And still—still—I see her.
The red-haired one. Small. Daring. Too open. Too alive.
When the shots rang out and the lasers screamed past me, I could’ve vanished without looking back. But something in me twisted. Froze. Her face, tipped up toward the cliffline, caught in the artificial glow of floodlights. No helmet. No shield. Justskin and confusion and a mouth half open, not in terror—but in thought.
She was thinking.
Aboutme.
I touch my forearm. The skin’s already closing over the scorch. Numb from the stim-blood cycling beneath, regenerating too fast to scar.
I bare my teeth and slam my fist into the ground, the impact ringing down the tunnel like a warning. The planet answers with a low creak, as if even it has grown tired of my brooding.
She shouldn’t have seen me.
That’s the rule. The first one I made when I chose exile. No contact. No involvement. Purgonis is a graveyard for guilt, and I came here to be buried slowly.
And yet—I let myself linger.
I knew the marines would shoot first. I counted on it. Their panic is predictable. Their violence… reflexive. But I stood too long. Watched too closely.
And she saw.
Why didn’t I run sooner?
A growl builds low in my chest. I reach for the nearest stalagmite—already brittle from heat fractures—and wrench it free with one hand. The rock sings as it arcs through the air and slams into the wall with a crack that rattles the tunnel ceiling. Shards rain down. Dust follows.
Still not enough.
The moment clings like ash in my throat. Her eyes—green, vibrant, unblinking. So damncurious. It wasn't just that she saw me. It was that shelooked.Lookedthroughme.
No one’s done that in years.
Not since… before.
My gut tightens. The pressure blooms pulse behind the wall, casting a dull pink glow over the floor like a heartbeat. I squeezemy eyes shut, but she’s still there. Her face, the tilt of her chin, the way she didn’t flinch when others ducked for cover.
And the worst part? The part that makes me feel feral?
A piece of me wanted her to see.
I rest my back against the curved tunnel wall, bones clicking softly as I shift. My breath comes slower now, steadier. The cave listens, like it always does. These halls are the only place where I am not a monster. Just a creature outlasting his penance.
But she presses on that line, pokes at the raw edge of it.
And I don’t knowwhy.
I dig my claws into the rock beneath me. The stone is slick from the last spore mist. I don’t care. I need the anchor. I need tofeelit. Because I don’t trust what’s happening inside me.
This isn’t like the others.
I’ve seen humans come through this place before. They all look the same from here—soft outlines and brighter-than-practical uniforms. Excitable. Fragile. Predictable. A few die. The rest leave. None of them matter.
Butshe.
She doesn’t walk like the others. Doesn’t glance over her shoulder at every shadow. There’s a pulse to her steps. Like she thinks she belongs.
Arrogance. Or madness.
