Baleck sat on the edge of his bed. “For what it’s worth, I’m thinking about staying for a while. Even after the crew comes back. This valley… There’s something special here. And it’s changing. Opening up. It’ll never be as isolated as it was. The storms ending changed everything.”
“You want tostay?” I asked, surprised.
“Maybe. For half a sun-cycle, at least. Learn more about the D’tran culture. Help facilitate communication between the valley and the outside world. This is the Destran home world, after all.” He smiled. “Someone needs to be a bridge. Might as well be me.”
“I need to see Derrin,” Mierva said quietly. “My mate. I need to know he’s okay, that he knows I’m alive. But after that…” She looked around the guest quarters. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to return to finish documenting this culture. To help them integrate with the larger world.Thatwill not be easy for them.”
“We can’t do that if we’re prisoners,” I said.
“No,” Mierva agreed. “We can’t. But I don’t think weareprisoners, Cleo. Not really. I think we’re caught in the middle of a culture learning to open its borders for the first time in generations. Andyes, Rezor made an error. A big one. But he’s also learning.”
“Learning at my expense,” I grumbled, but there was no denying it—they had strong points. MaybeIwas the one who was failing to change.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But consider this. You love the valley, don’t you? You’ve said so yourself. You love the work you’re doing, the peace of it, the challenge of maintaining these ancient systems. You’ve told me more than once that it’sbeen good for you. That you needed this break from the constant pressure of ship life.”
That was true, too. The slower pace here had been healing in ways I hadn’t expected. No constant crises. No emergency protocols. Just steady, methodical work that let me actually think instead of just react. And time to just…be. Time to linger in the grow facility with the plants. Time to enjoy a slow meal and gaze at the valley. Time to…love and be loved.
“Zara and Maya are great friends,” Mierva continued. “But Maya has a family of her own, and from what I hear, Zara and Captain Korvath arecomfortabletogether.” She paused there with furrowed brows. “That’s a match I didn’t see coming. Anyway, you love life on the Sola, the travel, the exploration. You’re curious about the galaxy and you don’t want to give that up.”
“Correct,” I said. “I don’t.”
“Then maybe your choice isn’t as black and white as you think it is.” She touched my hand. “Maybe there’s a way to have both. To split your time, to travel but always come back here. To be with Rezor without giving up who you are.”
“You think he’d accept that?” I asked. “A mate who leaves half the year?”
“I think he’d accept anything that meant you chose him,” Baleck said. “And as his people learn about the greater galaxy, they will start exploring, too. He may surprise you and come with you. More importantly, I think you need to figure out what you actually want. Not what you’re running from. Not what you’re afraid of. What do you actually want your life to look like?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it. Because Ididn’t know. I’d been so focused on not feeling trapped that I hadn’t thought about what I was trying to build instead.
“I don’t have an answer,” I admitted.
“Then maybe that’s what you need to figure out,” Mierva said gently. “What do you want, Cleo? Not what youdon’twant.”
CHAPTER 16
Cleo
The question haunted me over the next five cycles.
I threw myself into work, spending plenty of hours in the tech chambers with Venith, teaching her everything I knew. Walking her through every system, every repair procedure, every diagnostic routine. I made detailed recordings, step-by-step instructions for maintenance she’d need to do on her own.
Preparing to leave.
Even though the thought of leaving made my chest ache.
Venith was a quick study, asking intelligent questions and taking meticulous notes. She’d become a friend over the weeks we’d worked together, and I could see the sadness in her eyes when she realized what all this instruction meant.
“You’re really going,” she said on the fifth day, as we finished recording the last of the power distribution protocols.
“Probably.” I saved the file and sat back. “When my crew comes back, I’ll have to decide.”
“Will you come back? Ever?”
The question caught me off guard. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“I hope so.” She smiled, but it was tinged with sorrow. “You’ve taught us so much. Not just about the technology, but about thinking differently. About possibilities we never imagined.”
“You’ll do great,” I said, meaning it. “You understand these systems better than anyone. And you have all the documentation now. You don’t need me.”
