“Yes.”
Another beat of silence.
“I remember the blast,” he says. “I remember the heat. The sound. And then—nothing. Just pain. Disorientation. Darkness.”
He rubs the heel of his hand against his temple.
“But there was a voice,” he murmurs. “Yours. It played in my head every time I blacked out. Over and over. You were saying my name.”
I can’t stop the tears that prick the back of my eyes.
“I kept trying to answer,” he continues, voice hoarse. “But my throat wouldn’t work. My mouth was full of blood and static and I couldn’t move. The medevac team said I coded twice before they stabilized me.”
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
He nods. “I was transferred off-world. Comatose. The Alliance classified the whole op. Said it was cleaner that way.”
“So I buried an empty casket,” I say.
He winces. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers dig into the fabric of my pants. “Do you know what it’s like to raise a child on a border station? Alone? With eyes always watching, questions always brewing?”
“I can imagine.”
“No, Vael. Youcan’t.I’ve had to code her genetics, hide her traits, medicate her outbursts—pray she doesn’t break another child’s wrist in school.”
He flinches. “She’s strong?”
“She’s you.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a confession. “She’s everything I missed.”
“You weren’t ready,” I say.
“Maybe not,” he admits. “But I am now.”
I finally look at him. Really look.
The man in front of me isn’t the warrior I loved at twenty-six. He’s older now. Weathered. Fractured in places I still can’t name.
But he’s also real.
And present.
“Why are you here, Vael?” I ask softly. “Really.”
He meets my eyes. “Because I want to protect her.”
“And me?”
His voice doesn’t waver. “Always.”
I blink hard. “We’re not the same people anymore.”
“I know.”
“We’re broken.”
