Page 35 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“Inconvenience.” She laughs, the sound both genuine and somehow hollow. “That’s one way to put it. Kidnapping, mistaken identity, almost being used to sabotage an entire fortress... just another day in the life of an OOPS courier, right?”
I do not respond to her attempt at humor. Instead, I deactivate the containment field around the beacon and hold it out to her.
“This belongs to you,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Pretty sure it doesn’t. Unless you’re suggesting I was in on the whole espionage thing after all?”
“No.” I continue to hold it out, studying her face. “It was delivered to you. You completed that delivery by bringing it to me. By our agreement, you are entitled to compensation for that delivery. Triple your standard rate, as negotiated.”
She stares at the beacon, then at me, confusion evident in her expression. “You want to pay me for delivering a device that almost compromised your entire defensive system?”
“I want,” I say carefully, “to honor our accord. You fulfilled your obligation. More than fulfilled it, by discovering the transmitter function and warning us of its true purpose.”
She makes no move to take the beacon, and I notice the way her hands clench slightly at her sides, as if she’s fighting some internal battle.
“And what am I supposed to do with it? Use it as a paperweight? Sell it to the highest bidder?”
“Do what you will with it,” I say, placing it on a nearby console. “You were never my prisoner, Suki Vega. You are free to choose your own path.”
Something shifts in her expression—a vulnerability I have glimpsed only rarely, quickly masked by her usual defenses. But not before I see it, not before it affects me in ways I’m not prepared to handle.
“Why are you letting me go?” she asks, the question seemingly simple yet laden with unspoken complexity.
I could give her the logical answer. That her ship is repaired. That the threat has been neutralized. That there is no tactical reason to detain her further.
Instead, I find myself speaking a truth I had not fully acknowledged until this moment.
“Because you are the first person in three hundred cycles who has looked at me and seen something other than a weapon or a ruin.”
The words hang between us, raw and unguarded in a way I have not allowed myself to be since before the War of Shattered Moons. Since before I became First Blade, when I was simply Henrok, a mining caste youth with no expectation of glory or burden.
Suki stares at me, those hazel eyes wide with surprise and something else—something that makes my chest tighten in ways I don’t fully understand.
“That’s...” She swallows, visibly struggling for words. “That’s probably the most honest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Honesty is valued among my people,” I tell her, though we both know this level of personal revelation goes far beyond cultural norms.
She takes a step toward me, then stops, her hand resting on the boarding ramp of her ship. For a moment, she seems torn, caught between the freedom of departure and something else. Something neither of us has named but both of us feel.
“I should go,” she says, but makes no move toward her ship. “I’ve got deliveries waiting. Clients expecting their packages. A life to get back to.”
“Yes,” I agree, though the word tastes like ash in my mouth. “Your obligations elsewhere are important.”
Her hand lingers on the ramp, her fingers tracing patterns in the metal as if reading some message only she can decipher. The moment stretches, taut with possibility and unspoken words.
Then she turns, her decision evident in the set of her shoulders and the clarity of her gaze.
“I don’t want to go,” she says simply.
Three words. Six syllables. Yet they shift the very foundation of my existence, like an ion storm reshaping the asteroid belt.
“Explain,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended.
She takes another step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I don’t want to go,” she repeats, as if testing the words. “Not yet. Maybe not at all. I don’t know.” She runs a hand through her hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of her uncertainty. “This is crazy. I barely know you. This place is nothing like anywhere I’ve ever been. And yet...”
“And yet?” I prompt when she falls silent.
“And yet I feel more... real here than I have anywhere else.” She looks up at me, vulnerability and determination warring in her expression. “With you, I’m not just a courier. Not just a delivery system. I’m... seen.”
