“And you’re still a flame.”
She pauses.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it feels too good.”
And there it is.
The crack.
Not big. Not wide. But there.
I don’t reach for her.
But I walk close enough that her hand could brush mine if she wanted.
She doesn’t.
We cross the orchid dome. It smells like memory. Pollen, heat, citrus blossom.
“This is where you kissed me the first time,” she says.
“No. You kissedme.I just survived it.”
She glances up at the petals glowing faint gold in the dark.
“You were gentler than I expected.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d let me try again.”
“I almost didn’t.”
We stand still.
Then—
“You gonna take the station?” she asks suddenly.
I blink.
“What?”
“I know Vrek. I know mutiny when I smell it.”
I exhale through my nose.
She’s always been ten steps ahead.
“Not if I can stop it,” I say.
“Can you?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
She turns toward me, face half-shadowed.
