Page 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

K ara folded the last of Talia’s tunics and placed it in the drawer. The drawer that actually belonged to the child now—not borrowed, not temporary. A permanence that still felt miraculous.

She glanced out the window at the garden where Rory and Talia were playing.

Rory had arranged colorful stones in intricate patterns across the ground while Talia carefully walked between them, following some rule of their shared game that she couldn’t quite decipher.

The morning sunlight caught in Talia’s dark curls, highlighting the healthy glow that had replaced her pallor from just a week ago.

Seven days since Thraxar had left. Seven days that stretched like years.

“He’ll be back today,” she whispered to herself, the same words she’d repeated each morning. But today they felt different—more like a promise than a hope.

Her hand drifted to the communication device he’d given her before leaving. It remained silent, as it had since his brief message three days ago: Mission complete. Coming home.

Home. The word still caught in her throat sometimes.

The clock on the wall chimed, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Time for work,” she called through the open window.

Talia looked up immediately. Rory continued his arrangement for several more seconds—finishing the pattern was important—before standing.

“Can we walk through the market today?” Talia asked as they came inside. “Elrin says the fruit sellers have something called treeberries.”

“We might have time,” she said, helping Rory with his shoes. “If we leave now.”

The walk to the medical center took them through the heart of the settlement.

Unlike the harsh, utilitarian mining asteroid or the sterile corridors of Earth’s overcrowded cities, this place had been built with living in mind.

Gardens and trees lined the pathways. Buildings nestled into the landscape rather than dominating it.

People nodded greetings as they passed. Not the suspicious glances or predatory stares she’d grown accustomed to, but genuine acknowledgment.

After just a week, faces were becoming familiar.

The baker who saved a special roll for Rory because he liked the spiral pattern.

The elderly Syvian who sat in the same spot each morning, whose translucent tendrils waved gently in greeting as they passed.

At the market junction, she spotted the fruit seller Talia had mentioned.

“Ten minutes,” she told the children, knowing that Rory would take her literally. “Then straight to the medical center.”

The fruit seller—a stocky, four-armed being with iridescent scales—beamed as they approached. “Ah! The young ones! I saved the ripest batch for you.”

Talia’s eyes widened at the violet clusters. “They look like tiny stars.”

“That’s what my grandmother called them,” the seller agreed, handing them each a small sample. “Fallen stars in your hand.”

She watched as Rory examined his portion with careful attention before placing one berry on his tongue. His fingers fluttered—his sign of approval—and she smiled.

“We’ll take a basket,” she said, passing over the credit chip Thraxar had insisted she take.

“Kara!” A voice called from across the market. Lesha Dorn, one of the nurses from the medical center, hurried toward them. “There you are! Doctor Sarn asked if you could come early. The Ferasian workers just arrived for their physicals.”

She nodded, tucking the fruit basket into her bag. “We’re on our way.”

As they walked the remaining distance to the medical center, she marveled again at how quickly her life had transformed. From prisoner to refugee to… this. A respected trauma specialist whose experience with mining injuries had proven invaluable to the small settlement’s medical team.

“Kara!” Doctor Sarn greeted her cheerfully as they entered the facility, her eyes warm. “Thank you for coming early. The children can use the recreation room until your shift ends.”

“I’ll take them,” Lesha offered. “I heard Elrin brought new learning modules yesterday.”

She knelt to eye level with both children. “I’ll see you at midday break. Rory, stay with Talia. Talia?—”

“Watch out for Rory,” the girl finished with a solemn nod. “I will.”

After they disappeared down the corridor with Lesha, Kara followed Doctor Sarn to the examination rooms. Work would help pass the hours until Thraxar returned. It always did.

The day stretched endlessly. By mid-afternoon, she had treated a farmer’s crushed finger, diagnosed a peculiar rash on a Treveloran child, and assisted Doctor Sarn with a difficult birthing for one of the settlement’s newer species.

“You have remarkable instincts,” Doctor Sarn commented as they sterilized the equipment afterward. “Most practitioners take years to develop such adaptability across species.”

She shrugged. “When you have limited supplies and equipment, you learn to focus on fundamentals. Biology differs, but trauma follows patterns.”

“Still, your skill is exceptional.” The doctor’s middle eyes narrowed slightly—her expression of curiosity. “The settlement would benefit greatly if you decided to stay permanently.”

“We’re staying,” she said, the certainty in her voice surprising even herself.

Doctor Sarn’s mandibles clicked in approval. “Excellent. I’ll speak to the council about formalizing your position.”

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of routine procedures and patient consultations. When the final hour approached, she found herself checking the clock with increasing frequency.

“Go,” Doctor Sarn said finally, her tone amused. “Your family needs you more than we do right now.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She collected the children from the recreation room where Rory was deeply engaged with a three-dimensional puzzle and Talia was reading to a group of younger children.

“Time to go home,” she said, the words still tasting sweet on her tongue.

The walk back seemed both too long and too short. Anticipation quickened her steps, but uncertainty slowed her heart. What if something had gone wrong? What if the signal had been intercepted? What if?—

“Look!” Talia suddenly shouted, pointing ahead.

A familiar silhouette stood at their garden gate. Tall, broad-shouldered, unmistakable even at a distance.

Rory broke into a run first, his usual careful movements abandoned in rare spontaneity. Talia followed a heartbeat later.

