She’s quiet for a while.
Then, “I might not.”
It hurts.
But it’s honest.
And I’ll take that.
She brushes her fingers over my scars like she’s drawing a map back to us.
“You still smell like smoke,” she says.
“You still burn like fire.”
She huffs a quiet laugh.
“Don’t go poetic on me now.”
“Wasn’t poetry. Just truth.”
She shifts, burrows deeper into my side.
I feel like maybe the war in me has a place to rest.
I wake to the sound of my name breaking apart in static.
“—Garokk—”
It’s not Isolde’s voice.
It’s Reflector.
The word tears through sleep like a blade. My hand shoots out on instinct, searching for my sidearm before I remember I don’t have one. Just soft sheets, skin still warm, her breath still soft against my chest.
I blink the haze away, eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the artificial firepit flickering out beside us.
“Reflector,” I rasp. “What is it?”
The comm crackles again—sharper this time, urgent. “Vrek’s crew made their move. They’ve taken the core decks. I repeat—coup in progress.”
I sit up so fast Isolde startles awake, her hair brushing my arm.
“What?” she whispers, voice thick with sleep.
I swing my legs off the lounger and grab for my trousers. “Vrek’s mutinying.”
She’s on her feet before I finish saying it, robe clutched around her, eyes wide and already scanning the exits. She’s fast, always has been—fear never slows her down, it just sharpens her.
“Where?” I demand, hitting the comm hard. “Which decks?”
“Engineering. Security wing. Docking spines four through eight. He’s got Snarl, Savax, and a handful of others. Station controls are jammed. Core AI’s in lockdown. And Garokk—” Reflector hesitates. “He’s got hostages.”
Isolde freezes.
Her eyes find mine. “Who?”
Reflector doesn’t answer right away.
