Page 17 of She Who Devours the Stars

“Fern doesn’t need you to fix her, you know,” she said, voice dropping just a notch. “She needs—”

“She needs us to be ready,” I cut in. “If those Accord goons come back, we can’t just—”

“—what? Bake them into submission?” Velline laughed, but it was a tired, sharp sound. “You really think we matter to any of them?”

I stood, walked to the fridge, and stared into its glow. Not because I needed anything, but because it was the only light in the apartment that didn’t flicker. “We matter to Fern.”

The chopping slowed, then stopped. “Yeah. We do.”

The Accord’s redline siren started up again, but only for a second, then a hissing pop from the hallway, followed by the telltale static of a dead relay. I’d hardwired a kill switch to the main line, just in case, and it still brought me a tiny spark of joy every time the Accord’s intrusive thoughts got shorted out.

Velline, not missing a beat, threw open the kitchen door and dumped her stir-fry onto three plates. She made a production of slamming the plates on the table, then dropped into the seat across from me. Her elbows on the table, fingers locked together, she stared me down.

“We need a plan,” she said. “A real one. Not just hope the Accord gets bored and leaves.”

I poked at the pile of food. “Is this one of those times where you mean a literal plan, or the metaphorical kind where we all just… try our best?”

She didn’t smile. “This isn’t a joke, Dax.”

“I know.” I forced myself to look at her. The fuchsia streak in her hair was fading, but she still wore it with the defiance of a riot banner. I’d always loved that about her. Even when things went sideways, Velline Meldin never let go of the fight.

“I can talk to Fern,” I said. “I’ll do it before dinner.”

“She needs to know she’s not alone.”

“She’s never been alone,” I told her, trying to make it sound true. “Not even when she tried to be.”

Velline started to reply, but the bathroom door opened, and Fern padded out, hair wet and sticking to her face, tank top clinging to skin like she’d been in a downpour. Her eyes looked different, less angry, more brittle, but the left hand still glowed, lighting the hallway with a weird, haunted shimmer.

Velline smiled, wide and too bright. “Food,” she said. “Sit.”

Fern sat, eyes locked on the plate. She picked at it, nudging the protein slices into little pyramids, topping them with syntheggs, and then eating them one by one. She didn’t say a word for the first few bites.

I cleared my throat. “Got a new batch of Accord spam,” I said, pushing the stack her way.

Fern didn’t even look at them. “Any offers on my soul this time?”

“Not unless you count the rations survey. I voted for less yeast, by the way.”

“Traitor,” she said, but there was a trace of a smile. “It’s the only thing that keeps the coffee edible.”

Velline reached out, touched Fern’s wrist for a second, then pulled back when the glow intensified. “How are you feeling, honey?”

Fern shrugged. “Better than the pipes. I think they hate me now.”

“Good,” Velline said. “Maybe they’ll finally stop leaking in the bathroom.”

We all pretended that was normal conversation. For a while, it almost was.

I set down my fork, leaned in, and met Fern’s eyes. “You know they’re not going to stop looking for you, right? The Accord, I mean. They never let go of anything they’re afraid of.”

Fern nodded, gaze steady. “I know. But I’m not afraid of them. Not anymore.”

Velline smiled, softer this time. “That’s our girl.”

For a moment, the weight in the room lifted. Just for a moment.

I looked around at my family, the world’s worst odds, and felt the old hope settle in my chest. We’d survived worse. Maybe not much worse, but still.