Oh. Right. She looked down at the leather jacket wrapped around her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem falling nearly to her thighs. It smelled like him. Something warm, spiced and foreign.
"I could give it back," she offered, though the thought of losing the warmth, the comfort of it, made her chest tighten.
"Keep it." His voice gentled. "You need it more than I do."
The viewport ahead showed a structure growing larger by the second. Devan Station, her brain supplied. Had to be. It was huge, bigger than anything she'd imagined, a sprawling complex of metal and lights hanging in space like a city among the stars.
Her breath caught. "Holy shit."
"Impressive, isn't it?" His hands moved over the controls, adjusting their approach. "Former battleship. Retrofitted as an orbital station."
A battleship. Of course it was. Because everything about this situation was insane.
The station loomed closer, filling the viewport, and her pulse kicked up again. Too big. Too much. She couldn't process it, couldn't?—
A sound from the back of the shuttle pulled her attention away. Medical equipment beeped, the healer's voice murmuring something.
Delilah. She needed to focus on Delilah.
Twisting in her seat, she looked through the open door into the back. The healer was bent over Delilah's still form, hands moving with the efficiency of long practise.
"Is he sure he knows what he's doing? With humans, I mean."
Kirr glanced at her, then back at the controls. "Kellat is one of the best healers in the Empire. Your cousin couldn't be in better hands."
"He looks like he needs a doctor himself." She couldn't take her eyes off those scars. "What happened to him?"
"The scars, you mean?"
She nodded.
Kirr's expression became more serious. "They're marks of skill. The more scars a healer carries, the better they are at their craft."
Harper blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Healer trials." He tapped something on the control panel, guiding the shuttle toward what looked like a docking bay. "They undergo trials to prove they’ve mastered healing techniques. Each scar represents knowledge gained, and a skill mastered."
"That's..." She blinked. "Intense."
"It's sacred." Kirr's voice held respect. "Healers give their own bodies to learn how to save others. There's no higher calling in our culture."
She looked back at Kellat with new eyes. Not a victim of violence, but someone who'd chosen pain to help others. The scars weren't marks of damage… they were badges of honor.
"Don't you have, like, super advanced tech to get rid of scars?" she asked.
Kirr's lips quirked. "We do." He touched his shoulder, bare skin smooth under his fingertips. "See? No scars. Kellat rebuilt this entire shoulder and replaced four ribs after I was caught in an explosion three years ago."
Her eyes widened. "You were in an explosion?"
"Comes with the job." He said it like getting blown up was no big deal. "The point is, healers never remove their trial scars. They're sacred marks of their calling."
The docking bay loomed ahead, huge doors opening to reveal a cavernous space. He guided the shuttle in with easy confidence, the landing so smooth that she barely felt it.
She bit her lip, watching Delilah on the stretcher over her shoulder. Still not moving. Still?—
"Kellat." Kirr's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "How are we doing back there? Got a little lady here who's very concerned about her--"
He looked at Harper, one eyebrow raised in question.
