“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Luzrak’s words: ‘The girl earned her gladiator. Let’s make it official before someone tries to take him back.’” Mother’s mouth twitches. “He’s a romantic under all that Kytherian territorial behaviour.”
Horgox’s shock reaches me through the bond. He expected custody. Processing. Months of waiting. Not this. Not allies who move fast and fight hard and call him by his name.
“One more thing.” Mother steps closer, voice dropping so only we can hear. “That claiming mark is going to be visible during proceedings. You can cover it or you can let them see it. My advice? Let them see it. Sometimes the strongest testimony is the kind that doesn’t require words.”
She straightens, drains the last of her coffee, and heads for her transport. “We leave in fifteen. Pack whatever you’re bringing. This planet has tried to kill my courier enough times.”
Horgox and I stand in the ruined canyon, holding hands, the claiming color pulsing between us. Noomi and Ober secure the evidence with the efficient choreography of a pair who’ve worked together long enough to stop needing words; she handles Bebo’s data transfer while he catalogues the physical specimens with a methodical focus that belies his predatory appearance. His tail curls toward her ankle when he passes, casual and unconscious, and she doesn’t acknowledge it except to shift her weight halfa step closer. Voss logs the confrontation with chain-of-custody precision.
Watching them work, the thought from earlier comes back. They fly together. They deliver together. A bonded pair running routes as partners, their connection an asset instead of a complication. Mother approved it. The system accommodated it.
That could be us.
The idea is so new and so obvious that it sits in my chest like something I’ve always known and am only now allowing myself to think.
From the canyon rim, two pairs of luminous green eyes watch.
Snowball and Pudding, settled on the rocks above, their bioluminescent veins pulsing silver-blue in the morning light. They’ve been there the whole time. Watching. Guarding. Making sure their people got out safe.
“I should—” My voice catches. “I should say goodbye.”
Horgox’s hand tightens on mine. He feels what I’m feeling: the specific grief of leaving behind creatures I freed and named and fought beside. Creatures who chose loyalty without being programmed for it. Who have names now, and territory, and each other.
Snowball rumbles from the rim. Low, deliberate, directed at me. The same sound she made after I removed her collar. Acknowledgment. Pack bond.Ours.
“They’ll be okay,” Horgox says quietly. “They’ve reclaimed this canyon. Built territory. They have each other.”
“I named them.”
“I know.” His voice is gentle. “That’s why they’ll survive. You taught them what it means to be someone instead of something.”
Pudding makes his deep chirring sound and nudges Snowball’s shoulder. The two of them turn in unison, bioluminescent veins flashing once, bright, a farewell in the only language they share with us.
Then they disappear into the canyon system. Into the jungle that made them and freed them and belongs to them now.
“Bebo,” I say, blinking hard. “Log the last known position of specimens designated Snowball and Pudding. Include behavioural notes: sentient, cooperative, self-governing. Protected status recommended.”
“Logged. I’ve also included my assessment that they are, to use a technical term, very good.” A pause. “The shuttle is ready, Krilly.”
Horgox tugs my hand gently. “Come on, little flare. Let’s go face the institutions.”
The shuttle lifts off. Through the viewport, the canyon shrinks, the jungle recedes, and the planet that tried to kill us for nine days becomes a purple-and-green marble against the black.
Horgox’s arm is around my shoulders. His heartbeat steady beneath my own. The claiming color visible in his markings even in the shuttle’s clinical lighting. Across the bay, Noomi is running post-mission checks while Ober cleans a scanner with the patient focus of a male who finds mechanical tasks soothing. His tail rests against her boot. She hasn’t moved her foot.
Ahead of us: Junction One. Processing. A hearing that could determine everything.
Behind us: a murder jungle, two freed apex predators, and the wreckage of the worst first solo run in OOPS history.
I lean into his warmth and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, we fight. Tonight, we survive the transition from jungle to civilisation.
One more battle. Together.
