Chapter Text
The datapad felt heavy in my hand.
It wasn’t, physically. It was the same model we always used, light and efficient and coated in matte polymer. But it felt like it weighed a thousand kilograms as I sat in the dim debrief room, the glow of the overhead light washing everything in a pale, sterile white.
They hadn’t even turned the brightness down.
Across from me, FM leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight across her chest like she was holding herself together with muscle tension alone. Arturo was next to her, quiet. Too quiet. He hadn’t spoken since we walked in.
Yes, the three of us had survived Evensong.
But a lot of people had not.
I swiped my thumb across the screen, unlocking the file. No security clearance anymore. No passcodes. Just access.
“Casualties: Evensong,” the header read.
And underneath…
Names. Just names.
Row after row. Person after person. Scrolling without end. The total count flashed at the top of the screen in small, sleek gray text.
Three hundred and sixty-four.
I stared at it.
Three hundred and sixty-four people. But not just people.
Some from our allied planets. Some from our own. Some I’d never heard of.
Pilots. Somebody’s friends. Somebody’s family.
A few—just a few—I recognized. People that had trained at the same time as my flight. Some pilots that tried to make small talk with me in the hallways.
But most? They were just names. Just cold, clinical print on a white screen.
FM moved first. She reached out and touched the datapad lightly, warm skin brushing again the lifeless cool of the screen, scrolling down a few entries with one finger. Her lips were pressed into a line so tight it made my chest hurt.
“They were just doing their jobs,” she said. Her voice was too calm. The kind of calm that doesn’t come from peace—but from holding everything in.
Arturo didn’t say anything.
He sat beside me and looked at the screen, unmoving, eyes dark and shadowed with something heavy. So heavy it was almost tangible.
I realized, after a moment, that his hand was shaking.
“Should we say something?” FM asked, quietly. “Like… an official statement.”
I blinked. A statement?
She meant for the families. For the survivors. Something hopeful. Something that honored them.
But what could I even say?
They were brave? They died for something, as heroes? They saved the galaxy?
I couldn’t make my mouth move. I couldn’t even nod. My throat constricted painfully.
Because all I could see was that number.
Three hundred and sixty-four.
I hated that I didn’t know them all. I hated that I couldn’t remember their faces. I hated that there were so many, they’d become a list instead of a loss.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. But I think that might’ve made it worse.
Because the silence that filled my chest felt like rot. Like guilt. Like a weight I’d never scrub clean.
“This isn’t right,” I said finally. My voice sounded strange. Flat. Soulless. “This list shouldn’t be this long.”
FM stepped closer. She placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it firmly, the gesture supportive. “I know.”
Arturo finally spoke. Just one word.
“Spensa.”
I looked at him.
His eyes were red, snaking crimson lines curling around the dark brown of his irises, but he wasn’t crying either.
He just said, “We did our best.”
I didn’t know if that made it better or worse.
Because maybe our best still wasn’t enough. Because maybe no matter how hard we tried, it would always be inadequate.
I didn’t read the rest of the names. I just… couldn’t.
I closed the file and set the datapad down, the sharp *clink* cutting through the oppressive silence of the room like shards of glass.
Then I stood and walked out of the room, books clicking across the polished metal tiles. I didn’t say anything. FM and Arturo didn’t follow.
Outside, the air was dry and cold. I stared up at the stars poking through the debris field. Small, burning pinpricks of light, millions of miles away.
They weren’t burning. They weren’t exploding. They just were.
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the cold from seeping into my skin and settling into my very bones. But maybe it already had.
And almost—almost—cried. But I didn’t.
I just stood there, alone in the cold, thinking of names I’d never get to meet. Of the war we won, and everything it still took from us.
And I wondered—if peace costs this much… how much of ourselves do we lose buying it?
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
I didn’t hear Doomslug arrive.
She didn’t chirp a warning or flute her dramatic “I am here and I demand affection” noise. One second I was standing there, arms wrapped around myself, the next—
A tiny, warm weight landed on my shoulder. The scent of mushrooms and singed moss hit me a half-second later.
I blinked. Then turned my head.
Doomslug.
She didn’t flute or imitate a random noise. She didn’t even wave those soft, little blue spikes of hers.
She just leaned into my jaw, pressing the soft part of her ‘head’ against my cheek.
Warmth radiated off her body, grounding me like almost nothing else could.
“Hey,” I whispered, voice cracking like it had rusted in the silence. “You found me.”
She didn’t respond. Just… stayed.
I didn’t move any further. I couldn’t.
Because the moment she touched me, the ache in my chest deepened. The weight of those names—the list of people I’d never speak to, never fly with, never save—pulled harder. But so did the warmth. The comfort.
