“He’s okay,” I whisper. “He’s okay, Scar.”
I want to hug her so bad I can taste it. I want to drag her into my arms and never let her go. But I can tell what her body’s been through, and I don’t want to risk hurting her. So I just squeeze her hand, lean in to kiss her brow, tears breaking loose from my lashes and floating free in the low grav as I pour everything I’m feeling into her head. The sorrow and the fear, the regret and the pain, but more and most, the pure, blinding joy I feel at seeing her again.
We’ve known each other all our lives. Even before we were born. And everything I’ve done, everything I’ve lived and fought through, even when she wasn’t there beside me, she was with me. A part of me.
Forever.
Scarlett opens her arms, and I hold her gently as I can, and she strokes my hair as I press my face into hers.
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
36
TYLER
It’s a long Fold for those on the way to the Octavia system. Long enough for my wounds to begin healing as we wait for news that the coalition fleet has reached its destination. I find the rehab hard work, and the cybernetic they gave me still feels strange, but good news is, I can read the news feeds right off the network now.
Fin is still confined to the med bay, but as I limp into his room, he and Scar break apart with an audible pop, so I figure he can’t be too bad. My sister straightens her tunic, brushes a stray lock of newly dyed red back from her flushed lips, settling in on the medi-cot beside Fin. I rumble to a stop and raise an eyebrow, looking back and forth between them.
Fin’s blushing, which is kinda weird for a Betraskan.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” I say.
“He is resting,” Scarlett says breezily.
“You stabbed a pen into his throat, Scar. You might wanna give him a few more days before you start licking his tonsils.”
“Very droll,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And very graphic. But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I wave at my face. “You know, this cybernetic eye they gave me can see into the thermographic spectrum. Your cheeks get almost 0.2 degrees warmer when you lie.”
She screws up one of Fin’s many pillows, hurls it at my head.
“Should’ve gotten you a damn eye patch.”
“That might be pushing the space-pirate thing too far, even for me.”
“Avast, matey,” she grins.
“Hoist the mizzen,” I smile. “Jolly the Roger.”
“Yarrr,” Fin growls, in a small, broken voice.
Scar turns on him in mock outrage as she pokes his chest. “You’re not supposed to be talking!”
Fin shrugs and grins sheepishly, and she puts one hand to his cheek, kisses his lips. I watch them break apart slowly, eyes fixed on my Gearhead. Fin pretends not to feel my stare, but eventually he glances at me sidelong.
“You know,” I say, “when all this is over, you and I are gonna have to have us a little chat about my sister, buddy.”
Fin waves at the derm patches wrapped around his throat and shrugs apologetically, mouthing the words Not Supposed to Be Talking.
“My burly protector,” Scar says, hand to heart and lashes fluttering.
“I’m not worried about you,” I scoff. “I’m worried about him.”
She rolls her eyes, looks at the satchel I’m carrying.
“What’d you bring me?”
I sit beside the cot, rummaging around before tossing her a few packets of Just Like Real Noodelz!? My sister stares at me, trading mock outrage for the real deal. “You brought me ship rations? Tyler, we’re on station, they have real food here, what the … ?”
Her voice fades out as I produce a tub of ice-cold quad-choc gelato and an academy-issue spork, toss them into her waiting hands.
“Oooooh, you are a good man, Tyler Jones. I pardon you.” Fin winces, speaks in a whisper. “Can’t believe … you’re hungry.”
“You’re not supposed to talk.” Scarlett eases off the top of the gelato tub like it contains the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything. “And when in doubt, eat your way out.”
Fin looks at the holo projected on the wall, mumbling. “Just … feels strange to be celebrating.”
Scar and I follow his gaze to the holo, drinking in the sight. Battle Leader de Stoy stayed behind aboard Aurora Station to oversee the assault. But Adams is sending us a feed direct from the bridge of his flagship, the Relentless. He said we’d earned ourselves front-row seats to history.