Page 43 of Claimed by the Alien Assassin
JOSIE
I find her sitting beneath the old water tower as twilight deepens into stars, the metal beams etched with rust and humming memories.
Her toolkit—ancient, battered from every mission—rests in her lap like a talisman.
She snaps open the latch and for a long moment, does nothing but stare at it, fingers tracing the chipped paint and faded maker’s stamp.
“They’ve kept everything,” she breathes, voice thick with something raw—pride, sorrow, hope. “Every house, every road. The laughter.” She tilts her head to the gentle murmur of distant voices, children chasing one another under soft yellow lights. “They did all this, Dayn.”
I crouch beside her, careful not to disturb the stillness.
The kit is an artifact of our early chaos—the place where she first pulled me together and told me, without words, that my fight could matter.
I say quietly, “Because you gave them something worth keeping.” My fingers close over hers, warm and alive despite the night air’s crisp bite.
For a while, we sit in silence—listening to the wind rustle through the towering metal jungle of the colony, watching fireflies dance like fractured stars. I let her cry, silent tears that mean she’s allowed to feel it all: the loss, the fear, the triumph that came with a terrible price.
When the last tear falls, she snaps the toolkit shut and slides it into her pack. She stands abruptly, resolute. “Take me back,” she says. “To where we began.”
We walk hand-in-hand, retracing our most important waypoints.
First is the ridge where I watched her rally the miners.
The ground is still pitted from the skirmish, but new saplings sway in the breeze.
She leans into me, whispering, “I saw the fear in their eyes… you gave them permission to believe.” I smile, squeezing her hand. “You gave it to them.”
Down the path, we pause at the edge of the rainforest where she first saw the capital ship cast its golden shadow.
The remains of turrets—some rebuilt, others rusted to memory—mutable monuments to the invasion.
I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “That was the day I found you at my weakest.” I meet her gaze. “You made me strong.”
Her laugh is soft, teasing. “And I still think you growled like a kitten the first time you caught me.” That laugh, the sparkle in her brown eyes—it’s the thing that drove me mad and made me believe in more than vengeance.
I press my lips to the shell of her ear, grinning. “And I still think you’re insane. I mean, me—my scowl on children’s t-shirts?”
She bumps her hip against mine. “They like it.”
Our final stop is the bar: once dingy and dangerous, now clean and lively with the hum of conversation.
A dozen patrons look up and raise mugs quietly.
I watch her take in the change—plants lining the bar, a fresh coat of paint, even a real jukebox.
She whispers, “We healed more than land.” I kiss her temple and she squeezes my hand.
Later, we climb to the rooftop of the colony’s first permanent building—a squat, proud slab of reinforced concrete and steel.
Lights are strung around the perimeter; the rainforest stretches below like a dark sea full of breathing life.
We lie back, legs tangled, staring up at constellations etched in silence.
She rests her forehead against mine. Her voice is low, reverent: “This is where I became me.”
I trace patterns on her neck with my thumb, breath soft and warm. “This is where I found us.”
We lie together in stillness, savoring the weight of all we’ve built—our breaths quiet in rhythm with the night. Somewhere, a distant alien howl echoes through the trees, and we press closer. Her hand finds mine in the impossibly soft darkness.
When we finally give in to sleep, it’s not a surrender—it’s a promise.
A magnetic pull that neither war nor politics can sever.
Around us, Snowblossom sleeps beneath a canopy of stars, wild and resilient.
And here, on the rooftop under constellations still weaving their cosmic tales, we lay the foundation for whatever comes next: two souls irreversibly intertwined, ready for the journeys ahead.