And then—
Footsteps behind me. Slow. Hesitant.
Nedd. Of course.
I didn’t have to look. I could tell from the way the soles of his boots dragged slightly on the stones, like he wasn’t sure he even had permission to be here.
“Well,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I was gonna bring you a ration bar and make some dumb joke about how we should all eat our feelings but… I ate the bar on the way here. So. Now I’m just awkward and snackless.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“You’re always awkward,” I said.
He stepped beside me, and for a moment we both stared at the sky like it had answers.
FM joined a minute later. She didn’t speak at first either. Just leaned against the wall next to me and held a steaming mug in both hands. Cocoa, probably. She always tried to get us to drink more of it after tough missions. Said it had “emotional vitamins.”
We just stood there, unmoving. Three broken pilots. One supportive slug.
One collective silence.
FM finally broke it.
“I thought I was done losing people,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. She kept staring straight ahead, blue eyes unreadable and distant, even though we were only standing a few inches apart. “Like the war ending would… I don’t know. Put a pause on it. Permanently.”
“Yeah,” Nedd muttered. “Guess the universe didn’t get that message.”
I looked at them. Really looked.
Nedd’s shoulders slumped under his usual navy flight jacket. FM’s fingers were white on her mug. Doomslug still hadn’t moved.
I swallowed hard, but it still didn’t soften the jagged lump in my throat.
“They’re just names on a list,” I whispered. “But they’re people. They’re gone. And it’s like… we’re expected to just move on. Like winning means we don’t get to break down.”
FM looked at me then. Really looked.
“You don’t have to hold it together, Spensa.”
I stiffened, muscles locking in defense.
“I’m not crying,” I said.
“I didn’t say you were,” she replied gently.
“I’m not,” I said again, louder this time. But my voice cracked.
And then Nedd, bless his idiotic heart, leaned over and whispered, “It’s okay, I cry whenever I stub my toe. Or see a really good soup.”
FM and I both turned and stared at him.
“What?” he said. “Soup is emotional.”
FM shook her head, lips twitching upwards slightly. “You are so broken.”
“Emotionally fortified,” Nedd corrected, tapping his temple pathetically. “This is just elite mental training.”
That reminded me… My thoughts wandered back to the day FM, Kimmalyn, and Hurl helped sneak me into Alta Base and handed me a bowl of soup that somehow tasted like the blood of my enemies—strangely comforting, if a little alarming. When we were just mere cadets.
And I laughed. Actually laughed. The sound caught me off guard.
Doomslug fluted once, clearly approving. “Emotionally fortified!”
And it hit me, right then, like a sledgehammer to the chest—
This pain we carried? This numbness?
We weren’t carrying it alone.
“I can’t forget them,” I murmured, finally meeting their eyes. “Even if I never knew them. I can’t… let them become background noise.”
“You won’t,” FM said. “Because you’re you.”
“Yeah,” Nedd added. “Loud. Impulsive. Reckless. Emotionally constipated.”
I elbowed him. A little too hard.
He let out a dramatic groan and stumbled back a step, arms flailing.
Doomslug made a noise that sounded suspiciously
And for a moment—for just that fragile, flickering moment—I felt a little less like I was drowning.
FM tilted her head toward the doors. “Come on. We’re still planning the memorial. It doesn’t have to be official yet. But I think we should do something. Say their names. Even if we didn’t know them.”
I nodded.
Then looked up at the stars one last time.
They didn’t burn. They didn’t explode.
But maybe—just maybe—they remembered too.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
We went back inside, eventually.
The hallways were quieter than usual. Too quiet. Like the whole base was holding its breath, scared to exhale. Scared that if it did, someone else might vanish.
We passed two techs in silence. Another pilot nodded at me—too fast, too polite.
Like she didn’t know if she was supposed to salute or avert her eyes. I didn’t blame her. I didn’t know who I was either.
A commander? A weapon? A symbol?
…Just a girl?
We made it to the meeting room, where the casualty lists were now projected across the holoscreen in thin white font on a black background. Neat. Clinical. Like death was just a scudding database entry.
If I’d thought it was unbearable to see on a datapad… it was even worse here.
The names flickered slightly with each refresh, sorting by flight and registration number.
Like it mattered what order we’d lost them in.
Arturo stood near the back, arms folded. His face was carved out of stone. Blank. Unmoving. Furious.
When I entered, he glanced over.
Said nothing. He hadn’t spoken in hours. Just nodded.
That was worse, somehow. Worse than if he’d yelled. Worse than if he’d broken something.
FM moved to stand beside him, footsteps barely audible as she moved.
Nedd shuffled in after me, grabbed a chair, spun it backward, and sat on it like an idiot. His eyes never touched the list.
I stepped forward.