She watched as Thraxar dropped to one knee, gathering both children against him. His tail curled protectively around them, and even from a distance, she could see the tension drain from his powerful frame.

He was home. He was safe.

She approached more slowly, drinking in the sight of him. When he looked up and their eyes met, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was only Thraxar, his black eyes reflecting the golden light of late afternoon, his expression softening in a way reserved only for her.

“You’re late,” she said when she reached them, her attempt at casualness betrayed by the tremor in her voice.

His mouth curved in that subtle smile she’d come to cherish. “Unavoidable delays.”

“He brought presents!” Talia announced, bouncing on her toes.

“After dinner,” he said firmly, rising to his full height. His gaze never left her face. “I missed you.”

Three simple words that contained universes.

“We missed you too,” she replied, allowing herself to step into his embrace at last.

His arms enveloped her, solid and warm, and the scent of him—that indefinable mixture of ship engines, alien spices, and something uniquely Thraxar—filled her senses. His tail wrapped gently around her waist, an intimate gesture that made her heart race.

“Home now,” he murmured against her hair.

“Home,” she agreed.

Dinner was a joyous affair. Thraxar recounted carefully edited versions of his journey while the children interrupted with questions and stories of their own adventures during his absence.

“And Doctor Sarn says Kara is the best trauma specialist she’s ever worked with,” Talia reported proudly. “She fixed Trader Yonti’s hand when he crushed it in the loading dock.”

“Is that so?” His gaze held a warmth that made her cheeks flush.

“It wasn’t that complicated,” she demurred. “Just a matter of understanding the bone structure.”

“She’s being modest,” Talia insisted. “Everyone at the medical center says so.”

Rory, who had been arranging his food in precise patterns before eating, suddenly looked up and made a quick series of gestures. She laughed and nodded.

“That’s right. Rory helped as well by finding the right instrument when the standard one wouldn’t work.”

Thraxar’s expression softened further. “A healer like his mother.”

The simple pride in his voice made something tighten in her chest. How long had it been since anyone had spoken of her son with such straightforward admiration? Not as a problem to be managed or a burden to be endured, but as a person of value and potential.

After the meal came the promised presents: a delicate puzzle box for Rory that clicked and whirred as different sections moved, and a small data crystal for Talia containing stories from worlds across the galaxy. For her, he produced a slender case.

“Medical instruments,” he explained as she opened it. “Designed for human hands.”

The set gleamed in the soft light—precision tools that would have cost a fortune on Earth. She ran her fingers over them, speechless.

“They’re perfect,” she finally managed, looking up to find his eyes on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

Later, after the children were settled in bed—Rory with his new puzzle box placed precisely at the foot of his bed, Talia with her stories quietly playing through her headset—they stood in the garden under the unfamiliar stars.

“Did it work?” she asked quietly. “Will they stop looking for her?”

His tail curled around her waist, drawing her closer. “The tracker was destroyed as planned. As far as anyone tracking it knows, Talia Vey’Nor perished in a ship malfunction in the Carellian Void.”

She leaned against his solid warmth. “And the real Talia?”

“Safe. Here with us.” He paused. “Elrin discovered something interesting. The political situation on her homeworld is changing. The reforms her father fought for are gaining support.”

“Does that mean someday she could go back?”

“Perhaps. When she’s older. If she chooses.” His voice rumbled through his chest against her ear. “But for now, this is her home. With us.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to fully absorb the moment. The night air carried the scent of unfamiliar blossoms. Distant sounds of the settlement drifted on the breeze. And here, in this garden, stood everything that mattered.

“I was afraid,” she admitted softly. “Every day you were gone.”

His arms tightened around her. “I promised I would return.”

“I know. But promises…” She trailed off, thinking of all the broken promises in her past.

“Not mine.” He turned her to face him, one large hand gently tilting her face up. “Never mine.”

When he kissed her, it felt like coming home all over again. The universe narrowed to the points where they touched—his hands cradling her face, her fingers gripping his shoulders, their bodies pressed together in the quiet garden.

They moved inside without breaking apart, finding their way to their bedroom through touch and memory. Each article of clothing removed was a rediscovery, each caress a reaffirmation.

“I thought of you every moment,” he murmured against her skin. “Of this.”

Her body remembered his—the texture of his skin, the strength in his hands, the way his tail curled possessively around her thigh. What had once seemed so alien now felt essential, as if her body had been incomplete before knowing his.

They moved together with the familiarity of lovers who had learned each other’s rhythms and the urgency of those separated for too long. When pleasure crested through her, she buried her face against his shoulder to muffle her cries, mindful of the sleeping children.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, her head resting on his chest, listening to the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I spoke with Doctor Sarn today,” she said into the comfortable silence. “About making my position permanent.”

She felt him go still beneath her. “And?”

“I told her we’re staying.” She lifted her head to look at him. “If that’s still what you want.”

His expression in the dim light was unguarded, vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “It is all I want. You. The children. This life we’re building.”

She laid her palm against his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his skin. “Then it’s settled. This is home.”

He captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm—a gesture so tender it made her throat tighten.

“Home,” he agreed.

As sleep began to claim her, she listened to the sounds of their house—Rory’s soft humming from his room, Talia’s occasional murmur as she dreamed, Thraxar’s steady breathing beneath her cheek. The sounds of family. Of safety. Of belonging.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Kara Macintosh was perfectly content.