The healing beds could mend them fully, but they are calibrated for Cerastean and human physiology only. The medics work quickly, scanning Drev and Joln to map their biology so the beds can be reconfigured.
Finally, they have the healing bed calibrated. Drev volunteers to go first.
I explain to him what will happen as the medics guide him onto the bed. He stares up at me with wide silver eyes as the dome lowers over him, and I place my hand on the glass until fog fills the pod and his body goes slack.
"Dehydration, malnutrition, UV damage, and what looks like early-stage infection in the shoulder wound. I'll heal his wounds now," Healer L'Varen reports to D’Rett. "However, he’ll need sustained care for the malnutrition, but he should recover. Physically, at least."
The qualifier hangs in the air.
The infection and the wound on his shoulder are minor work for Cerastean medical technology, and the damage from the suns is healed almost as quickly. When the fog clears and the dome lifts, Drev's skin has lost some of its ashen pallor, and his breathing has settled into a deep, even cadence. He blinks up at me, disoriented, and I tell him in Ostium that he is safe. That it is done.
Joln goes next. He trembles as the dome lowers, his hands clenched at his sides, but he does not pull away
I stay until both males are settled and eating. I make sure they eat slowly, the way I remember having to after my own liberation. The stomach forgets how to process food when it has been denied for too long.
It is evening by the time I finally step out of the medical bay and into the corridor. The moment the door slides shut behind me, I sag against the wall and press the heels of my hands into my eyes.
I will not cry. I have spent enough tears on Diamalla’s legacy. But the pressure behind my eyes is enormous, and my chest feels like something is sitting on it – something with claws.
I hear footsteps. Familiar ones. I do not need to look up.
"Hey." Cody’s voice, quiet and close. "You’ve been in there for hours."
Has it been that long? I lower my hands and find him standing in front of me, still in his flight suit, his brown hair mussed from his helmet. He looks tired. There are shadows beneath his eyes and a tightness around his mouth that were not there this morning. He also looks like the best thing I have seen all day.
"They needed me," I say.
"I know. But you need something too." He extends his hand. Not demanding. Just offering. The way he did in a prison cell, a lifetime ago, when he was a stranger with sky-colored eyes. "Come with me."
I take his hand.
He leads me through the base and up a narrow maintenance stairway I did not know existed, through a hatch, and onto the flat expanse of the hangar roof.
The Cerastean sky opens above us.
Both suns have set. Without their glare, the sky has deepened into a sweep of indigo and violet studded with stars so bright they seem close enough to touch. The night air is cool on my overheated skin, carrying the clean scent of cooling sand and sage.
Cody has already been up here, I realize. A bedroll is spread nearby, along with a canteen and a container of something that smells like chariom. He planned this. Found time between his own duties and his own processing of today’s horrors to prepare a place for me.
He had the same day I did. He stood beside me in that mine shaft and learned the same terrible truth. He watched me kneel beside Drev and Joln and translate horrors that no one should have to hear, let alone repeat.
And instead of sitting with any of that, he created an oasis for me.
I study his face, and a realization crystallizes that I have been sensing for weeks. The way he deflects with humor when conversations turn toward him. The way he always,alwaysturns his attention outward – toward me, toward the mission, toward anyone who needs him.
He does for others what he will not do for himself. And he has gotten so good at it that no one thinks to ask whether the man doing the holding might also need to be held.
I cannot speak for a moment. My throat is too tight. Not only from gratitude this time, but from the ache of watching someone pour out everything they have while running on empty themselves.
Finally, I clear my throat. "You did this for me?"
Cody shrugs in answer, looking bashful. "L'Tarne helped me find the roof access," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck. "Chelsea said that on really bad days, she likes to stare at the stars. She said it always makes her feel better."
"She's right," I manage.
We settle onto the bedroll side by side, our shoulders touching. The stars blaze above us. In the distance, the silhouette of Spire Mountain cuts a jagged line against the sky.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. Cody does not try to fill the silence with words or questions. He merely sits beside me and lets the silence do its work. I am grateful for this.
