Page 28

KELLI

S pace hums soft around us, endless and deep.

It’s been weeks since we left Glimner’s charred bones behind.

Weeks since the ship became something more than just a metal box flying through the stars.

It’s home now.

Rough.

Cramped.

Loud in weird places.

But home.

The air doesn't taste like fear every time I breathe. It tastes like freedom.

I wipe down the makeshift table in the galley while Aria sings a made-up song, twirling her little fingers through the air like she's painting something nobody else can see.

Joren’s on the floor, stacking old supply crates like they’re building blocks.

Traz leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching them with that soft, guarded look he only gets when he thinks no one's paying attention.

I catch it.

Every damn time.

He isn’t slick.

"You’re gonna have to do something ‘bout that hair, wild man," I say, smirking as I toss a rag at him.

He snatches it outta the air without blinking.

"Maybe I like it this way," he rumbles.

"Like you’re auditioning for some backwater band?"

He grunts, low and almost a laugh.

Almost.

"You offering to fix it?" he asks.

I arch a brow.

"Depends. You trust me with scissors?"

He huffs a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"I trust you with my life," he says, dead serious.

The air goes still for a second.

Heavy.

Sweet.

Real.

Aria drops a crate with a crash and giggles herself silly.

Joren scowls at her, then at the mess, arms crossed just like his daddy.

I swear, the boy’s a pint-sized Traz when he gets mad.

Traz pushes off the counter and crouches down next to them, ruffling Joren’s hair until he squawks in protest.

"You building a fortress, little man?" Traz asks.

Joren nods fiercely.

"Gotta keep the bad guys out."

"Damn right," Traz says, helping him restack the boxes higher, stronger.

"And the dragons!" Aria shouts, waving her arms.

"Dragons too," Traz agrees solemnly, like she just gave him military orders.

I lean back against the wall, watching them.

Something blooms warm in my chest.

Big.

Bright.

Something I thought I'd buried a long time ago.

Hope.

Later, after the twins crash out in the little sleep nook we rigged up, I sit at the table, fiddling with a busted comm unit.

Traz slumps into the seat across from me, dragging a hand through his messy hair.

"You look dead," I say.

He grins.

Slow and lazy.

"Feel alive."

I toss a piece of wire at him.

He catches it easy.

"Hard to believe, isn’t it?" I mutter.

"What?"

I meet his gaze.

"That we made it."

He’s quiet a long beat.

Then he nods, slow.

"We’re here," he says.

"That’s what matters."

I set the comm unit down and rest my chin on my hands.

"Think about what’s next?"

He shrugs.

But there’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

"Maybe a real place," he says. "With doors that lock and fields to run in."

"And a kitchen that isn’t half engine parts?" I tease.

He chuckles low.

"You get picky real fast, woman."

I smile.

Big.

Real.

The kind that aches a little because it’s been too long.

"Yeah," I say. "Guess I do."

The ship lurches slightly as we hit another patch of rough drift.

Joren mumbles something in his sleep.

Aria kicks the wall with a thump.

Traz’s hand snakes across the table, finding mine.

Warm.

Calloused.

Steady.

"You’re not alone anymore, Kelli," he says, voice rough with promise.

"You don’t have to fight everything by yourself."

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."

And, somehow, I actually believe it.

The next day, routine falls into place like it’s been there forever.

Traz teaches Joren how to reassemble a blaster.

"Not to shoot," he says when I glare at him. "Just to know how it works."

I pretend to grumble but I can't hide the pride when Joren beams up at him, clutching the barrel backwards like it’s a damn trophy.

Aria paints all over the wall with water and old rags.

"Modern art," Traz mutters when he almost slips on one of her soggy 'masterpieces.'

She giggles so hard she snorts.

And gods help me.

I laugh too.

Full and ugly and loud.

It bursts out of me before I can stop it.

Traz looks at me like I just handed him the whole damn galaxy.

I cover my mouth, blushing hot.

"Don't look at me like that," I mumble.

He just grins wider.

"You laughing’s the best thing I’ve heard in months," he says, voice thick.

I throw a rag at him.

He ducks it easy.

We laugh together.

And just like that, the ship feels less like a coffin and more like a home.

Later that night, after the kids are tucked in and the ship hums low and steady around us, I find Traz leaning against the viewport.

Staring out into the stars like he’s trying to memorize every damn one.

I walk up slow.

No rush.

No fear.

He turns when he senses me, that crooked little smile tugging at his mouth.

And gods, he’s beautiful.

Rough.

Scarred.

Mine.

I stop in front of him, chest tight.

For a second, we just stand there.

Breathing the same air.

Feeling the same weight lifting off our shoulders.

Then he reaches out.

Fingers brushing my jaw.

Light.

Reverent.

Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he touches too hard.

I press into his hand without thinking.

Needing him.

Needing this.

He bends his head.

Slow.

Patient.

Our lips meet soft.

Tentative.

Like it’s the first damn time all over again.

But this time, there’s no fear.

No walls.

No ghosts clawing between us.

Just him.

Just me.

Just the future we’re finally brave enough to reach for.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me in close.

Safe.

Steady.

Home.

I kiss him back, fierce and sure.

And somewhere in the middle of all that wrecked tenderness.

I realize I’m not lost anymore.

Not alone.

Never with him.