on his armrest. “And launch the boarding pods! FULL ASSAULT! I want every corridor of that fortress running red, and I want Valorian’s head on a spike!”
The transmission cuts.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then the fortress shudders as the first barrage hits the shields, and the War Room explodes back into chaos.
“Well,” Suki says, racking the slide on her rifle with a sharp click. “It was nice while it lasted.”
“Four minutes,” Henrok says, nodding at me. His voice carries over the renewed thunder of orbital strikes, steady as bedrock. “You bought us four minutes, Valorian. In a siege, four minutes is a lifetime.” His terrible smile widens. “You did well.”
