Page 15 of Alien Soldier's Heir

“Crashed it into a ravine. Broke three ribs. Got grounded for a season.”

“Bet you were more pissed about the season than the ribs.”

“Damn right.” He smiles, but it’s a tired kind of smile. “Swan found me. Carried me back on his shoulders. Cried the whole way home.”

My throat tightens. I didn’t expect this.

“He’s the reason I fly smart now,” Kaz says. “Not just fast. Not just loud. I fly so I can come back.”

I turn to face him. “Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes meet mine, unflinching. “Because you make me want to survive this.”

I don’t breathe. For a full five seconds, I sit there, lungs frozen, mind spinning like it’s been tossed into a wormhole.

He turns back toward the stars. “You don’t have to say anything.”

And I don’t. I can’t. Because if I say the wrong thing, I’ll break this fragile moment open. And if I say the right thing… I don’t know what that even is.

So I just sit there. Beside him. Letting the gravity between us settle.

Letting it pull.

Letting it speak.

CHAPTER 8

KAZ

The sim cage smells like sweat, ozone, and bravado. It hums with tension before a match—almost like it knows something’s about to go down. I’m suiting up, tightening the flight straps around my chest, when Yoris saunters in with that smug slouch like he owns the air.

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with our instructor lately,” he says, voice slick with innuendo.

“Jealous I’m finally training with someone who can keep up?” I shoot back without looking at him.

He chuckles. “You sure she’s not just keeping score?”

Swan groans from behind me. “Can we not do this today? It’s too early for chest-thumping.”

Too late. Yoris already lit the fuse.

He tosses a flight chip onto the table between us. “Two-on-two sim. You and Swan. Me and Gorran.”

Gorran? I arch a brow. The quiet Vakutan who barely says three words in a week? Interesting choice.

“Loser buys drinks for the whole squad,” Yoris adds.

I smile slow, predatory. “You sure your ego can handle another L?”

Yoris leans in, eyes hard. “Are you?”

The sim launches thirty minutes later. Four ships. One mock asteroid field. A mess of static interference thrown in to replicate combat turbulence. It’s beautiful chaos.

Swan’s voice crackles in my comm. “You’re not thinking about her, are you?”

“I’m always thinking about her.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”