Page 26 of Alien Soldier's Heir

But she shifts first. Smooth and professional.

“The coil’s stable,” she says, tone clipped again. “Should be good for a test run.”

The moment snaps like brittle glass.

“Thanks,” I say, voice rough.

She nods, stands, brushes her hands off on her uniform like she hasn’t just rearranged my whole nervous system.

“I’ll see you in the gym,” she says over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone.

The gym’s a different kind of pressure.

Swan’s already sparring with one of the Alzhon cadets, both of them moving like coiled springs under the overhead lights. The air smells like sweat and rubber and recycled aggression. I stretch my shoulders, trying to ignore the knot in my chest.

Nova walks in five minutes later.

She doesn’t say anything. Just grabs a towel and settles against the far wall, arms crossed, watching.

I feel her eyes on me before I even hit the mat.

Swan grins. “Oh, you’ve got an audience now. Better not suck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

We circle. Throw jabs. Duck, weave, strike. It’s not a real fight—not yet—but it crackles with potential. Every blow is a word we don’t say.

I see Nova watching from the corner of my eye. Calm, unreadable. Except when I land a clean hit and Swan stumbles back—then her jaw tightens. Barely.

I wink at her.

She rolls her eyes.

But she doesn’t look away.

CHAPTER 13

KAZ

Itell myself it’s just about the flight manual.

The one I borrowed two days ago. The one I’ve already scanned, memorized, and probably could’ve rewritten in half the time.

But here I am—late evening, the sky burned down to a dull indigo outside, the compound hushed like it’s holding its breath—and I’m standing at Nova’s door with that manual in one hand and a knot in my chest that has nothing to do with aerodynamics.

I raise my hand to knock. Pause.

Second thoughts stir like shadows behind my ribs. I hate those. I’m not built for hesitation.

So I knock.

The door opens faster than I expect.

And there she is.

Hair down in loose waves, like the stars decided to drape themselves over her shoulders. Barefoot, wearing one of those threadbare academy tees that hang loose in all the right places and tight in all the better ones. She blinks at me like she expected anyone else. For once, she doesn’t look like she’s bracing for battle. Just… surprised.