I keep the transport's sensors running, monitoring for any approaching weather systems or unexpected movement in the surrounding desert. Every so often, voices crackle through my comms: Dr. Petrova issuing instructions, A'Vanti reporting on structural conditions, various team members calling out findings and concerns. Most of it goes over my head. I catch words like "reverse osmosis" and "membrane integrity" and "sediment buildup," but the technical details blur together into a language I don't speak.
What I do understand is that things seem to be going well. Dr. Petrova's tone shifts from brisk efficiency to cautious optimism as the assessment progresses. The systems aren't operational yet, but they're not destroyed either. With work, maybe a lot of work, they can be brought back online.
I scan the horizon again, watching the light shift as the larger sun continues its arc toward the horizon while the smaller one lingers higher in the sky.
A flicker of movement catches my attention. There is something in the distance, out in the dunes. I lean forward, squinting against the glare, but whatever it was is gone. Probably another keth'ra, or some other equally dangerous predator, I imagine.
I settle back in my seat and keep watching our surroundings.
Through the comms, I hear A'Vanti's voice. She is calm and professional as she walks the team through her structural findings, explaining load-bearing concerns and material degradation with an expertise I can only admire from a distance.
I think about the moment in the hangar when we worked together to drive the keth'ra out. The way she moved without hesitation, thinking three steps ahead. The way we fell into sync without needing to discuss it, as if we'd been working together for years.
That's what I want. Not just the stolen kisses and the quiet moments, though I want those too. I want to be her partner. In this work, in this life, in whatever comes next.
And sitting in the silence of the shuttle, watching the Cerastean suns paint the desert in shades of gold, I hope that she wants the same thing.
CHAPTER 8
A'Vanti
Iam exhausted. Bone-deep and soul-weary.
The walk back to the shuttle feels endless. Every step sends a dull pulse through my skull, and my thoughts have gone thick and slow, like silt settling in still water. Dust clings to everything. To my clothes, my scales, even the inside of my nostrils. I want nothing more than to stop moving.
I resist the urge to scratch my chafed skin, knowing it will only make things worse. Instead, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
It shouldn't be this hard. It was a full day's work, yes, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing I shouldn't be able handle without complaint. I straighten my spine and match my stride to the rest of the team, refusing to let the effort show on my face. I am fine. I will be fine, I just need to get to the transport.
The medics cleared me for duty months ago. All my wounds have long been healed. But Diamalla's experiments took morefrom me than I sometimes want to admit, and my body has not fully forgiven what was done to it. Stamina that once came easily now must be rationed carefully. Strength that I once took for granted must be rebuilt day by day.
I am getting better. I know this. But days like today remind me that recovery is not a destination. It is a journey, and I am still walking it.
And then there is the other weight. The one that has nothing to do with my physical body.
I am haunted by every empty, dust-filled room. The desolation follows me out of the facility like a shadow. Everything sits empty, and I cannot look at any of it without seeing the ghost of what was lost.
The grief is exhausting in its own way. A weariness that settles into my bones and cannot be slept away.
Dr. Petrova's voice drifts back to me, and I blink, surfacing from my morose thoughts.
She walks ahead, her tablet clutched to her chest as she murmurs to L'Stourn. Their excitement is palpable even through their fatigue. The water reclamation systems are in better condition than any of us dared hope, and I know the report they'll deliver to Chancellor L'Forn will be optimistic. That knowledge should fill me with satisfaction.
And I am satisfied. I am. But the feeling is muted, smothered by how tired I am.
My thoughts drift toward the immediate future. Toward the promise of sitting down. Of cool water sliding down my throat. Of air free of dust.
And toward Cody.
The thought of him waiting for us quickens my pace without my permission. I try to sort through my anticipation, to categorize it neatly the way I would organize data in anassessment report. Shouldn't I be more eager for the prospect of a shower and a meal than the sight of his face?
The shuttle comes into view, its hull gleaming dully in the early evening light, and I see him through the viewport. He's watching for us, that much is obvious from the way he's leaning forward in the pilot's seat.
When our eyes meet across the distance, his face transforms.
That smile. Wide and unguarded and so genuinely happy to see me. His whole expression brightens, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and I realize I have my answer.
It was never really a question at all.
