I'm nearly to the door when Officer L'Errence brushes past me, moving against the flow of departing bodies with urgent purpose. His scales are a muted bronze beneath the overhead lights, his expression tense.
"Chancellor." He stops just inside the room, his voice carrying clearly. "We have an incoming transmission from Osti. Queen Ameela is requesting a direct audience."
I pause mid-step, cold prickling at the base of my spine.
The others continue past me, filing through the doorway and dispersing into the corridor beyond. Within moments, I'm the only one still lingering at the threshold, frozen in place while everyone else moves on, oblivious.
Osti. The word alone is enough to make my stomach clench. I try to force myself to keep moving, but my feet have slowed of their own accord.
Behind me, I hear L'Forn's reply. "Good. Route her through to my private channel. I need to discuss these disturbing reports she's sent."
I step through the doorway before I can hear more, before anyone notices my hesitation. The doors slide shut behind me, cutting off whatever response L'Errence might have given.
I stand in the corridor for a long moment, my heart beating too fast.
Queen Ameela is Diamalla's daughter and successor, elevated to the throne after she turned against her own mother and helped end her reign.
But Osti is still Osti. The planet where I was held. The planet where I was broken.
I force myself to breathe. To move. Whatever is happening on Osti, it's not my concern. The Chancellor and his council will handle it. I have my own path forward now: Ceraste, the expedition, and the chance to rebuild from the ashes of everything I lost.
I resume walking, my pace steadier than my thoughts.
But when I finally reach my quarters and settle onto my bed, I push thoughts of Osti away. There is only old pain there. Instead, I pick up the book about Earth architecture. I open it to a random page and stare at a massive orange bridge and wonder what Cody would have to say about it.
CHAPTER 4
A'Vanti
Istare at the chunk of pale orange crystal on Dr. Singh's desk while she talks. She told me once that it's called a salt lamp, a common decorative object on Earth. But I think it looks like sunstone, a precious mineral my people once carved into jewelry and sacred objects, and used as fuel in ages past. The lamp emits a low glow that I will admit is soothing.
"Remember," Dr. Singh says, her voice gentle, "I'm available via comm anytime. Day or night. If you need to talk, you reach out. Promise me."
I pull my gaze from the lamp. "I promise."
Dr. Singh is a small woman, petite by both human and Cerastean standards, with rich brown skin and thick black hair pulled back from her face. Her dark eyes hold mine, steady and compassionate.
"Returning to Ceraste may be more difficult than you expect," she continues. "You might find being there stirs upmemories you thought you'd processed. Feelings you thought you'd moved past. That's normal. That's not a setback. But it does mean you should be prepared."
"I fully expect to have moments of struggle," I admit. "I would be foolish to think otherwise." I pause, considering my next words. "But I'm also excited, Dr. Singh. This expedition feels like taking something back. A piece of what was stolen from me. From all of us." My hands curl in my lap. "Diamalla and her followers tried to destroy everything we were. Our world, our people, our future. But we survived. And now we're going to rebuild what they tore down."
Dr. Singh's expression softens with what I believe is pride. "That's a healthy way to frame it. Just remember, you don't have to be strong every moment. It's okay to struggle and still move forward."
I nod and rise from my chair. She walks me to the door, one hand resting briefly on my arm as she opens it. The corridor outside is empty.
I stop, an unexpected pang of disappointment settling in my gut. No Cody lounging by the wall with his arms crossed, pretending he just happened to be passing by. No worried eyes tracking me as I emerge. No easy smile meant to distract me from whatever darkness I've spent the last hour excavating.
His attempts at casual loitering are almost comically transparent, and he seems entirely incapable of suppressing the scent of his emotions. Humans know Cerasteans can smell their feelings, of course. It's covered in basic orientation, but knowing and being able to do anything about it are two very different things. Cody is no exception. I've known he was waiting outside my therapy sessions from almost the first day, his scent a complicated cocktail of concern and hope and other emotions I haven't allowed myself to name.
It should annoy me. Perhaps it did, at first. But somewhere along the way, I started looking forward to it. Even though I still have trouble reconciling his 'goober' nature with his status as a warrior and decorated pilot, I've come to appreciate his presence. He is a distraction from the pain, yes. But he's also… more than that.
More than I want to examine too closely.
I turn and walk down the corridor, my steps unhurried. I need to clear my head before tomorrow's departure, and a walk through the ship seems as good a way as any to accomplish that. If my route happens to take me toward the main hangar bay, where the pilots congregate between shifts… well, isn't that a lucky coincidence?
I snort at myself, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.
I am many things, but I am not a liar – not to others, and not to myself. I don't want to walk aimlessly. I want to see Cody. And since he isn't waiting for me, I'll simply have to go find him.
