Page 94 of Ravaged By the Reaper
I smile—a slow, feral thing. “That’s you.”
She laughs, warm, low. Leaning into me. “You’d better hope I stay protective.”
I kiss her temple. “I always will.”
Something shifts in the air—the crew watching, knowing that their captain’s not just a vicious poet or a diplomat’s pawn. She’s a strategist, a leader, a lethal force cloaked in humanity.
And I stand beside her. Not to own the story—or to define it—but to ensure it doesn’t end in silence.
Because she’s not just my jalshagar. She’smy equal.
And together, we’re more than a team. We’re a reckoning.
Night drapesover the Widowmaker in soft blue shadows, its blood-red lighting dimming to embers. The ship feels worlds away from war in this hour—less predator, more sanctuary. But even sanctuaries can bleed.
I find her in the corner of the hold, where the bulkheads are cold metal and the hum of the engines is a slow heartbeat. She’s seated on the deck, knees pulled up, staring at nothing. Glassy eyes catch the red glow, but for a moment, she’s lost in something deeper than tired.
I stay hidden in the doorframe, breathing low—metal breath and devotion waged in each inhale. The air smells of machine oil and distant ozone, faint traces of gun smoke still clinging to her uniform. I don’t want to interrupt the quiet pulsing of her mind.
She shifts, tracing a pattern along the plating—like she’s lost in how light fades over steel. I know that pattern. I painted itthere once at the forge, while we waited for new recruits to fall in line. It’s her anchor. She’s searching for calm.
I step closer, fingers unclenching—the blade at my side hums but remains sheathed.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
She doesn’t startle. Just blinks, a slow breath sliding out like a ghost. “I’m... just thinking.”
Long pause.
Not the kind of pause after battle. This is different. It holds weight—like regret, like memory, like longing for something that slipped away.
“So...” I begin, and the rest is a tremor. “I see that look sometimes.”
She doesn’t look at me.
I sit beside her, leaving space.
“The quiet after the hunt… sometimes it’s not peace. It’s emptiness.”
She finally meets my gaze, eyes dark. “You gave me everything I asked for.”
I shake my head. “No. I gave you everything I can.”
She breathes in—trembling. “I have freedom. I’m powerful. Respected.”
“You’ve earned that.”
“But I’m still… haunted.”
I swallow, taste the metal of worry on my tongue. “By what?”
She laughs, but it’s brittle. Sad. “By blood. By what I used to be. And by what I’m not.”
I lean forward. “You’re still a warrior.”
Her shoulders hump. I feel the grief coil in the shallow basement of her throat.
“Do you remember the first night we patrol-stepped after the raid—when we thought we lost ourselves in chaos?”
