The simplicity of it.
Destruction with no pretense.
Me? I’ve spent most of my life pretending I don’t feel the cracks.
That I’m fine.
That I’m strong enough for both of us.
But the Meld tore something open. Showed her pieces of me I’d buried so deep I forgot they had names.
Grief.
Fear.
Want.
And gods, I want her. Not just her body, not just her voice in the tether—but herpresence. That force she carries, stubborn and bright and breakable in all the best ways.
The door hisses open behind me. I don’t turn.
Her boots are softer than mine, but I’d know that footfall anywhere. Balanced. Cautious. Like she’s always halfway between staying and bolting.
I keep my eyes on the storm.
“You ever gonna stop doing that?” she asks.
I smirk. “Pacing the halls like a brooding brute or staring into the void hoping it answers back?”
“Both.”
I glance at her then. She’s still in her rig undersuit, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled into a knot that’s half fallen out. She looks tired. Real.
“You couldn’t sleep either,” I say.
She shrugs. “Didn’t try.”
She doesn’t ask what I’m doing out here. Doesn’t demand an explanation or throw my words from earlier back in my face.
She just steps up beside me. Close. Not touching. But near enough that her body heat reaches through the cold air between us like a lifeline.
The silence stretches again. But it’s not like in the cockpit. This one doesn’t weigh. It...breathes.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, voice low.
“You didn’t scare me.”
I look at her. “The Meld?—”
“Iwasn’tscared, Naull,” she cuts in, gently. “I was... overwhelmed. There’s a difference.”
“Still my fault.”
She sighs and leans her shoulder against the glass. “It’s both of us. You react. I retreat. You push. I snap. We’re great at blowing things up, less great at figuring out what to do with the pieces.”
I chuckle. “That’s the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”
She narrows her eyes. “Shut up.”
