Page 26 of Star Claimed Omega
She blinked, her heart touched, as she tucked the message into her pocket, all the same.
When she got to her hovel that night, she slid it into her printed journal, taped it in place, and added it to her daily entry.
Soon, her rotations expanded.
According to Wren, Santi ordered cleaning for the neighboring lodges belonging to his fellow strong guard.
Wren pulled her aside with a grunt. ