Not hard.
Not desperate.
Just soft.
Real.
Like we’re both remembering something sacred.
When we part, I rest my forehead against his.
His eyes are shining.
“Can I know her?” he asks, voice barely audible.
Nottake her.
Notclaim her.
Just…knowher.
I nod. Once.
“Start small,” I say. “Start slow.”
He lets out a breath like it’s the first one he’s taken in years.
And then—for the first time in weeks, maybe longer—he smiles.
It’s crooked. Tentative.
But it’shis.
And in that moment, I realize I’m not carrying this alone anymore.
I never have to again.
CHAPTER 19
VALTRON
Iwalk into zero-G park feeling like I might puke.
No fight this time. No flares, no camera lights, no roaring crowd. Just chilled air, soft music echoing around the spherical dome, and kids wearing neon jump-suits bouncing off walls like rubber. Gravities shift, walls curve, the smell of ionized air tangles with sweet cotton-candy sold at kiosks. I’m not built for this. Not yet.
But then I see her.
Ripley.
Blonde knees scraped, hair pulled into a messy braid, eyes bluer and brighter than any star I’ve ever racked for. She waves.
“Mister?Blast!” she yells, voice cracking in the best way. My name. My brand. I wince.
Rhea nods from the bench. The park suit doesn’t hide the tension in her shoulders. She calls me “Valtron” when she thinks no one’s listening. I don’t know how long she’s held back—her guard, her grief, the years she’s stacked up like armor. Today all of that’s just thin cloth.
I straighten my back and walk to Ripley.
“Hey, champ,” I say, voice lower than I expected. I hold out my hand.
