Something inside her cracks then—not loudly, not visibly—but I feel it. Her shoulders drop a fraction. Her voice softens.
“You’re good with her,” she says. “I didn’t expect that.”
“I didn’t expect her to like me.”
“She doesn’t like you,” she says, smiling faintly. “She loves you.”
That silences me. I look at the sleeping child between us and realize she’s right. The thought terrifies me more than any battlefield ever could.
The next day, the air feels heavier. Storm systems roll above the surface—red lightning streaking across the atmosphere, thunder vibrating the old mining rig like an angry god clearing his throat.
Nessa sits cross-legged near the lantern, humming to herself while she rebuilds her wire raptor. “He needs wings that move,” she says. “Real ones.”
I rummage through the crate of junk we scavenged and pull out a pair of servo joints. “These might work.”
Her eyes go wide. “Can we make themflap?”
“If you follow instructions.”
“Ialwaysfollow instructions,” she lies, grinning.
I show her how to link the wires, guiding her small fingers through the motions. The metal hums under my touch, faint heat blooming where her hand brushes mine. Her concentrationis fierce; she’s got my focus and Rynn’s mind. Dangerous combination.
“There,” I say when we finish. “Try it.”
She squeezes the trigger connection. The wings twitch—once, twice—then flap. It’s clumsy, uneven, but it moves.
She squeals, jumping up. “He’s alive!”
I laugh despite myself. “Don’t tell anyone you used outlaw tech to build a toy, yeah? I’ve got a reputation.”
Rynn, from the corner, murmurs without looking up, “Youhada reputation. Now you’re a fugitive dad with a knack for scavenging.”
I grin at her. “Upgrade, if you ask me.”
Her mouth twitches. “If you say so.”
When night falls, I sit outside the shelter. The air’s colder now, crisp enough that the condensation from my breath fogs in front of me. The landscape stretches out in muted color—black dunes and skeletal machinery silhouetted against the faint glow of Corven’s moons.
Rynn joins me. She’s wearing one of my old jackets, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair catches the light from the shelter, gold at the edges. She stands beside me for a while, saying nothing.
“She likes you more than me,” she says finally.
“Impossible.”
“It’s true. You built her a raptor that flaps.”
“You made her a life,” I counter. “That wins.”
Her gaze drops. “For now.”
“For always,” I say.
She leans against me, just enough to feel her weight. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her head rests against my chest, heartbeat syncing with mine. For a moment, everything—the war, the danger, the hunger—fades.
It’s just the three of us.
And even if the whole galaxy burns tomorrow, this—this quiet—makes it worth the fight.
