Sable stands there.
Arms crossed. Shoulders squared. Spine straight as a blade.
She’s not crying.
Of course she’s not.
The wind tugs at her hair, lifts it slightly off her shoulders, and for one ridiculous second my brain offers me a memory that doesn’t exist—her laughing in sunlight, yelling at me for tracking soot into her apartment, threatening to make me sit on a towel like an overgrown dog.
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts to breathe.
She doesn’t wave.
She doesn’t smile.
She just watches.
I lift my hand in a salute.
Formal. Precise. The same one I’ve used on battlefields and decks slick with blood. The one that meansI see you.I acknowledge you.You matter.
She holds my gaze.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t break.
That’s what nearly destroys me.
Because I know her well enough now to understand exactly what’s happening behind those eyes. I can practically hear her voice in my head—sharp, steady, refusing to bend.
Don’t you dare look back.
Don’t you make this harder.
Go.
The shuttle’s boarding signal chirps. Once. Twice.
Time’s up.
I turn away before my resolve fractures.
The ramp lowers with a hiss, metal teeth biting into the deck. I climb it without looking back again, every step an act of will. Inside, the shuttle smells like recycled air and disinfectant. Troops sit strapped into crash harnesses along the walls—Vakutan, Alzhon, human. Some glance up at me. Some don’t.
One of them whistles softly. “Stars. They sendyouwhen they’re serious.”
I grunt and strap in opposite him. “They always do.”
The ramp seals.
The engines spin up, vibration crawling through my armor, into my bones.
As the shuttle lifts, inertia presses me back into the seat. The port drops away beneath us, shrinking fast. I catch one last glimpse of the balcony through the narrowing viewport.
Sable is still there.
Still watching.
