But the Meld is broken again.
And I know we’ll have to fight its return. Together. With him. Because everything else I’ve done has been half-alive.
He is fully alive.
And I will not lose him.
In the morning, I walk back. The same steps. My stomach twists when I see her boots stepping over the flowers. She didn’t crumble them. She didn’t toss them away. She just stepped around them. Quiet like a phantom.
The message is clear.
I hate messages that arrive in silence.
Inside the hanger bay I strap into the sim-flight module. The one based on Whiplash’s neural layout—in theory ready, in practice full of shards. The cockpit smells of burnt insulation and recycled air. The g-force harness bites into my chest. Systems wind up. I look at her face on the monitor—Aria, eyes shadow-heavy, sitting in the control room. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. She just watches.
“Ready,” I say through comm.
She’s quiet.
“Let’s go,” she finally says.
The sim begins. I fly. The wind inside the tank is fake—sound of turbines, acrylic shell humming. I maneuver. I feel the oldsurge. Meld wires flicker in my mind. I reach for her. Reach for the child. Reach for the bond.
And then it breaks.
The world tilts. Cohesion fractures. The feedback stings behind my eyes. The meld link dies. I’m alone in the cockpit again—with the roar of fake engines and the smell of burnt servos.
I clutch my chest. I gasp—not for pain, but for absence. Something vital ripped out of me. I shudder.
“Naull! System failure!” Aria yells in my ear.
I stumble out of the cockpit. I breathe ragged. I taste the metal smell of air in a hanger. My hands shake. I feel the scarf of cold rain on my neck.
“I’m fine,” I say, but I’m lying.
The techs gather. She comes to me. Her eyes are wide.
“What happened?” she asks.
I close my eyes.
“I lost you.”
My voice cracks.
She reaches out. But I turn away.
Later, down the corridor, the baby monitor cracks. Garma’s cry echoes. It filters through my mind—not through my ears—but through that old bond I thought was only ours. His cry is a signal. A summons. I stop. I press my palm to the wall. I hear the whimper in my skull. I turn and run toward the nursery.
She meets me at the door. No words. Just fear in her eyes.
I hold the door open. He’s there—half asleep, blankets tangled, cheeks flushed. His eyes flash gold when he sees me.
“Naull,” Aria says, voice quiet.
“Hey, buddy,” I say. I hold him and feel his heartbeat against mine.
He giggles.
