"Soon?" she squeaked. "Like... this week soon?"
"Perhaps within days," Kellat confirmed. "If she responds to the initial treatment."
Hope unfurled in the center of her chest. Delilah wasn't just stable. She wasn't just surviving. She was coming back.
Her gaze swung from Kellat to Kirr, vision blurring. "Did you hear that?"
"I heard." Kirr's hand squeezed her shoulder. "She is strong. Like her cousin."
She let out a choked laugh, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. She didn't have to choose. For years, survival had been zero-sum. Food or clothes. Safety or freedom.
But now?
She had the mate who'd tear a station apart for her, and she had a cousin who was more like a sister. She got to keep both.
"Do I need to authorize the treatment or something?" she asked, standing up on shaky legs. "Where do I sign? What do we need to do?"
"No permissions needed. I do have the protocols ready in my office, but Kirr can review those if you like?" Kellat said, glancing at Kirr. “They are in Latharian, I’m afraid. I don’t write in Terran.”
She nodded, smiling up at Kirr. “Please, if you could?”
“Of course, kelarris.”
"If you would join me, War-Commander?”
Kirr nodded and bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Take a moment. We will be right outside."
The two men left the room, the door sliding shut behind them, leaving Harper alone in the quiet hum of the bay.
She sat back down, leaning forward until her elbows rested on the mattress. She studied Delilah's face—the sweep of her lashes, her mouth curved in a stubborn line even in sleep. She looked peaceful.
She brushed a strand of honey-blonde hair off Delilah's forehead and thought about everything that had happened since the crash.
"You need to wake up soon, Dee," she murmured, leaning close to her cousin's ear. "Trust me on this one. These alien men are gorgeous, and you are seriously missing out."
EPILOGUE
The silence in the office was heavier than the vacuum of space.
Kellat sat in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he shifted his weight, but he didn't look at the dataflex in his hand. He didn't look at the roster of incoming patients or the inventory of medical supplies that needed his authorization.
All his attention was on the observation window in front of him.
Down in the main bay, the lights were dimmed to the station’s night cycle, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. Most of the beds were empty... the occupants had either been discharged or moved to the recovery ward. Only one bed remained occupied in the critical care sector.
Delilah.
From this angle, she looked small. Fragile. The white sheets were pulled up to her waist, her honey-blonde hair fanned across the pillow. He could see the steady rise and fall of her chest, and the rhythmic blink of the monitors keeping time with her heartbeat showed on the console on his desk.
Beep... beep... beep.
It was the most beautiful sound in the galaxy and the most terrifying.
He'd told Harper and Kirr that he had a plan. He'd projected confidence, the calm, unshakeable authority of the station's Lead Healer. He was the expert here. The one who fixed broken things. The one warriors came to when they were bleeding out, trusting him to stitch their limbs back into their bodies.
But his hand trembled as he reached for the slate-gray document sitting on the corner of his desk.
It wasn't a medical chart. It wasn't a scan result. Instead, it was a Mate Program notification.
