Page 39 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
His gaze shifts to me, the intensity of it almost physical. “Not random,” he says quietly. “Never that.”
The air between us changes, charged with something I can’t quite name. I’ve been attracted to people before—had my share of port romances and brief connections between deliveries. But this... this feels different. Weightier. Like standing at the edge of a gravity well, knowing one step will pull you into an orbit you might never escape.
“So,” I say, breaking the moment before I lose my nerve. “Are we going to talk about it?”
Henrok tilts his head slightly. “About what specifically?”
“This.” I gesture between us. “Whatever is happening here. Me staying. Us... exploring possibilities, as you put it.”
He considers this with the same careful attention he seems to give everything. “Yes,” he says finally. “We should speak of it. But first—” He moves to a recessed panel in the wall, activating something that causes a portion of the floor to slide open. A table rises from below, bearing what appears to be food and drink. “You have not eaten since this morning.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Are you monitoring my meals now?”
“I am aware of many things regarding your well-being,” he admits without a hint of embarrassment. “It is... instinctive.”
“That should probably creep me out more than it does,” I muse, moving to inspect the spread. The food is unfamiliar but not unappetizing—crystallized fruits similar to what I tried my first day here, along with what appears to be some kind of protein and various other dishes I can’t identify.
“If it disturbs you—”
“It doesn’t,” I interrupt, surprising myself with the realization that it’s true. “It’s actually kind of nice. No one’s paid that much attention to whether I eat or sleep or... exist, really, in a long time.”
Something shifts in his expression—a softening around those intense eyes. “That is... regrettable.”
“It’s the courier life,” I say with forced lightness, selecting a piece of the crystallized fruit. “We’re basically just glorified package transport systems. Nobody cares about the delivery person as long as the package arrives intact.”
“I care,” he says simply.
The fruit turns to ash in my mouth. Two words. Just two ordinary words that shouldn’t hit me like a meteor impact. But they do, because I know he means them. Henrok doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
I swallow hard, turning away to hide the sudden burning in my eyes. “So,” I say, desperate to change the subject before I completely fall apart, “tell me something about yourself that isn’t in the official First Blade biography. Something nobody knows.”
He’s silent for so long I think he might not answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, almost contemplative.
“I cannot sleep without the sound of the asteroid belt,” he says. “The impacts, the shifting rocks... they were the lullaby of my childhood in the mining colonies. In their absence, I find no rest.”
I turn back to him, oddly touched by this confession. “Is that why your quarters face the belt?”
He inclines his head. “Partially. It is also a tactical advantage—I can observe any approach from this vantage point.”
“Of course,” I smile. “Always the warrior.”
“It is what I am,” he states, but there’s a question in his eyes, a vulnerability I wouldn’t have believed possible days ago.
“Is it all you are?” I ask softly.
He moves to the viewport, his massive frame silhouetted against the stars. “For a very long time, yes. It was... simpler that way. To be only the weapon, the shield, the First Blade. To set aside the person I might have been, had the war not come.”
The admission costs him; I can see it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the careful control of his breathing. Henrok, I’m learning, is a being of deep currents beneath a still surface.
“And now?” I prompt, moving to stand beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body but not quite touching.
“Now,” he says slowly, “I find myself... remembering. What it was to want things beyond duty. Beyond survival.”
“What do you want, Henrok?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turns to me then, and the raw honesty in his expression steals my breath. “I want to remember what it is to live, not merely exist. And I want—” He pauses, something almost like uncertainty crossing his features. “I want you to stay. Not as a courier. Not as a diplomatic asset. As yourself. As Suki.”
The confession hangs between us, heavy with implication. I should be terrified. This is too fast, too intense, too everything. I barely know him. He barely knows me. And yet...
