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“Very well,” he conceded. “Your assistance would be… appreciated.”

Rory had been watching their exchange, his eyes moving between them with quiet assessment. Now he resumed his repetitive tracing, but Thraxar noticed a subtle change in the pattern—it seemed more relaxed somehow, less urgent.

The ship’s communication system chimed, and a mechanical voice requested their identification and purpose. He provided the necessary information, grateful for the distraction.

“Docking procedure initiated,” the station’s computer announced. “Please maintain current approach vector.”

The next several minutes were occupied with the technical details of bringing the ship safely into its assigned berth. He was acutely aware of Kara and Rory watching the process with fascination, their faces illuminated by the shifting lights of the docking bay as they drew closer.

“What happens after the repairs?” she asked quietly as the docking clamps engaged with a muffled thunk, and his hands stilled on the controls.

“We continue to the Patrol station as planned.”

“And then?”

The question hung between them, loaded with unspoken possibilities. He powered down the engines before answering.

“And then you and Rory will be safe. The Patrol will ensure you’re returned to your home planet, or relocated to a suitable colony world if you prefer.”

“And you?”

He turned to face her fully then, allowing himself to really look at her for the first time since their kiss. The sight of her—determined, intelligent, resilient—sent a surge of that forbidden warmth through his chest again.

“I will continue as I have been,” he said, the words tasting bitter. “Trading. Moving from port to port.”

“Alone,” she added softly.

He didn’t confirm or deny it. He didn’t need to.

Rory chose that moment to unfold himself from the chair, moving to stand directly in front of him. With deliberate care, the boy reached out and placed his small hand on Thraxar’s forearm, his fingers tracing one of the patterns on his skin.

The simple touch conveyed more than words could have—connection, trust, a form of communication uniquely Rory’s own. He remained perfectly still, afraid that any movement might break the moment.

She watched them, her expression unreadable. “We should probably talk about last night,” she said finally.

“There is no need,” he replied, more gruffly than he intended. “It was… unexpected. But it need not complicate matters.”

“Is that what you want? To pretend it didn’t happen?”

The direct question caught him off guard. “What I want is irrelevant. My responsibility is to ensure your safety.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give.” He stood abruptly, careful not to dislodge Rory’s hand. “The station’s repair bay will be expecting us. I should go make arrangements.”

Kara’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. “And I’ll help, as we discussed.”

“What about Rory?” he asked, glancing down at the boy who was still focused on the patterns of his skin.

“He’ll come with us. He does better when he can see me.” She hesitated, then added, “And you.”

The simple statement shouldn’t have affected him as deeply as it did. He swallowed hard, fighting against the surge of protective instinct that threatened to overwhelm his carefully maintained detachment.

“Very well,” he said finally. “Let’s proceed with the repairs.”

As they exited the cockpit together, Rory between them, he couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt—the three of them moving as a unit. It was a dangerous thought, one that could lead only to disappointment.

But as they prepared to disembark, Rory’s hand still clinging to his arm and Kara’s presence a constant awareness at his side, he found himself wishing, for the first time in years, that things could be different.