Page 17

KELLI

T he next morning creeps in slow and ugly, dragging pale light through the cracked windows.

I don't sleep.

I don’t think Traz does either.

He sits against the far wall, legs stretched out in front of him, Aria tucked into one side, Joren draped half across his chest like a little barnacle.

I watch them from my place across the room, knees drawn to my chest, arms locked around them like I can keep the world at bay if I just squeeze tight enough.

It’s stupid.

Petty.

But part of me doesn’t know how to crawl over there and fit myself into that picture.

Not after everything.

So I stay where I am.

Silent.

Watching.

Waiting.

Traz stirs first.

He shifts, careful not to wake the kids.

His eyes find me across the room.

He doesn't say anything.

Doesn't have to.

That look—raw, steady, stubborn—says it all.

I’m here.

I’m not leaving.

Not this time.

The tension between us stretches taut, tight as wire, but since he kicked open that door, it doesn’t feel like it’s choking me.

Feels like maybe, just maybe, we’re learning how to breathe the same broken air again.

Later, after a breakfast of stale ration biscuits and weak tea, the kids tug him outside.

Out into the wreck yard, where scraps of metal and twisted junk form a crooked playground.

I follow, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching them.

Aria’s already dragging him toward a half-crushed transport shell, waving her hands, talking a mile a minute.

"That’s my ship," she declares, pointing proudly. "We’re gonna fix it up and fly away someday!"

Traz raises an eyebrow at the battered heap.

"That so?" he says, voice rough but warm.

"Yup," she says, puffing her little chest out. "Joren’s my engineer. I’m the captain."

Joren peeks out from behind her, quiet and wide-eyed.

Traz crouches down, big and careful, so he’s eye level with them.

"Good setup," he says. "But every captain needs a good gunner too."

Aria’s eyes light up.

"You wanna be my gunner?" she demands, hands on her hips.

Traz chuckles low, the sound rumbling through the yard.

"Best shot you’ll ever have, little warrior," he promises.

She beams like he hung the damn sun.

Joren stays back, shy.

Nervous.

I recognize that fear—the instinct to hold yourself small, to stay quiet so you don’t get hurt.

I lived it.

Still living it, some days.

Traz notices too.

He doesn’t push.

Just lets Aria chatter and climb and boss him around while Joren watches from a safe distance.

He throws glances at the boy, small and patient, like he’s laying a bridge stone by stone instead of trying to drag him across.

And somehow... somehow that hurts more than anything.

Because he gets it.

He gets them.

He gets me.

Even after all the time and distance and pain.

He still knows how to reach the broken parts.

Later, when Aria’s occupied building some kind of "turbo blaster" out of pipe scraps, Joren drifts closer to Traz.

He fiddles with the frayed hem of his shirt, not looking up.

"Did you really fly ships?" he mumbles.

Traz crouches down again, arms resting on his knees.

"Yeah," he says. "Flew a lotta junk heaps worse than this one."

Joren's eyes flicker up, wide with wonder.

"Did you ever go to the stars?" he asks, voice small.

Traz nods slow.

"Been to places where the suns burn blue and the ground floats under your boots."

Joren sucks in a breath, like Traz just told him magic was real.

"You think... we could go someday?" he whispers.

Something cracks wide open inside me.

Hope.

Raw and terrifying.

Traz’s voice goes low, serious.

"You stick close to your mama," he says. "You learn everything she’s gotta teach you. And one day... yeah. We’ll get you there."

Joren’s whole face lights up.

He grins—a real, unguarded grin—and my heart damn near shatters all over again.

I retreat into the shelter for a minute, under the excuse of cleaning up.

Really, I just need a breath.

Need to keep myself from running across the yard and collapsing into Traz’s arms like a fool.

Because it’s easy, watching him like this.

Too easy.

Makes me forget the years I spent fighting for air.

Makes me forget how bad it hurt when he didn’t come back.

But I can't forget.

I won’t.

Even if some stubborn, broken piece of me wants to.

When I step back out, Joren’s perched on Traz’s shoulders, laughing soft while Aria clambers up the side of the freighter.

Traz looks up, catches my eye.

He smiles.

Small.

Crooked.

Real.

The anger that’s been strangling me for so long loosens its grip just a little.

Not gone.

Not yet.

But maybe...

Maybe there’s a chance to find something better in all this wreckage we call a life and we’re not as broken as we think.

Maybe we’re still worth saving.

The scrap yard is peaceful in a broken kind of way.

That’s when I hear the scuff of boots behind me.

I stiffen.

Turn.

Silpha stands there, hands full—one carrying a battered crate stuffed with food supplies, the other tucked awkwardly into her belt.

I don’t move.

Neither does she.

"Thought you might need this," she says, voice rough like gravel.

I glare at her.

Hard.

"What I needed," I snap low, keeping my voice just shy of yelling so the kids don't hear, "was a little damn warning."

Silpha’s mouth tightens.

"I didn’t have the luxury," she says flat.

"You had time enough to find him," I hiss. "You had time enough to drag him halfway across the planet?—"

"He deserved to know," she bites out.

"So do I!" I shoot back, stabbing a finger into her chest. "This was my life. My kids. My pain. You don't get to shove him back into it like nothing happened."

We stand there, breathing hard, the wreckage around us humming with the weight of everything unsaid.

Silpha's shoulders sag.

She steps closer, lowering her voice.

"You’re right," she says. "Should've told you. Should’ve given you the choice."

She looks past me, into the yard.

I follow her gaze.

Traz is laughing now, low and warm, spinning Aria around while Joren squeals with delight from his perch.

Silpha watches them for a long moment.

Then she turns back to me, eyes sharp, searching.

"But," she says, voice soft but deadly serious, "if I'd given you that choice... would you have said yes?"

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Swallow hard against the lump rising up.

I look back at the scene in front of me.

At the man I hated and loved in the same breath.

At the babies we made who somehow still found a way to laugh even in a world this broken.

I press a hand over my heart, grounding myself.

Then I meet her gaze.

And I nod.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I'd have said yes."

Silpha smiles.

Just a little.

Just enough.

She drops the crate onto the ground between us with a grunt.

"Good," she says. "Then we don't have to kill each other today."

I huff out a laugh that feels too big for my chest.

"Maybe tomorrow," I mutter.

She smirks and disappears back into the shadows, leaving me standing there with the weight of a new future heavy in my hands.

I don’t know what comes next.

I don't know how we heal this.

But watching Traz cradle our babies like they’re the whole damn universe?

It feels like the first real thing in a long, long time.