Valtron suppresses a grin. “Aye, Captain.”
“You have to hold hands,” she commands.
We do. Valtron’s hand engulfs mine, warm and rough.
“Now,” Ripley says, handing me one of the stones. It’s cool and heavy, swirled with violet and blue. She hands the other to Valtron. “These are the promise stones. Because we don’t have bands. And stones are stronger because you can’t break them.”
I look at the rock in my palm. She’s right.
“Daddy,” she says—and my breath catches. It’s the first time she’s used the word so casually, without testing the weight of it. “You have to promise to catch Mama if she falls.”
Valtron’s eyes go glassy. He squeezes my hand. “I promise.”
“And Mama,” she turns to me. “You have to promise to... to make him snacks when he’s grumpy.”
I laugh, a wet, choked sound. “I promise.”
“And you both promise to never, ever leave the team.”
We look at each other. The wind blows Valtron’s hair across his forehead. He looks younger here. Lighter.
“I promise,” we say in unison.
Ripley throws her hands up, tossing a handful of waxy leaves she stripped from the bushes earlier.
“You’re married now!” she shouts as the petals rain down on us.
I think it’s perfect.
That night, we don’t close the windows. We don’t dim the lights. We lie under stars we’ve never named, on a blanket that smells like salt and sun.
He touches me like I’m real. Like I’m not a memory or a wound. Like I’m here. Now.
I kiss him like the world ended and came back soft.
It’s not about heat. Not even about comfort.
It’s about choosing each other. Again. And again.
His name is a heartbeat in my mouth.
My name is peace on his lips.
When I fall asleep afterward, my hand still holds the stone Ripley gave me. My fingers wrapped around something ancient and true.
CHAPTER 29
RHEA
The ping finds me when I least expect it—just as I’m helping Ripley hang her wet swim clothes on the railing. She’s humming something off-key, one of those songs Valtron whistles while building things, all rhythm and no melody. The sky is this unreal green, clouds soft like smoke trails curling against it. I press a kiss to the top of her head and turn when I hear the soft chirp from my pad.
Encrypted. High priority. Alliance protocol.
I haven’t seen that clearance tag since—well. Since before. Since I still had credentials that mattered.
Valtron’s up the ridge, hammering something into the frame of a half-built greenhouse he’s obsessed with. Ripley’s helping him in her own way—mostly by handing him the wrong tools and narrating every bug she sees like it’s a nature docu-cast.
I sit on the porch, pad trembling a little in my lap. The message is from Leena Dray.
