I stare at him.
Really stare.
At the man who saved my life more times than I can count. At the soldier who never asked for love but found it anyway. At the bastard who left me once and now stands here, trying not to do it again.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He nods. “I deserve that.”
“I love you,” I add.
His breath catches.
And for the first time since we got here, he looks afraid.
Really, truly afraid.
Of what this means.
Of what comes next.
Ofme.
And maybe that’s the most honest thing he’s ever shown me.
We don’t move.
Not for a long time.
Just two people standing in the hollow bones of a dying ship, trying to outrun fate.
And failing.
I walk away.
I don’t storm off. I don’t scream. I don’t even slam the door. I just turn, heart punching against my ribcage, lungs locked around something too thick to swallow. My boots clank on the warped floor panels as I retreat to the main hold, trying not to hear the hollow echo of silence chasing me.
I sit in the dark. Let the hum of the failing reactor buzz in my bones. The decryption rig casts faint green light across the floor, fractured like a broken promise. The data scrolls—fragments of horror and truth in equal measure.
I’m shaking.
Not from fear.
From fury. From heartbreak. From the goddamn weight of it all.
He was gonna leave. Just go. Like that. No warning, no plan. And I wouldn’t have known until I woke up to an empty freighter and static on the comms.
The worst part? I get it.
That’s what makes me want to scream.
Because I know him. Valtron is carved out of duty and guilt and fire. He was born to protect people who never thank himand never ask what it costs. I knew that from the moment he stepped into my apartment and took a blaster bolt meant for me without blinking.
But knowing it doesn’t make it hurt less.
I bury my face in my hands. The air smells like ozone and metal and burnt-out wiring. Like sweat and stubbornness. Like him.
The rig pings.
