He gasps. “You wouldn’t…”
“I told you what I’d do.”
He claws at me. I lean in close.
So close he can hear the grief in my growl.
“You took what wasmine.You threatenedhim.You threatenedher.”
The stars burn behind my eyes.
“And now,” I whisper, “you’re nothing.”
I press just enough.
And let himfeelthe ending.
Not the scream. Not the blood.
Just thefall.
His consciousness fades long before the crew stumbles onto the bridge to see him slumped like waste beneath the console.
And I turn to them—not with triumph.
But with truth.
CHAPTER 28
ISOLDE
The halls are too quiet.
Not safe-quiet. Not still.
The kind of quiet that comes after screaming—after chaos tears through everything, and all that’s left is breath and blood and the tick of your own heartbeat ringing in your ears.
I push past the final door. Reflector doesn’t even warn me this time. He knows better.
There, on the bridge floor, curled under the folds of a black-and-crimson cloak too big for his tiny shoulders, is my son.
Pyramus.
He sees me and the fabric falls away like petals in slow motion. He doesn’t run—he leaps. Like he’s spent the last hour holding himself together by nothing but hope and the thought of my arms.
I catch him before he can fall.
He buries his face against my neck, his fists curled into my collar. “He saved me, Mama,” he whispers, voice broken and fierce. “He fought the bad man. He said I was important.”
I kiss his hair. I kiss every warm, solid inch of him I can reach. My legs give out beneath us both, and we land together on the floor, wrapped in his shaking limbs and my shaking breath.
“You are,” I murmur. “You are the most important thing in this galaxy.”
I hold him tight enough to hurt. I can’t let go.
Not yet.
Not again.
