Page 27

TRAZ

T he ship’s engines roar under my boots, a low, angry hum that rattles my bones.

We made it.

Barely.

At a price I’m not sure I’ll ever stop paying.

I slump against the cold metal wall just inside the main hold, cradling Aria against my chest like she’s the last soft thing left in a world made of knives.

Joren clings to my leg, silent, his wide eyes locked on the cargo ramp as it seals shut behind us.

Behind him, behind all of us, Glimner burns.

Along with it is Silpha.

Kelli crouches nearby, arms wrapped around her knees.

She rocks slightly, not crying.

Not yet.

Too numb for it.

I know the feeling.

It’s sitting thick in my gut too.

A heavy, ugly knot I can’t shake loose.

"She saved us," Kelli says after a long beat, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," I rasp.

I rub Aria’s back slow, mechanical.

Feel her shudder against me, small and scared but alive.

Because Silpha made it so.

Because she gave everything she had left so we could crawl out of that hellhole.

I should be grateful.

I should be relieved.

But all I feel is hollow.

And guilty as sin.

I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, Aria still pressed tight against my chest.

The engines thrum louder as we break atmosphere.

The ship jolts.

Joren yelps and scrambles into Kelli’s arms.

She holds him close, murmuring soft words into his hair.

Words I can’t quite hear.

Don’t deserve to hear.

Not yet.

Not with the way my guts are twisting.

I should’ve seen it.

Should’ve fought harder.

Should’ve found another way.

Anything but letting her go up in flames to buy us a few goddamn breaths.

Kelli looks at me.

Really looks at me.

And it cuts deep.

Because she don’t see a hero.

She sees a man carrying too many ghosts on his back.

And she’s right.

I lean my head back against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I failed her," I grind out, voice low and rough.

"You didn’t," Kelli says, steady.

"Could’ve found another way."

"You did everything you could."

I shake my head.

Feel the burn of guilt slicing under my ribs.

"I swore I’d protect all of you," I mutter. "Every one."

"And you did," she says fierce, sliding closer.

Joren snuggles between us, pulling Aria along with him.

We’re a tangle of bruises and blood and broken promises.

But still breathing.

Still together.

Because of her.

I reach for Kelli’s hand.

Grip it tight.

Anchor myself.

"I’m not gonna just protect you," I rasp. "I’m gonna stand with you."

Kelli blinks, caught off guard.

"You already do," she says, soft.

I shake my head again.

"No. Not the way you deserve."

I squeeze her hand tighter.

"So hear me now, Kelli. I’m not just your shield. Not just a pair of fists keeping the monsters back."

Her breath hitches.

I look her dead in the eye.

"I’m your partner. Your man. Your husband—if you’ll still have me."

Her eyes widen.

Tears fill them fast, slipping free down her cheeks before she can blink them back.

"You mean that?" she whispers, voice cracking.

"Every godsdamn word," I swear.

"I’m not running. I’m not hiding. Not from you. Not from them."

I pull her hand to my mouth.

Press a kiss against her knuckles, rough and raw.

"You and these kids—you're my life now," I mutter against her skin.

"No more looking back. No more walking away."

She shudders a breath.

Lets go of something tight and scared she’s been carrying too long.

And leans into me.

Into us.

Joren curls against my side.

Aria wiggles into my lap.

I pull them all close.

Tighter.

Tighter still.

Like if I just hold them hard enough, maybe the universe won’t be able to tear us apart again.

We sit there in the cargo bay as the ship shudders into open space.

A broken, battered knot of survivors.

A family stitched together with scars and stubbornness.

And gods help the galaxy.

If it ever tries to take them from me again.

Later, when the ship settles into the steady hum of a jump corridor, Kelli pulls a rough blanket around the kids and settles beside me on the cold floor.

For a long moment, we just sit there.

Listening to their soft breathing.

Feeling the quiet stretch thick between us.

Not the bad kind.

Not the kind full of fear.

The kind full of possibility .

I tilt my head, studying her in the dim light.

Her hair’s a mess.

Her jacket’s torn.

There’s grime streaked across her cheek.

And she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

"You ever think about where we go next?" I ask low, my voice still scraped raw from everything we lost.

She leans her head against my shoulder, sighing deep.

"Someplace quiet," she mutters. "Someplace green."

"With trees," I add.

"Real ones," she says, fierce. "Not some fake synth-farm garbage."

I grunt a laugh.

"Maybe a little patch of land," she murmurs. "A house. A real kitchen. Kids running wild."

I look down at the little ones, sleeping like the dead against her side.

"Already halfway there," I say rough.

She smiles.

Soft.

Hopeful.

The kind of smile that makes a man believe in miracles.

"We could do it," I say, surprising myself with how much I believe it.

Her fingers find mine under the blanket.

Squeeze tight.

"I know," she whispers.

I kiss the top of her head.

A small thing.

But it feels like a vow.

Silent.

Solid.

No more running.

No more surviving.

It’s time to start living .

For them.

For her.

For all the future we almost lost, and fought like hell to keep.