Liking.
“Maybe you’re just not that scary,” I said.
He tilted his head. “Do not tell them that.”
Then he left.
When the door sealed behind him, I let myself breathe out the last of the tension and sank onto the nearest bench. The light pulsed softly, like a heartbeat in the stone.
They didn’t trust me. They shouldn’t.
But the strangest part was that I already trusted them.
Trusted him.
I looked toward the sleeping alcove, the scarf he had folded neatly on the shelf, and the faint mix of metal and mountain resin that had already come to mean safety in a way I hadn’t felt since before the war ended.
For the first time in years, I wondered whether it might be possible to stop running without being caught.
Chapter Six
The Healer’s Routine
Rygnar
Eight years since the last fleet fell silent, and the war still breathed in the cracks of this planet.
Even here, inside the Colorado basin, where the air smelled of pine resin and hot stone, you could feel it—how the land had not yet decided if it belonged to life again. Valleys carried ghosts of firestorms; forests grew around skeletons of machines. Humans built their new enclaves on top of old bones, hoping the past would hold still long enough for crops to root.
We had built ours under the mountain. It seemed safer to live where the sky could not find us.
The infirmary sat in one of the mid-level caverns, a long room of polished stone and glassine panels salvaged from crashed ships. The colony’s air hummed with faint power drawn from the thermal vents below. I liked the sound; it reminded me that even wounded things could generate heat.
I was working my regular rotation.
When I entered, Mara—the human healer who had once worked triage for the Civil Restoration Enclave—was already sorting bandages. Her hair was streaked silver, her eyes sharp.
“You’re late.” Mara didn’t look up. “Your new shadow kept you busy?”
“Lina is helping in the hydro tunnels,” I said, setting a crate of medical supplies on the counter. “She learns quickly.”
“She’s brave,” Mara said. “And curious. Both will get her in trouble.”
“She reminds me of you.”
Mara’s mouth twitched. “Then she’s doomed.”
She handed me a list etched on thin slate. “We have more infection cases from the lower mines. I’ll handle sutures. You take the burns.”
I worked in silence, cleaning and sealing wounds with Mesaarkan gel, explaining to the younger aides how to spread it without wasting the compound. Their human hands shook; I remembered when mine had, too. The gel shimmered faintly green, like the scales on my arm when sunlight struck just right.
By midday, the infirmary smelled of antiseptic and mountain herbs. The last patient—a miner with a twisted ankle—limped out with a grateful nod. I stripped off my gloves and flexed my fingers, letting the stiffness ease.
“You should rest,” Mara said. “The council keeps watching you like you’re about to start a second rebellion.”
“They fear what they do not know,” I said. “It keeps us careful.”
She glanced toward the corridor. “And the human girl? She doesn’t fear you?”
