“You jumped a hover bike over a shark tank?”
“Well. Tried to.”
She stares, mouth parting in astonishment. Then she laughs—a bright, breathy sound that punches me right in the ribs. Her whole body shakes against mine, and I feel it everywhere, even in the places her skin doesn’t touch.
“Stars, you’re an idiot,” she says fondly, laying her head back down.
“Mm. Wasn’t my finest hour.”
“Did you at least win the bet?”
I smirk. “Technically? No. I blacked out mid-air. Came to two days later in a bacta tank with six busted ribs and a very smug medic.”
She snorts again, her breath fanning across my chest. “Gods, I wish I’d seen that.”
“Trust me,” I mutter. “It was not my most graceful moment.”
She’s quiet after that, her fingers still drawing lazy patterns over my skin. Her touch shifts, softer now. Almost hesitant. Then her voice comes again—quieter this time, like it costs something to ask.
“Will they really come for me again?”
Everything inside me stills. The humor drains out of the room like air sucked from a sealed chamber. My arms wrap around her automatically, drawing her tighter. She fits so damn perfectly it makes my chest ache.
“Yes,” I say, voice low and honest. “They will.”
She doesn’t tense. Not fully. But I feel the shift in her body—the way her breath stutters, the tiniest tremor in her hand. She tries to hide it, brave as hell, but I know what fear feels like under the skin.
“And if they do?” she whispers.
I tilt her chin up gently with one finger until her eyes meet mine. “Let them,” I growl. “I’ll be ready.”
Her lips part like she’s about to say something, then stop. I see it in her eyes first—something fragile flickering there, then hardening. Becoming belief.
“You mean that,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“I’ve never meant anything more,” I tell her.
She stares at me for a long moment, then lays her head back on my chest. “I believe you.”
I exhale, long and quiet. My hand moves through her curls slowly, untangling knots I find there. She lets out a soft sound—not quite a purr, not quite a sigh.
“Voltar?” she says after a minute.
“Mm?”
“Do you ever get scared?”
I go still. That one takes me off guard.
“Yeah,” I admit. “But not of them. Not anymore.”
“Then what?”
I hesitate. Then I say it. “This.”
She looks up again, brow furrowed. “Me?”
“No,” I say. “Wanting you this much. Needing this. It’s new. And new things… new things break easy.”