The screen changed. Updated. Ten more names scrolled in.
Some with attached files—short, brief notes. A few had images. Most didn’t.
Dead. Unknown. Missing.
Names. Names. Names. Too. Many. Fucking. Names.
They didn’t hit me like a punch to the gut. Not this time.
No. This time it was like rocky sand filling my lungs. Slow. Dry. Suffocating.
I didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
The letters on the screen blurred dangerously.
Kiera Solace.
Jonis Brent.
Indri Vann.
Tholen Jeric, age sixteen.
Sixteen. How much had they lowered the age limit?
He wasn’t supposed to be there. He was too young.
My fingers curled into fists, nails digging harshly into my palms, skin pulled tight across my wrists.
I barely registered the heat in my palms until I felt it—the sharp, sudden sting. I looked down.
My burn had cracked open again, the bandage peeling off. White gauze spotted red, the wound angry and weeping.
I didn’t care. They were just names. I didn’t know them.
So why did I feel like I was falling apart?
“Spensa,” FM’s voice, soft and careful. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
I looked down at my hands again. Trembling. Pale. Knuckles white. Blood from the split burn finally seeping onto my palm.
“Leave her,” Arturo muttered, but it wasn’t harsh. Just… understanding. “She’s processing scud the only way she knows how.”
“Yeah, which is badly,” Nedd said. “Zero stars, do not recommend. Very unstable flight path.”
I didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. No one else did either.
The silence folded in again, heavy and sharp, like the emotional equivalent of walking across splintered glass barefoot.
The kind that slices deeper than any blade or sound ever could.
A name flickered.
Ravyn Ives.
I think I did know that one. She was a pilot from Stormbound Flight. Not Skyward Flight, but she’d trained under Cobb too, a year before us. We’d talked a little once. Once.
Her callsign was Obsidian.
Was
I blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice.
I turned around, my hair falling over my face, hiding my facial expression.
Walked away. Alone. Silent.
Didn’t say a word to the others.
I heard footsteps behind me. FM again. “Spensa—”
“Don’t,” I said, voice hoarse and strained.
I didn’t stop walking.
The hallway felt longer than before. Endless. Like an eternity. Corridors stretching endlessly, the harsh lights overhead increasing the persistent throb in my head. Every shadow stretched out, too long. Like the light didn’t want to touch this place anymore. Each uneven footstep echoed through my skull—not doing anything to drown out the voices inside my head.
What is wrong with me?
What kind of hero lets this much die on her watch?
How many more have to break before I’m broken enough to stop pretending?
Did I even fight for them, or just for myself?
What if I’m just a survivor who’s too selfish to care?
How do you carry all this pain without losing your damn mind?
Am I really any better than the people I fought against if I’m still so scared inside?
How many ghosts am I dragging with me—and how many have I become?
What’s left of me after all this?
The burn on my hand throbbed, sharp and angry and stinging with every step.
I reached the hangar doors. Pushed through. Kept going. The air out here was cold, but at least it tasted clean.
I stood, looking out the window through the landing pad, and stared at the horizon.
I didn’t mean to make a sound, but something in me broke. A wrenching, dry sob like something was clawing its way up my throat. A sound so hoarse it didn’t even feel human, even though my eyes were still dry. I clapped a hand over my mouth but it didn’t help.
The names, the list, the eyes of people who weren’t there anymore—
They weren’t supposed to die. They didn’t deserve to have their lives taken away from them.
My shoulders shook.
I didn’t cry. Not yet. But I almost did.
And that felt worse than if I had.
Because that meant I could still hold it in.
That meant the dam hadn’t broken.
That meant I hadn’t let go. Not yet.
Behind me, I heard the doors open again. Then a pause. Bootsteps. Slow and careful, like the person didn’t want to break the silence.
Jorgen.
I didn’t look. I couldn’t.
I didn’t want him to see me like this—coming apart in pieces, hand bloodied, face white, eyes dry but screaming.
He sat beside me. Didn’t even touch me. Didn’t even speak.
And still, somehow, his presence was a storm of noise in the silence.
My burn pulsed. The lights flickered. Doomslug fluted somewhere distant.
The world kept going.
And I—
I stayed still. I stayed silent.
Because I didn’t know how to fall apart the rest of the way.
Not yet.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The pain was nothing but an insignificant ember. At first. Then it flared.
I flinched, finally looking down. My hand was sticky. Blood smeared across my palm and fingers, half-dried, half-fresh. The bandage had peeled halfway off, and the angry, raw burn underneath pulsed with heat and fury—bright red, the skin tight and glistening in places where the top layer had torn again.
“Oh scud,” I muttered, the nausea hitting all at once.
