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She slid a hand over his upper torso, voice still husky with sleep.

‘A blade, close quarters during a prison riot that was my real test of command.’

Her fingers danced lower, to a silvered slash over his ribs.

‘And this?’

‘A drill accident,’ he muttered, eyes still closed. ‘I was sixteen and thought I could reroute a coolant line blindfolded. I failed, spectacularly.’

She chuckled, the sound warm between them.

He opened one eye, gaze dark and soft. ‘You really want the tour?’

‘Of course,’ she said, propping herself up on an elbow, her hand drifting over the ridges of muscle, the map of his body.

‘Bullet wound,’ he said when she touched the jagged mark on his hip. ‘Sniper. Wildlight border. I turned my back and they rearmed.’

Her palm smoothed down his thigh, to a faint burn near the side of his leg.

‘Laser drill,’ he said, exhaling. ‘While welding ship frames on theSombraduring its refit.’

She leaned down and kissed that scar. Then another. Then another. Her lips soft, reverent, lingering.

He groaned, and his arms tightened around her, pulling her on top of him.

‘Keep doing that,’ he murmured, ‘and I’ll never let you leave this bed.’

‘Promise?’ she whispered, her mouth against his neck.

His answer came not in words but in how he rolled with her.

Pinning her to the sheets, kissing her like the world was burning just beyond the door and he had no intention of letting it in.

This time, it was surrender; slow, deep, aching with tenderness.

She lost herself in the rhythm of him, in the way his hands cradled her face.

In the heat pooling in her spine as he moved with her like he already knew the song of her body.

Every breath, gasp, whisper of her name from his lips anchored her.

When it was over, and he held her against his chest again, their bodies slick and hearts still racing, she thought,This is the first time I’ve felt truly cherished by a man.

XANDER

The following morning, they made it to the cafeteria hall just after first call.

Savvine’s hair was still damp from their quick shower, tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck.

Xander stole another glance at her as she stepped ahead, in his borrowed jumpsuit, two sizes too large for her.

He smirked when she tugged her sleeves over her knuckles, the sight warming him.

The mess on Deck 6 was one of his favorite spots: expansive floor-to-ceiling windows set over the inner arboretum dome, where early risers were already tending the crops, their silhouettes soft in dawn’s light.

The hum of chatter filtered through the open space.

The air was redolent with brewedkahawa, buttery toast, and the roasted tang of peppers on a skillet.