Naull is out there somewhere. Walking his way through whatever grief, whatever guilt, whatever storm his soul can’t silence.
He didn’t even ask about Garma.
Did he already know? Could he feel it?
I close my eyes. I feel that phantom thread in my chest where the Meld used to be. Faint now. Nearly gone. Like a wound still bleeding on the inside, but scabbed over on the surface.
I wanted to tell him. I did.
But I was too afraid. Of what it would mean. Of what he’d say. Of what it would break.
And now? It’s already broken.
Evening falls slow.
The lights in the corridor buzz and dim. Garma is asleep in my arms again, twitching from a dream I’ll never understand. I stroke his back, press my cheek to his hair.
I can’t do this alone.
But I will.
Because that’s what mothers do. That’s what soldiers do. That’s what I’ve always done.
And if Naull never comes back?
We’ll survive.
If I see him again?
We’ll see.
But tomorrow, I go back to the stars.
I go back to war.
With or without him.
And I carry this child—thistruth—not as a secret anymore, but as fire.
CHAPTER 26
ARIA
The operator’s voice cuts through the buzz of the control deck like a live wire.
“Alpha Signal detected. Whiplash just came online—no pilot inside.”
Everything in me stills. A hush drops over the room like vacuum-seal. The scrape of a mug on metal. The sharp inhale of the comms tech beside me. And my own heartbeat, fast and loud and furious, pounding in my ears like a warning.
Or a homecoming.
I push back from the console before I even register the motion. My legs move on instinct, not logic. I’m out the door, down the corridor, boots echoing against the reinforced plates. The others call after me—Lieutenant, Commander, Aria—but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. My blood is screaming now, hot and frantic. The Meld hasn’t just sparked. It’s reaching. Grasping.
Calling me.
The bay doors hiss open like they remember me. Like they’ve missed me.
And there she is.
