“We ran for too long,” I whisper. “Every planet. Every checkpoint. Every friend we couldn’t keep. I’m done.”
He closes his eyes.
I feel the war in him.
Then he nods.
Slow.
Grim.
Resigned.
“We’ll stay,” I say.
And I mean it all the way down to my bones.
Not out of defiance. Not out of pride.
Out oftruth.
Because they can audit every file. They can ping every database.
But they won’t find fear here.
Not anymore.
Not inme.
______________________________________________________________________________
I wake to the scent of rain on the salt-wind. The air outside our dome is damp, heavy, and promises something like change. I lie still for a moment, listening: the low hum of the hull seashell nets outside, the faint groan of the shuttle pad cooling after last night’s refuel, and Nessa’s soft breathing in the toddler bunk across from us. Everything normal, if you countednormalas a storm in slow motion.
Vael is already gone. I can tell by the chill on the mattress where his body pressed—it’s early, the kind of early where even the sea hasn’t stirred yet. I swing my legs out, feel the rough weave of the floor under my feet, the patch of moss-woven rug we dragged in from the storage bay. I walk to the viewport and push aside the sliding panel. Outside, the twin moons are still low, their light ghost-pale through the clouds. The ocean below ripples silver–violet, the tide pulling shells in and out like memory.
I think of the message Kevari brought, the tablet still face-down on the table. I could pick it up. Ishould. But not yet. I step outside instead, boots crunching on scattered drift-rocks, the sea breeze whipping the hair off my face, taste of metal and brine. My fingers curl into my jacket pockets. I draw in a deep breath. Freedom, I tell myself. And the whisper under it is possibility.
“Thought I’d findyou out here,” Vael’s voice cuts through the wind. He’s walking up the stone path behind me, sandals echoing hollow on the carved steps.
“Thought you’d be auditing the data slate again,” I say.
He smiles, but it’s a quiet one. “My eyes are everywhere.”
We reach the edge of the bluff. The wind carries more now—stronger, urgent. I pull the jacket tighter. He stands beside me but doesn’t touch me. Not until the moment I need him.
“So,” I say, trying to keep it casual. “What do wedonow?”
Vael looks at the sea, aligning his jaw with the horizon. “We testify.”
“Testify?” I turn to him. The word tastes odd in my mouth. Like rusted metal.
“Yes.” He takes my hand finally. Warm, rough from drills and ship-metal. “They’re opening a Vakutan independent legal faction. Not the Alliance. A safeguarded tribunal. We go there. We offer our testimony.”
My heart picks up. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s risky. Travel. Exposure. Politics. But it’s also legacy.”
The phrase strikes me. Legacy. It’s not something I’ve allowed myself to think about—not since the orphan camps, not since the bounty boards, not sincerunning. Legacy sounded like the sort of word you used when things were already settled. When you’d won. When you were safe. But we’re only just beginning to trust that.
