Page 105 of Ravaged By the Reaper

I grin, low and wild like a hunt. “Wherever they tell us not to go.”

She laughs, soft and sharp, an ember igniting in space.

I turn in her arms, brush a finger along her jaw. “Plasma doesn’t burn like hope,” I murmur.

She kisses me then—gentle, certain, oxygen and fire all at once.

Five seconds, then enough.

She rests her head on my chest. The ship pivots in microstrike toward the Badlands—uncharted, dangerous, free.

Monitoring screens flicker with new coordinates. The slipstream bay glows.

We’re ready.

My heart drumbeats up into a steady rhythm.. Her scent—jasmine and ozone and something dangerous—grounds me.

I guide her hand, our fingers entwined across my chest.

No armor. No weapons. Just the armor of trust and quiet devotion.

Whatever comes next…

We’ll face it as one.

She lifts her face, gaze glowing. “Together.”

I nod.

Then we step into the glow of the jump.

The stars stretch before us—untamed constellations shimmering with possibility.

Together, we leap.