His gaze locks on mine, and gradually, the pain in his onyx eyes recedes.He exhales, slow and heavy.“For you,” he says quietly.“And for my people.Not forthem.”
He turns back to the Council.“I accept, on one condition.You speak truly.Here.Now.”
The eldest councilor inclines their head, his voice solemn.“You are not wrong.We failed you when you needed our help most and we violated your consent and sacred form with fusing that arm.And for that, we will answer for the injustice.”
Kael nods once, sharp and final.He looks at me.Really looks, like I’m the only thing in this room that matters.
The wormhole’s gone, but another opens; silent, electric, and full of promise.
I step into him, curling my fingers at his collar, and kiss him under the stars shining through the glass dome above.Our kiss is fierce and unguarded.
When we break, breathless, his forehead rests against mine.“Ellie,” he whispers.“You are my rift.My way back.”
And for the first time, I believe we’ve both found home.
9
Epilogue
It’snightcycleagain,but you’d never know it from the hydroponics bay.Crimson light radiates from the algae tanks, smearing everything in the color of raw muscle and open wounds.
I ease the pressure lock, step through into a world that smells of rain, rot, and living oxygen.The air is thick and damp, beading sweat beneath the collar of my thermal undersuit.Somewhere, a cooling fan whines up to speed, punctuating the dense silence with its insectile drone.
The Ares outpost reminds me of a prehistoric animal from earth with its arched steel ribs crosshatched like the insides of a giant sternum.Their cold beauty has always gotten to me.Maybe it’s the way they look like they’re straining under gravity that’s not really there, fighting against the thin red Martian air that seeps through every pore of this habitat.
Kael’s standing by the viewport, his arms folded and face half-obscured by condensation beading on the inner plex.He’s running diagnostics with his HUD lenses blinking faint blue on his irises.The cut of his jaw is sharper than I remember, the light stubble smudged along his lawline like a pencil sketch.His gaze never leaves the display, but I can tell from the angle of his shoulders he’s clocked my arrival.
I hover by the door a second too long fidgeting with my glove tabs.No one comes to the hydro bay after lights-out unless they’re trying to hide from something, and we both know it.I take three steps forward.My boots squelch against the soft matting, the sound swallowed instantly by the clotted air.I count my own heartbeats, feel the spike of adrenaline as I draw up beside him.
He doesn’t move, but his left hand tightens at the edge of the console, the actuators in his cybernetic wrist stuttering before steadying.That’s always been his tell.I let my own gloved fingers drift—barely, deliberately—along the segmented titanium of his wrist joint.It’s cold at first, then gives a little under my touch as the temperature sensors read my proximity.
His flinch is nearly imperceptible, just a twitch of the fingers.His eyes flick from the panel to my hand, then back up, as if surprised to find me real and not a hallucination from a day’s worth of adrenaline and synthcaff.
I can’t help myself.“You’re on edge.”
Kael grunts, the sound low and grinding in the humidity.“I’m monitoring the third manifold.Level spiked six minutes ago.I thought it was a leak.”He gestures at the display, but the pressure charts are steady, if you know how to read them.He’s not here for work.He’s here for the dark and the privacy.
I don’t let go of his wrist.If anything, I lean in, crowding his space just enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.“The base never felt this alive,” I murmur, watching the way his stubble catches the red glow.“Not even during first shift.Something’s changed.”
Kael’s shoulders tense, then settle, as if he’s resigned to the conversation happening.His lips are chapped, maybe even a little split.Martian air eats away at the soft parts, and neither of us has time for self-care.He closes his eyes for a second and opens them, the blue of his iris HUD displays almost silvered under the algae lamps.
“Don’t,” he says, and it’s so quiet I almost miss it.
But his hand stays where it is, letting me cradle it.My thumb finds the seam between steel and flesh—a jagged, sawtooth scar where his body ends and the prosthetic begins.The skin there is softer, somehow, like it’s never been exposed to sun or abrasion.I trace the seam, slow and deliberate, and his pulse jumps against my touch.
The viewport fogs over with each of our breaths, erasing the jagged Martian horizon beyond.I tilt my head, bring my lips to the shell of his ear, and say, “You could stop me.”
He huffs, but it’s more a shudder than a laugh.“You know I can’t.”
In the hydro bay, there are no cameras—Kael made sure of that after the last blackout.I use both hands now, guiding his wrist to rest against the curve of my jaw.
His fingers flex with artificial grace as they slide up, framing my cheek.
I meet his gaze, letting him see everything on my face: the rawness, the want, the quiet kind of need that’s unrelated to oxygen or nutrients or sunlight.
“You’re pushing me,” he whispers, and the edge in his voice is serrated, full of a violence that has nothing to do with anger.
“Then kiss me,” I say, and he does.
