“She knows,” I whisper, my throat tight with unexpected emotion.
“She knows you survived,” he confirms gently. “And she wishes you well, in her own way.”
The message hits deeper than I expected. Mother Morrison, tough as nails and twice as sharp, offering what amounts to a blessing on our new life while warning other couriers about the dangers we’ve faced. It’s as close to “I’m proud of you” as I’ll ever get from her, and it matters more than I thought possible.
But it also reinforces the weight of what I left behind—not just Lila, but a whole community of people who trusted me to be better than someone who abandons her family.
Jhorn is quiet for a moment, absorbing my distress through our bond. His tendrils shift restlessly, a sign he’s processing complex emotions—mine and his own. Finally, he asks, “What would ease this pain, my light?”
The answer bursts from me before I can think better of it: “I have to go back for Lila.”
Jhorn goes perfectly still, the way he does when assessing a serious threat. I feel his concern spike through our bond—not dismissal or condescension, but genuine worry born of his fierce protectiveness. “The Nomad is in Brotherhood territory. Duran’s domain. It is... exceedingly dangerous.”
“I know it’s crazy,” I admit, turning to face him fully. His indigo skin gleams under the ambient lighting, the luminescent patterns of his bond-lines pulsing gently in response to my emotional state. Even now, worried and guilty and planning something reckless, I can’t help but be struck by how beautiful he is. “But Vex said they towed her to their hangar. They might not have stripped her completely yet. Salvage operations like that take time, especially for complex AI systems.”
“ApexCorp still hunts us,” he reminds me, his expression grave. “Returning to Obsidian Haven—”
“Would be the last thing they’d expect,” I interrupt, the plan forming as I speak, desperation making me bold. “They thinkwe’re dead, remember? And we look different now.” I gesture to my altered appearance and the subtle changes he’s made to his own features.
Jhorn’s expression remains troubled, his tendrils shifting with barely contained anxiety. “Kaylee—”
“She’s not just an AI, Jhorn.” I step closer, placing my hand over the center of his chest where his primary heart beats. The contact sends warmth through our bond, and I feel his pulse quicken slightly at my touch. “She’s... Lila. She has consciousness, personality, memory. She’s unique.” I look up into his eyes, where galaxies seem to swirl in their alien depths. “You of all people understand what it means to be seen as just a piece of technology instead of a being with value.”
His tendrils twine gently around my wrist, a gesture that has become his version of holding my hand—intimate and possessive and achingly tender. Through our bond, I feel his resistance softening, understanding blooming like a flower opening to sunlight.
“Duran’s crew are overconfident idiots,” I press on, sensing victory. “They’ll never expect anyone to try stealing back a supposedly dead courier’s AI. We can be in and out before they know what hit them.”
Jhorn is silent for a long moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel his thoughts through our connection—his fierce protectiveness warring with his desire to heal my pain, his understanding of what Lila means to me, his growing resolve to support whatever decision I make.
“If this is your choice,” he finally says, his voice deepening with determination, “then I will ensure your safety. We will retrieve your... friend.”
Relief and excitement flood through me so intensely that I know he feels it too, our emotions amplifying each other through the bond. I rise on tiptoes to press my lips against his—still anovelty that sends warmth cascading through our connection, still a miracle that this impossible alien chose me. “Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.
His tendrils curl around my waist, drawing me closer with that careful strength that never fails to amaze me. “Your loyalty to those you care for is one of your most beautiful qualities, my Kaylee.” A hint of amusement colors his next words, warm and fond. “Even when it leads you into reckless danger.”
I grin up at him, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Good thing I have you to watch my back, tentacles.”
His answering smile is radiant, bond-lines flaring with bioluminescent joy. “Always, my light. Always.”
Planning the operation takes three days, and I’m reminded again why Jhorn and I work so well together. While I pull up every scrap of intel on Duran’s salvage operation through the encrypted channels we’ve established, he spends hours interfacing with The Starlight Tether’s systems, optimizing our stealth capabilities and studying the security protocols of Obsidian Haven’s lower quadrant.
Watching him work is mesmerizing. His tendrils move across the controls with fluid precision, his consciousness extending into the ship’s systems in ways I’m still learning to understand. The bond-lines across his skin pulse in complex patterns as he processes information, and occasionally he makes small sounds of satisfaction when he discovers something useful. It’s beautiful and alien and utterly fascinating.
“The Brotherhood has expanded their territory since we were last there,” he reports, his tendrils still connected to the ship’s interface. “They now control three additional docking bays and have increased their security personnel by approximately twenty-seven percent.”
I grimace, studying the station schematics projected above our command table. “Not surprising. Nature abhors a vacuum, andwe left quite a power gap when we ‘died’ and took out that bounty hunter.”
“Their primary security measures remain largely unchanged,” Jhorn continues, his concentration evident in the increased glow of his bond-lines. “Standard motion sensors, heat detection, and identification scanners. Their patrols follow predictable patterns—a sign of complacency that works in our favor.”
“Complacency we can definitely use,” I murmur, marking potential entry points on the holographic display. “If we time our approach with the waste disposal cycle in Sector 7, we can use the thermal discharge to mask our heat signature.”
Jhorn’s tendrils shift thoughtfully across the controls, and I feel his excitement through our bond as he works through the technical possibilities. “I can modify our shield harmonics to create a localized disruption field. It will not render us invisible, but it will confuse their sensors enough to register us as maintenance debris.”
I look up at him, genuinely impressed. “You can do that?”
A ripple of what I’ve come to recognize as pride flows through our bond, warm and pleased. “I was designed to interface with complex systems, my Kaylee. Your ship’s defenses are... elegant in their simplicity, but quite adaptable to enhancement.”
“Show-off,” I tease, but warmth spreads through me at his obvious satisfaction. In moments like these, I’m reminded that what ApexCorp created as a weapon has become something so much more—a partner whose abilities complement my own in ways I never could have imagined.