“What do you mean?”
“Like he remembered everything all at once. But didn’t know if he was allowed to feel it.”
I can’t breathe for a second.
Because he’s right.
Garokk didn’t speak when he saw me.
But he didn’t have to.
The look in his eyes was a war between wanting to fall to his knees and wanting to vanish.
“He used to love you, right?” Pyramus asks.
I close my eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “He did.”
“Do you still love him?”
I don’t answer.
Because I’m not sure which part of me would speak first—the woman who mourned him, or the one who kept his child hidden to protect what little she had left.
The Holonet flashes another headline: PIRATE OR PROTECTOR? GAROKK'S GILDED PAROLE.
I mute it again.
The system tries to restart it three times before finally going still.
I turn to my son. “Come here.”
He lets me pull him close, tucking his small frame into the curve of my body like he used to when the world felt too loud.
I hold him.
Tighter than usual.
Because I don’t know what tomorrow brings.
But tonight, I have him.
The station’stoo quiet at night.
Not real night, not the kind with stars and dew and wind sneaking through open windows. This is orbital night. Engineered dusk. Lights dimmed by protocol, the illusion of time passing marked by muted hallway glows and holoclocks ticking out numbers I don’t believe in.
Pyramus fell asleep with his hand curled around the sleeve of my robe, like he thought I might vanish again.
I waited until his breathing evened out, then slipped free.
Now I stand in front of the secured VIP suite—door unguarded, but not unwatched. I know there are sensors trained on me. I know this door logs every visitor. I know this is a bad idea.
But I press the chime anyway.
A second.
Two.
