My breath catches. “I didn’t— I’m sorry.”
“First Meld attempt. She and I were paired back home. Thought we had it down. But we weren’t... compatible.”
I look at him then, reallylook.The grin’s gone. The bravado’s stripped down to something raw and vulnerable.
“She died in the cockpit,” he says. “Burned before they could pull her out. We were stillconnected.”
“Oh my god.”
He shrugs, but the motion’s stiff. “It’s why I don’t like slowing down. Thinking too much. That’s when things go wrong.”
My voice is barely above a whisper. “And yet you agreed to do this again?”
“With you?” he says, giving me a crooked smile. “Worth the risk.”
There it is again. That pull. The thing I keep pretending isn’t there.
I swallow hard. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what todowith it.”
He leans in, not close enough to touch, but enough that I feel the heat rolling off him. “You don’t have to do anything. Just... let me in.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know. That’s why it’s working.”
I blink at him.
He points at the console. The Meld interface is still faintly pulsing—green. Not red. Not dead. Just weak. Butstable.
A test sync. Partial. Enough to function in controlled sim.
“I didn’t shut you out,” I whisper.
He grins. “Told you. Worth the risk.”
I sit back, suddenly exhausted.
The chamber feels different now. Not warm, not cold—justcharged.Like the air’s holding its breath.
“Aria,” he says, softer now. “I’ll keep trying if you do.”
Something knots up in my throat.
I nod.
The fourth Meld test ends with me yanking the interface cables off so fast they spark against the console. The lights above flicker, and I barely stop myself from slamming my fists into the bulkhead. I can taste ozone and the burn of frustration in the back of my throat.
“This is pointless,” I say, shoving back from the control harness.
Naull doesn't even flinch. He’s sitting there, sweaty and shirtless again—because ofcoursehe is—arms folded, golden eyes watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s half solved and doesn’t mind taking the rest of his life to figure out.
“I’ve had better syncs with a wet data cable,” I mutter.
“Give it a break, sparks,” he says, voice low and maddeningly calm. “You’re thinking too hard.”
