It’s justmine.
Slowly, I highlight the message draft, blink at the cursor pulsing like a heartbeat, and delete it.
Backspace. All the way. Gone.
I sit there in the glow of the screen for a long time. The ship continues its silent course toward Syfer, a destination still hours off, maybe more. Outside the viewport, stars burn ancient and indifferent, watching us without comment.
I run a hand through my hair, feel the sweat at the back of my neck starting to dry, and stand.
This time, I don’t reach for a weapon. No jacket. No boots. Just the silence of a decision not yet made—but made mine all the same.
I walk to the door. I don’t have a speech. I don’t have a verdict. What I have is a plan.
Not an answer.
Not yet.
But I know I’ll give it when I’m ready.
And no one gets to make it for me.
CHAPTER 33
VROK
The cabin door opens without a sound.
I know it’s her before I turn. The bond doesn’t flare this time. It settles—like a weight finding its rightful place in the center of my chest.
Roxy steps inside and seals the hatch behind her. No hesitation. No theatrics. Her hair’s still damp from the rinse, curling slightly at the ends, and she’s changed into clean clothes that cling in places she doesn’t seem aware of. She doesn’t look shaken.
She looks decided.
I rise slowly from the command chair. “You alright?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. She walks toward me instead, boots soft against the deck plating, eyes steady and bright in the low light.
When she stops in front of me, she doesn’t fold her arms. Doesn’t brace. Doesn’t posture.
“I’m choosing you,” she says.
The words hit harder than any punch I’ve taken in the last week.
I search her face automatically for strain, coercion, fear. “Roxy?—”
“No.” She lifts a hand. Not to silence me. Just to hold the moment steady. “Let me finish.”
I close my mouth.
She exhales once, slow. “I read the records. I went through Vakutan biology, culture, the whole terrifying ‘permanent tether’ thing.”
I wince faintly. “That’s one translation.”
“It’s accurate enough.” Her mouth twitches. “Here’s what I need you to hear. I’m not choosing you because fate shoved me into it. I’m not choosing you because some ancient alien neurochemical cocktail hijacked my brain.”
She steps closer.
“I’m choosing you because I already have. Over and over again. I walked into Marj’s compound. I followed you into deserts and gunfire and orbit. I slept beside you when it would’ve been easier not to.”