I clenched my teeth as it throbbed again, like fire gnawing through muscle. My fingers twitched. The nerves were screaming now, like they’d waited for me to notice before shrieking.
I felt light-headed.
Why hadn't I noticed it sooner? Maybe because my heart had been cracking in too many other places.
Jorgen shifted beside me, leaning forward, gaze traveling to my fingers. “Spensa.” His voice was low, sharp with worry. His eyes flicked to my hand. “Stars—why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You’re literally bleeding.”
“It’s—” My voice caught. “It’s not important.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
He moved closer, reaching gently. I flinched back, breath hitching. The air on the burn felt like knives.
“I can take you to the medbay,” he said, brows furrowed. “Right now.”
“I don’t want—” My throat closed up, blocking out my voice. “I don’t want to see more white walls. Not today.”
He stood, slowly walking away. Vanished for a minute. Came back with a small first aid kit—emergency supplies stashed near the hangar’s supply locker. Standard issue. I hated how familiar they were.
He knelt beside me. Opened the kit slowly. Didn’t touch me yet.
“You have to let me clean it.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
His hands were steady. Careful. He tore open a sterile pad and reached for the antiseptic. “This is going to sting like hell.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“You say that every time.”
He glanced up at me, and for a moment, we just… looked at each other. The bloodied edge of my bandage brushed against his wrist.
Then he braced my hand in his, and poured the antiseptic.
The burn screamed.
I bit down on a curse, squeezing my eyes shut. My spine stiffened. The pain wasn’t just pain—it was bright, sharp enough to make stars bloom behind my eyes.
“Keep breathing,” Jorgen murmured, voice barely above the wind. “Almost done.”
I could feel the tears prickling faintly at the back of my eyes now—not from grief. Not from the dead.
Just from this scudding burn that wouldn’t stop hurting.
He wrapped it gently, layering clean gauze over it. His fingers were steady, his expression tight with focus. Like this was a mission. Like saving this one little piece of me mattered.
“You’re an idiot,” he said softly when he finished.
“I know,” I rasped.
“You don’t have to be invincible.”
I didn’t respond.
He settled next to me again. Let the silence stretch.
The pain dulled a little. My hand still throbbed with every heartbeat, but at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. I stared at the bandage.
He sat back on his heels, wrapping the bloodied gauze in its packaging before tucking it away in the kit.
I flexed my fingers slightly. Winced. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome,” he said softly. “You should’ve said something.”
“I didn’t want to make it a thing.”
“It is a thing.”
I didn’t answer. My head throbbed with the weight of everything like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Jorgen didn’t say anything else either. Just shifted so he was beside me again. Not touching—but close. Very close. He looked out over the hangar like I was doing the same, even though my eyes weren’t focused on anything. Not really.
Then, after a long stretch of silence, he lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles against mine. Softly. Testing.
I didn’t move away.
His hand slid into mine a moment later—wary, gentle. I let him lace our fingers together. My bandaged one rested against his palm, and he adjusted slightly, cradling it so it didn’t sting as much.
It was such a stupid, small thing. But stars, it made my throat ache.
His thumb traced the back of my hand. Not in circles, not rhythmically. Just… there. Moving. Warm. Grounding.
“I saw that list earlier,” he said, voice like gravel and dusk. “The casualty report. I had to approve the final transmission. Felt like I was signing off on a funeral.”
I didn’t speak. Jorgen didn’t push me to.
“I knew some of the names. Not well. Just… enough.”
I nodded. Fast. Too fast.
That burn behind my eyes crept closer.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added, and leaned closer—just enough to rest his shoulder against mine. His presence was steady, heavy in the best way. Solid ground beneath the void.
We sat like that a while. It helped. And it didn’t. And it hurt.
I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Find resolve somewhere else.
“I’m tired,” I whispered.
He nodded again. “Me too.”
And then, because the universe is cruel and sharp-edged and likes to test me in moments like these, I looked down at my newly wrapped hand.
Blood still dotted the corner of the gauze.
A thin red line smeared across my knuckle where Jorgen’s thumb had brushed it.
“It’s stupid,” I said after a while.
Jorgen raised a brow. “What is?”
“Crying over people I didn’t know. Over names.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Feels like it.”
He didn’t argue. Just squeezed my hand a little firmer.
“They fought for something,” I said. “For us. For a future we’re standing in right now. And I’m just—just sitting here. Bleeding on my own boots. Not knowing what the hell to do.”
Jorgen’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Then sit. Bleed. Remember them. That’s something.”
I closed my eyes.
Let the pain sit with me. Let the grief sit with me too.
I still didn’t cry. Not yet.
But I was so damn close I could taste it.
And stars help me, if one more person tells me I’m strong, I might just shatter in their face—so they can see what strength actually looks like when it bleeds.