The weights strain against my rebuilt shoulder as I push through another rep. The servo in my left arm hisses—overloaded—but I grit my teeth and press harder. Sweat drips from my brow, pooling on the mat below me.
The training deck is mostly empty. The lights dimmed, the hum of grav-stabilizers low and steady. It’s late. Everyone else is either sleeping or pretending to. I can’t afford either luxury.
Not tonight.
“Still think you’re invincible?” Kael’s voice cuts across the silence like a plasma torch.
He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, a towel slung around his neck like he owns the place. His eyes flick to the readout on my vitals display.
“You’re overclocking again,” he says. “The med techs are gonna have a stroke.”
“They should’ve programmed me better then,” I grunt, dropping the weights with a sharp clang.
Kael saunters over, tossing me a hydration pack. “You’ve been pushing like this for three days. What are you chasing?”
I don’t answer.
“Or are you running?” he adds, brow arched.
I shoot him a look.
He just shrugs. “Look, I’m not your therapist. But I’ve been down the hole before. Got the scars to prove it.”
I squeeze the hydration pouch, gulping it down, trying to silence the storm behind my ribs.
“She let you hold her, huh?”
That stops me.
I turn slowly.
Kael doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk. He’s just… watching me.
“I hear things,” he says. “Med center gossip is louder than a gunship engine. Word is, you’ve got a mate and a cub under this roof.”
“I don’t know what I have,” I say finally, the words sandpaper against my throat.
“You’ve got a second chance,” Kael replies. “Don’t waste it acting like a lone-warrior stereotype. You know how those stories end.”
I let the silence stretch, heavy and full.
Then I mutter, “I might not be here much longer.”
Kael’s eyes narrow. “You planning on skipping out?”
“I’m planning on surviving.”
“No, you’re planning on running,” he says, stepping closer. “I get it. You’re scared. You’ve got a past full of fire and ghosts and now suddenly you’ve got a future again. But instead of facing it, you’re looking for an exit.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Yeah, but you needed it.”
I exhale through my nose. He’s not wrong. That’s the worst part.
“You think she’ll be better off without you?” Kael asks. “You think your cub’ll grow up stronger with a mother carrying this secret alone, always looking over her shoulder?”
“She was never supposed to raise her alone.”
