Page 54 of She Who Devours the Stars

Velline saw me first. She gestured with her fork, waving me in like I was a stubborn cat refusing to come inside. “Eat, baby. We’re all just one more emergency away from learning to photosynthesize.”

I made my way to the table, set the plate down, and sat. It felt like trespassing. I didn’t know how to say “good morning” after the last few days, so I just picked up a protein square and bit down. It tasted like regret and compressed optimism.

Velline watched me, her eyes lined in the kind of blue that burned under station lights. “You sleep?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Some.”

Dax looked up from his arm, the microprobe still humming in his hand. “Heard you’re getting shipped off to myth school.”

“Eventide Athenaeum,” I said, mouth full. “Sounds like a cult, but with better branding.”

Velline cackled. “Everything’s a cult if you wear enough eyeliner.”

Perc piped up, his screen blinking a perky coffee cup. “Attunement curriculum includes mandatory rest periods and emotional hygiene modules. Recommend full compliance for optimal outcomes.”

I eyed him, then turned to Dax. “Did you teach him to guilt-trip, or was that a firmware update?”

Dax grinned, wide and soft. “He learned it from watching you.”

The laughter, brief as it was, broke the surface tension.

I took a breath. “So, uh. I don’t want to assume—” I trailed off, realized I didn’t know what I was about to say, and started again. “They said I’m supposed to go alone. But I don’t have to.”

Velline’s fork hit her plate with a clatter. “What, leave you with those Accord tapeworms? Baby, I already threatened three diplomats on the way here. Security’s not letting me back on station until I’ve ‘cooled down’ or whatever.”

Dax shrugged. “I’m overdue for a sabbatical anyway. And if the myth academy’s got a machine shop, I can probably get work fixing the stuff your classmates break.”

Perc blipped. “I can reprogram the entire transit system to optimize for your safety. Also, I have developed a new flavor profile: Catastrophe Roast.”

I stared at them, unable to process. “You’re all just… coming with me?”

Velline reached across, grabbed my hand, squeezed until my fingers hurt. “Meldin’s stick. That’s the rule.”

Dax nodded, then added, “Besides. We did the whole ‘abandon your daughter for her own good’ thing once. Didn’t like it.”

Perc flashed a heart emoji. “We are the trauma barge now.”

My throat went tight, so I just nodded, hoping they’d let the topic die.

They didn’t.

Velline leaned in. “You’re scared. I get it. So am I. But you don’t get to do this alone, okay?”

I forced a laugh, but it came out hollow. “It’s not that. I just… I don’t want to drag you with me if I go nova.”

Dax’s eyes softened, which was worse than if he’d yelled. “That’s the thing about novas, kid. They make all kinds of new stuff, even after they blow.”

I didn’t have a comeback. So I just picked up another protein square, chewed, and let them sit with me in the silence.

Perc refilled my mug without asking. The coffee was terrible, but it tasted like home.

Maybe that was the point.

Thread Modulation: Fern Meldin

Axis Alignment: Vireleth the Closure, Above Pelago-9

The rain on Pelago-9 didn’t fall so much as hover, thickening the air with a syrupy humidity that got into everything: clothes, hair, the scar tissue behind my left ear. It was always like this in the transition seasons. The city’s weather control grid never got the funding to run at full power, so the drizzle drifted wherever it liked, settling into rooftop puddles and the seams of pressure domes and, right now, the glass of the mythship’s upper deck observation platform. I pressed my palm to the window andwatched the city burn in colors the Accord would’ve denied if anyone had asked.