I don’t want to look. Ican’tlook.
But I do.
Because Ihaveto.
The Hulk—the ancient, monstrous warship that devoured my story and spat out something I barely recognize—detonates behind me in perfect, horrifying silence. A ripple of light expands like a blooming flower made of fire and bones. Not explosive, not chaotic. No. This is clean.Final.
The kind of light that makes stars jealous.
And he’s in it.
Garokk.
My fists pound the glass. "No, no, no?—"
I can’t see him. There was no second pod. No escape route. No backup plan. He threw me in and turned his back andstayed.
Why would hestay?
“Garokk, you absolute bastard,” I whisper. My voice shakes like it’s coming apart at the seams. “You said you wouldn’t die.”
But I saw it. Isawhim take that last look. I saw the decision already written in his eyes before the door sealed.
He never meant to leave.
I slam my head back against the padded seat and scream.
It doesn’t echo.
The pod's just a metal egg with nothing but pressure seals and trajectory math and cold-ass logic. It doesn’t care about grief. Doesn’t care about soulmates or fated mates or jalshagar promises whispered against scorched lips. It just flies.
Like it's supposed to.
"Traitorous little bastard," I croak, trying to laugh, trying to breathe.
I can’t.
My chest keeps stuttering like it forgot what breath means.
A flicker to my left.
Reflector hums online with a sickly blue pulse, his lens cracked right down the middle. His voice—once so cheerful, so precise—is thready, static-laced.
“I—initiated escape parameters,” he says. “Trajectory—stable. Autopilot—active.”
I stare at him. “You came?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“I am programmed for your safety,” he buzzes. “I followed protocol.”
A beat.
Then, quieter—“And... you needed someone.”
My throat closes.
I don’t want this.
