Page 104 of Ravaged By the Reaper
We fold into each other, bare skin melding to bare skin, heartbeats syncing.
Haktron stands—unarmored, weaponless—as I map every line of his story upon his chest.
His hands guide mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper. Not just for this night, but for every silent strength I couldn’t name before.
He meets my gaze, vulnerability tempered with fierce devotion.
We fall silent. Heartbeats and breath—our only sound.
I tilt forward and kiss him again—soft, unwavering, full of belonging.
Here, in this private combat bay turned sanctuary beneath the porthole view of stars, we love.
CHAPTER 29
HAKTRON
Silence.
Not the kind you stretch out deliberately, but the kind that weighs, dense and tender. The Widowmaker coasts at the edge of uncharted space, soft blue stars bleeding in the void beyond the viewport. No engines screaming—just hum, torque, and the slow breath of a ship alive.
I stand still, as still as I’ve been in years.
Everything has changed.
I’m still Reaper. Burned, haunted, scarred—old instincts fused into the metal in my veins. But… no longer alone.
Amara leans her back against me, body molded to mine as if she belonged there by gravity.
She hums a song—old, ancient, something more than words. The melody catches in my ribs, harmonizes with my heartbeat. I don’t know the tune entirely, but it tastes like hope.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
My senses stretch outward—steam scent, recirculated air faintly metallic, the hum of distant circuits, the hum of her breath steady on my neck.
I think of the path behind us: fire, betrayal, broken blades, broken hearts. The orphaned commands, the shattered loyalties, the blood spilled to buy freedom.
What we’ve built now isn’t a throne. Not an empire. It’s wilder than that.
It’s us.
The rebel echo in my soul finds solace in hers. Here.
Behind me, her hand drifts to mine. Fingers lace. The simple warmth, impossibly tender, pulls me from every memory of loss.
I tilt my head, feeling her breath catch with quiet strength.
“When did all this begin?” she murmurs.
I don’t need to speak.
Instead, I think of a dozen moments: that storm-furred night we made the starbound vow. The raid where she doubled our haul with words and wit. The sanctuary she built from shadows and song. The war-bond chain on her throat—ugly, sacred, ritual grown from love and survival.
I press my shoulder against hers.
When she whispers, “Where to next?”
