Page 52 of Alien Soldier's Heir

But I don’t knock.

I just stand there, staring at the spot where I left that note all those weeks ago.

No regrets. Just truth.

Right.

So here’s the truth:

I’m not ready.

But I’ll go anyway.

Because someone has to.

And maybe that’s what First Ray really means.

Not the fastest or the smartest.

Just the one who fliesanyway.

CHAPTER 22

NOVA

Ican’t breathe.

Not really. Not the kind of breathing that reaches deep into your chest and reminds you you’re alive.

I’ve been pacing my office for forty minutes, maybe more. The floor knows the shape of my boots now. I’ve worn a groove in the cheap polymer tiles.

The walls feel too tight. The air too thick. I keep thinking about the sim footage—his hands on the controls, the precision, the fire in his eyes. The way he walked toward death like it was a sunrise he couldn’t wait to chase.

And I can’t let him go.

Not like this.

Not without trying.

My hands are damp. I wipe them on my uniform slacks. Doesn’t help. The sweat’s not just skin-deep. It’s in my bones.

I pull open the door to my office before I can change my mind and head straight to Trozius’ wing. I pass cadets in the corridor, their chatter a muted blur. None of them look at me. Good. I don’t think I could fake composure right now.

By the time I reach his door, I feel like I’ve aged a decade.

I don’t knock. I just enter.

Trozius is at his desk, as always, posture perfect, eyes on a data slate.

He looks up.

“Captain,” he says. “To what do I owe?—”

“I need to report a violation.”

That gets his attention.

He sets the slate down slowly. Steeples his fingers.