I don’t know what to say to that. She’s never been good at long goodbyes. Neither have I.
“You ever wonder,” I say, voice low, “if we’re the lucky ones?”
Ceera’s eyes narrow. “Survivor’s guilt looks bad on you.”
“I don’t mean it like that. I mean... we made it out. But what the hell are we supposed to do with ‘out’?”
Ceera studies me for a beat, then tosses the empty coffee cup into a bin. “You make breakfast. You take hot showers. You sleep in the same bed more than once. You find someone who touches you without expecting you to bleed for it.”
“I have that now. Roja’s... steady. Gentle.”
“Then why do you still look like you’re waiting to be shot?”
I flinch.
Ceera steps closer. “You’re scared because you think love is a trick. Because nobody taught you how to rest. But you deserve soft things, Kelsea. You deserve warm hands and quiet mornings and meals that burn a little because you were too busy laughing to set a timer.”
I swallow hard. “You sound like him.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
I don’t know how to answer that.
She pulls something from her coat pocket. It’s a token. One of the old casino chips from before they went digital. The kind you carried for luck, not credits.
“I kept this,” she says. “Not sure why. Maybe as a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That we made it out. And that maybe, just maybe, we can make something else.”
She presses it into my palm. I clutch it tight, the metal cool and familiar. It smells like dust and copper and old stories.
We stand there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ruin we once called home.
Then she reaches out and pulls me into a hug. No hesitation. No apology. Just arms and warmth and everything we never said.
“I forgive you,” I whisper.
Ceera’s voice is muffled. “Took you long enough.”
We pull apart. She’s misty-eyed but smiling.
“I’ll miss you,” I say.
“I’ll send encrypted postcards.”
“Ceera—”
She squeezes my arm. “Stop looking over your shoulder so damn much.”
I nod, lips trembling.
She turns and walks toward the shuttle port, coat flaring behind her like wings. I don’t follow. I just watch her go, hand curled around the token like it’s a promise.
And for the first time in a long damn while—I believe I’ll survive the stillness.
CHAPTER 27
