I grin, slow and wide.
“We already did,” I say.
She blinks. “What?”
I nudge her nose with mine. “Remember? Fire. Screaming. Falling from orbit. Joint trauma. That’s the Vakutan bonding rite.”
She rolls her eyes, but her laugh is pure sunlight. “That doesn’t count.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
I run my fingers through her hair, slow and careful. “Then yeah. Someday. I’ll marry you.”
She hums, eyes slipping closed again.
“That’s enough,” she whispers.
And it is.
It really is.
CHAPTER 30
ARIA
It’s almost too quiet.
Not the dangerous kind, though. Not like the silence before a kaiju surge or a feedback loop failure. No, this quiet is soft. Domestic. The kind of quiet that has edges smoothed down by time and repetition and love.
The stars hang heavy above Rhavadaz, clearer now that the storms have ebbed. I lean over the balcony railing, warm mug cupped between my hands, and breathe in night air that no longer smells like war. Just dust. Ozone. Home.
Behind me, Naull’s humming something tuneless while he resets the holopad for tomorrow’s rookie drills. I can hear the scratch of his clawtip against the touchscreen and the quiet muttering he does when he thinks I’m not listening.
I smile without turning around. I don’t need to look to know what he’s doing. That’s the thing about us now. There’s a rhythm, even when the song’s messy.
I sip my tea. The mug saysI void warranties. A gift from a student. Garma’s somewhere inside, asleep. Or coloring. Or plotting to turn my diagnostic drone into a dragon again. He’s clever like that.
It still hits me sideways sometimes—how we ended up here. How we survived.
HowIsurvived.
Because gods know there were days when I didn’t think I would. Or should.
“Hey,” Naull’s voice cuts through the hum. He’s at the door now, leaning in the frame like he’s posing for a smuggler’s poster. Barefoot. Rumpled. Whole.
I glance over. “Hey yourself.”
He crosses to me in a few long strides and wraps his arms around my waist from behind. His chin settles on my shoulder, warm breath brushing my skin. I lean back into him instinctively.
“You’re thinking loud again,” he murmurs.
“So are you.”
He presses a kiss to my neck, lazy and lingering. “What are we thinking about?”
“Scars,” I say quietly.
