Page 74 of Alien Soldier's Heir

I sip the tea. It’s too sweet. Too warm. My hands are too cold.

“I hate him,” I lie.

“No you don’t.”

“I want to.”

“That’s different.”

Later that night, I sit by Dar’s bed, brushing curls off his forehead. He’s got Kaz’s hair. Kaz’s smirk when he’s about to do something absolutely against the rules.

I should have told him.

I should have told him before everything fell apart.

But now I’m just another ghost in his rearview.

And he’s a collision I don’t know how to survive.

CHAPTER 31

KAZ

First day back in the sim bay with her and I already wanna crawl out of my skin.

The walls hum low with power, fluorescent lights throwing sterile gleam across every brushed steel surface. Seven of us, shoulder to shoulder, packed in the briefing room like weapons waiting to be drawn. Nova stands in front, posture ramrod-straight, eyes scanning her datapad like she’s reviewing strangers.

I shift my weight, lean back in the seat with a half-grin I don’t feel, and say, “So… anyone else remember the guy who fudged his maneuvering data last season? Last I heard, he's the sanitation lead on a waste barge orbiting Narkon-7.”

One or two chuckles. A cough. A snort from Reyes.

Nova doesn’t flinch.

She scrolls. “Lieutenant Valez, your last sim showed a three-point-two deviation on trajectory alignment. If that’s your idea of precision, I suggest applying to the circus.”

Silence. Valez turns crimson. Nova still doesn’t look at me.

The tension's a living thing now. Even the other pilots glance my way, trying to read between the lines. Stark lingers in thecorner, arms folded, a hawk in a lab coat. His gaze bounces between us like a predator clocking wounded prey.

After drills, he’s waiting.

“You flew tight,” he says.

“Didn’t realize you were grading me.”

His smile is all teeth and condescension. “History?”

I meet his gaze flatly. “No.”

He hums. Walks off like he’s already added me to some secret file.

The sim itself is hell. Nova’s voice comes through the comms clipped and icy. Not a hint of softness. Not an inch of slack.

“Too slow, Cadet Ten,” she says as I pitch into a dive. “Overcompensate again and you’ll punch through the carrier’s side plating. Try thinking one step ahead instead of two behind.”

My hands tighten around the flight controls. “Copy.”

We finish the circuit. Touch down. Everyone’s breathing like they just got off a real battlefield.