I pull Polly closer. Feel her heart hammer against my chest. The bond blazes between us—no fear in it, not anymore. Just love. Just certainty. Just the absolute knowledge that whatever comes next, we face it together.
“Together?” I ask.
She looks up at me. Her eyes are fierce, wet at the edges, absolutely unafraid.
“Always.”
I would do it all again.
Every choice. Every moment. Every terrible decision that led me here.
For her.
The countdown ticks: 85 seconds.
The Valorian Fleet burns toward us, too far away.
16
The Cavalry
Polly
Eighty-fiveseconds.
I’ve run a thousand emergency calculations in my courier career. Engine failures in asteroid fields. Hyperspace coordinates that had to be perfect or we’d come out inside a star. That one time I had to calculate fuel consumption while a Morcrestian trade ship was actively trying to eat my hull.
This one has no solution.
Eighty-five seconds until impact. Two hundred forty seconds until help arrives.
The math doesn’t work. The mathneverdoesn’t work—there’s always an angle, always a trick, always some impossible maneuver that makes the numbers sing. That’s what I do. That’s who I am.
Except right now, in this generator chamber that stinks of ozone and blood and the acrid tang of burned scales, the numbers are telling me we’re dead.
Through the bond, I feel Rynn’s acceptance. His peace. It should terrify me—this calm certainty that we’re about to be atomized by a fleet of corporate ships piloted by a man who’s clearly lost every marble he ever had. Instead, it wraps around me like a blanket, warm and steady.
Together, he sends.Whatever comes.
I look up at his face—beautiful and battered, scales still faintly glowing from the bio-flare that nearly killed him, golden eyes soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
And I think:Absolutely not.
I didn’t survive the Cassian Nebula stim-runners, three separate pirate attacks, and that oneveryconfused Morcrestian who tried to eat my ship just to die because some corporate asshole has anger management issues.
“The Meridian ships,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel. “They’re all slaved to the Eclipse’s tactical network, right? For coordination?”
Rynn’s brow furrows. Through the bond, I feel his exhaustion war with sudden interest. “Yes, but the network is—”
“Zip’s still in the fortress systems.” I grab his arm, feeling the residual heat of his scales through my gloves. “And Zip isverygood at breaking into things he shouldn’t.”
Hope flares through our connection—bright and desperate and entirely earned. Because he knows my AI. He knows what Zip can do when properly motivated.
“Polly.” His voice is rough. “Even if Zip can access—”
“Trust me?”
His hand comes up to cup my face. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and even now, even with death screaming toward us at ramming speed, that touch makes my pulse skip. “Always.”
