"Of course." Kellat palmed a control and a section of the transparent barrier slid open. "Take as much time as you need."
Harper moved through the opening before her courage failed. The medical equipment hummed around Delilah's bed, tracking vitals she didn't understand. But her cousin's face looked better than yesterday—less gray, more color in her cheeks. The tubes were still there, still breathing for her, but the blood was gone from her hair and the bandages looked clean.
She pulled a chair close and sat, her fingers finding Delilah's hand. Cold. Too cold. But present. Real.
"Hey." Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "It's me. Harper. I'm... I'm here."
Delilah didn't respond. Didn't move. Just lay there with machines tracking her existence.
Harper's fingers traced over her cousin's knuckles, careful to avoid the IV line. "You're doing good. That's what Kellat said. Healing. So you just... you keep doing that, okay? Keep healing. I'll be here when you wake up."
The words felt inadequate. Everything felt inadequate. But she kept talking anyway, filling the silence with updates about the station and Kirr's quarters and the fact that she was technically a flight risk now but at least they hadn't shipped her back to Earth yet.
She didn't mention the guilt. Didn't say that she should've stopped Delilah from taking the money, from going drinking, from hiring that flyer car. Didn't admit that every time she closed her eyes she saw Delilah's head lolled at that wrong angle, blood matting her honey-blonde hair.
Delilah already knew. Had to know, on some level, that Harper blamed herself.
Through the transparent panels, she saw Kirr and Kellat talking in low voices. Kirr's posture was relaxed but attentive, his arms crossed over his chest. Kellat gestured at something on his datapad. Neither of them looked at her, giving her privacy without leaving her alone.
He'd promised to be here. Promised she'd see Delilah, and he'd kept that promise.
Harper sat with her cousin for another ten minutes, just holding her hand and breathing. Then she stood, pressed a kiss to Delilah's forehead, and retreated through the transparent barrier before the tears fell.
Kirr was there immediately, his hand finding the small of her back. Not pushing. Just there.
"Thank you," she managed. "For bringing me."
"You needed to see her." He guided her toward the exit. "I'll bring you every day during visiting hours."
Every day. Another promise.
She didn't know if she believed him yet, but the offer settled something tight in her chest.
The corridor outside medical bay was busier than before—shift change, probably. Harper pulled his jacket tighter and fell into step beside him. Her thoughts were too scattered to process anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other.
They'd gone twenty feet when she realized she was staring at him again.
Not at his body this time. At his hair.
The orange strands caught the corridor lighting, and she noticed the styling more clearly now. Short on the sides, longer on top, swept up into a high quiff. It was... distinctive. Bold. Nothing like the long braids she'd seen on every other Latharian.
"Why is your hair different?" The question came out before she could stop it.
Kirr glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Different how?"
"Short." She gestured vaguely at his head. "Everyone else has long hair. With braids and those bead things. But yours is..."
"Cut." His lips quirked. "War-Commanders cut their hair when they're promoted."
"Why?"
"Because our acts of bravery belong to the empire after that." He said it matter-of-fact, like it was common knowledge. "Honor braids mark personal achievements. War-Commanders serve the empire, not personal glory. So we cut our hair."
Harper processed that. "So the short hair means you're... what, exactly? What does a War-Commander do?"
"I'm responsible for station security. Emergency response. Protection of civilians and military personnel." He kept his pace slow, matching her shorter stride. "I coordinate defense protocols, manage combat teams, handle diplomatic security when necessary."
Her stomach dropped. "You're like a general."
