Page 108 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

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.

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