Where my body speaks in sighs and his listens in silence.
Where every movement saysI’m here, andyou’re safe, andwe made it.
He’s warm and solid and human beneath me. His mouth finds the edge of my collarbone and stays there, like he’s not ready to leave.
We don’t talk through it.
We justare.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times, but every moment still feels new. Gentle. Careful.
Not because we’re fragile—because this is sacred.
He breathes my name again when we finish—barely a whisper this time. His arms stay around me like he’s afraid I’ll dissolve if he lets go.
I don’t know when we drift.
At some point, our legs tangle, our breaths sync. The sweat cools. The air turns quiet again.
He nuzzles into the side of my neck. I kiss his temple.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I stop bracing for the worst.
Across the hall, Nessa sleeps.
Her tiny breaths carry through the quiet ship like proof.
She’s safe.
We’re safe.
I don’t know what’s coming tomorrow. Don’t care.
Tonight, I sleep with his heartbeat in my ear.
And I’m not afraid.
CHAPTER 28
VAEL
It’s too quiet.
Not in the room—there’s the low, steady whine of the ship’s aging systems, the occasional pressure click from the hull compensating against orbit drift. That kind of noise is expected. Mechanical. Predictable.
What’s quiet is theabsence.The silence where threat used to live.
No alarms. No footfalls. No coded voice broadcasts spitting my name like a curse.
It’s gone.
And I don’t know how to wear that kind of quiet.
Rynn’s curled up beside me on the medbay cot, her breath warm against my shoulder, steady and soft. One leg draped over mine, her fingers still lightly curled in the front of my shirt like she’s afraid she might wake up and I won’t be here.
I’m not asleep. Haven’t even tried.
I’m staring at the overhead vent, watching condensation form on the lip of the panel and drip in perfect rhythm. Time measured in microclimate sweat.
