Page 133 of Reaper Said Mine

I swallow, and the taste of stew spice and old grief sits bitter on my tongue.

“She died after the west wall collapsed. Not immediately. That was the worst part for a long time. I had time to know. Time to hear her breathing change. Time to understand that the camera was still on and the galaxy was watching, and none of them could reach through the screen and help me lift the concrete.”

Gnash turns toward me, but he does not touch me yet.

I appreciate that more than I can say.

“Afterward, everyone wanted the girl from Horus IV. They wanted interviews, memorial appearances, anniversary specials, documentary panels, charity galas. They wanted me brave, tragic, articulate, and grateful. When I said I wanted to be a journalist, they smiled like a child had asked to pilot a cruiser.”

“Dawson.”

“Dawson is just the loudest symptom. He figured out early that my pain had brand value. I figured out early that access came with a leash. I told myself I could tolerate the leash if it got me close enough to the truth.”

Gnash’s voice is rough. “And now?”

“Now I think I may have confused endurance with strategy.”

The words scare me because they are true.

He shifts beside me, slowly enough that I can move away if I want. I do not. His arm comes around my shoulders with careful restraint, heavy and warm, and I lean into him before my pride can draft a complaint. He is solid in a way that should feel overwhelming, but instead it feels like standing beside a wall that has decided to hold.

“You were a child,” he says.

“I know.”

“You did not owe the galaxy usefulness.”

My eyes burn. “That is a nasty thing to say to someone trying very hard not to cry.”

“I am told my comfort lacks softness.”

“It does.”

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

His arm tightens a fraction. The bond between us hums, not demanding, not consuming, but present in the quiet like a second heartbeat. I let myself rest against him and watch the lights of the refugee district blur.

“I’m scared of losing myself in this,” I admit.

“The bond?”

“You. The story. All of it. I fought so hard to become more than a symbol, and now every faction on this station would love to turn me into one. Theryki sees leverage. Dawson sees ratings. Your enemies see a pressure point. Even people who mean well look at me and see courage before they see me.”

“And what do I see?”

I turn my head enough to look up at him. His face is close, severe and shadowed, crimson eyes fixed on mine with a focus that steals my breath.

“You tell me.”

His voice drops. “I see a woman who uses truth like a blade because no one gave her a shield that held. I see someone tired of being praised for surviving by people who never asked what survival cost. I see a mind sharp enough to make ambassadors nervous and stubborn enough to argue with me while bleeding. I see my jalshagar, yes, but that word does not erase the rest. It makes the rest matter more.”

“That was much too good an answer,” I whisper.

“I have hidden depths.”

“You have hidden everything.”