And something else I don’t want to name.
I get up. I don’t even put shoes on. Just pull my jacket over the tank top I slept in and let the door hiss shut behind me.
The hallway’s empty. Lights on low cycle. Medcenter’s asleep — or pretending to be.
My feet take me without thinking. Past the labs. Past the diagnostics ward. Down to the far wing where the training center sits tucked into a corner like some forgotten muscle of this quiet place.
I palm open the door.
Expect darkness. Solitude.
But he’s there.
Vael.
Shirtless, drenched in sweat, muscles straining as he pushes through a set of one-armed lifts on the parallel bars.
His back is scarred. Not just from war, but fromreconstruction. Metal lines seam down his shoulder blades like silver tattoos. The kind of damage you don’t come back from unless they pour half a ship’s worth of credits into rebuilding you.
He’s breathless. Wild-eyed.
Beautiful.
And I hate myself for thinking it.
I step back, ready to leave.
His voice stops me.
“Why do you run?”
It’s barely a whisper.
But it hits like a spear to the chest.
I freeze.
“Rynn.” He doesn’t look up. Just stands there, hanging between bars, chest heaving. “Why do you always run when I get close?”
“I don’t,” I say, too fast.
He turns. Face unreadable in the low light. “You ran five years ago.”
My heart pounds. “You don’t remember?—”
“Ido,” he cuts in. “Not everything. But enough. Enough to know your voice was the last thing I heard before I went under.”
I look away. “Then you know I tried to save you.”
“Did you?”
I flinch.
He steps down from the bars, limping slightly as he approaches.
I should leave.
But I don’t.
