Outside, the wind rises. The city creaks. The static echoes.
And I wait.
CHAPTER 21
NAULL
Oxford isn’t built for someone like me.
Not really.
The arches are too low; the cobbles too slick when autumn rain hits them. Every step I take I’m half-expecting the ground to quake underfoot, mech servos humming, thrusters engaging. But so far—so good.
I duck as I walk beneath an old archway by the Bodleian library, rain-beads kissing the back of my neck. Aria knows I don’t like tea. Doesn’t stop her ordering Earl Grey anyway—“It suits you, Naull,” she tells me. Never mind I’d have preferred a double-shot espresso or something with enough punch to match my memories. I smile anyway. Sit opposite her in the café. Umbrella dripping at my feet. Steam rises between me and her, carrying the scent of bergamot and something else—hope? Maybe.
We’re training again. Not in the cockpit—yet—but in portable Meld-nodes the tech guys say are “pre-alpha test platforms.” I don’t care about the buzz-words. I care we’reconnected. The psychic bridge, they say. But it’s glitchy. Static flickers. Signalscrackle. I feel her thoughts, yes—but also a million other things. Warnings. Regrets. Silence. The gap between us is too loud.
The simulation chamber is minimalist—white walls, cables hanging like vines, the scent of ozone and recycled air. I strap in. She straps in. We exchange a glance. No words. I know she’s wondering if I’ll break us again. I wonder if I’ll let her. I tighten the harness. Nodes attached to our temples buzz warm and alive.
“Ready when you are,” she says, voice soft.
“Let’s go,” I say, voice a whisper of steel.
The circuit lights up. I feel the rush—like the storm back on Rhavadaz. The world drops out. Our minds lock. Her heartbeat echoes in my chest. Her breath brushes my thoughts. The simulation begins.
We’re on a platform above the acid plains of Rhavadaz again. The wind shrieks. The sky bleeds violet. But this time… I’m not alone. I have her. I have Garma in his carrier somewhere safe. I have a reason.
I move. She moves. We leap. Cable arms deploying. The simulated megafauna lash out. I dodge. She intercepts. We strike together. The Meld holds… just. The interference spikes. The world crackles. My vision splits between simulation and real world. I wince.
“Naull… I’m losing you,” she calls through the connection.
“Got you,” I reply. My voice is steady, but inside I flare. Something’s off. The cables in simulation short. Sparks. The beast roars. Everything goes white.
I wake breathing hard. Sweat slick under my undersuit. Aria stares at me. Concern-flicker crosses her face. I manage a smile.
“Got you,” I say again.
She’s silent. I can tell she’s processing. The air between us tastes metallic.
That afternoon, I follow her on her walk with Garma. Rain has eased. Puddles reflect the spires of the university. Garmatoddles ahead, boots clomping, laughing. I stay back a little so they can have their moment. I watch her profile—jaw set when Garma missteps, hand instantly steadying him. Her hair flicks across her cheek. The soft laugh she gives him. These moments—they kill me. In the best way.
She sees me and tilts her head. I nod. She smiles. Not full—still cautious. But it’sthere. I like that.
On the walk back, the rain returns. She pulls up Garma’s hood. I pull up mine. We reach a café. She orders tea and a hot chocolate for Garma. I drink tea again, pretending I enjoy it for her sake. Steam spirals. The café smells like gingerbread and diesel from the street outside. Warm.
She watches me. “You don’t have to pretend to like tea,” she says.
I glance up. “I know.”
She smiles faint. “Good.”
We talk about the Corps. About Nexxus threats. The spectre of Spectra. I don’t like talking about it. But she starts it. “They think the Titan was just the start,” she says. “We’re seeing patterns in the jumps. Meld signatures fluctuating. Whiplash being offline…” Her voice trails.
“You still watch it?” I ask.
“Every day.” She stirs her drink. “Waiting.”
I drop my spoon. The clink seems loud. She looks up, meets my eyes. “She’s waiting for us,” I say. “And I don’t mean the machine.” My voice is low. She nods slowly.
