Page 51 of Alien Soldier's Heir

Just two metal cups and a bottle of contraband whiskey Swan swiped months ago “for emergencies.”

Guess this counts.

We sit on the floor of my quarters, backs against the wall. The air smells like engine oil and burnt coffee, but I don’t mind. It’s real.

“Think it’ll change anything?” I ask.

Swan raises an eyebrow. “Winning?”

“Yeah.”

He takes a sip. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Cool. Thanks for the pep talk.”

He smirks. “Here’s the truth: you were born to fly, Kaz. But the rest of us—we were born to follow someone who doesn’t flinch when the sky falls.”

I glance over. “That supposed to be you being deep?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the whiskey.”

I look down into my cup. The burn is familiar now. Almost comforting.

I don’t say what I’m thinking.

That I’m not afraid of the mission.

I’m afraid of who I have to leave behind to do it.

The message comes through close to midnight.

Not official. Just a system ping.

UNCONFIRMED: CANDIDATE RANKING – 1ST PLACE: KAZIMIR D.

No banner. No fanfare. Just a line of text that feels like a punch and a kiss all at once.

I won.

It’s mine.

I should feel something—excitement, pride,something.

But I just feel… hollow.

Like the moment I saw it, part of me drifted off into that place beyond the edge of the mission map. Past the point of no return.

I change into my boots and I walk.

No destination.

Just instinct.

And before I know it, I’m at her door.

Nova’s quarters.

The light’s on.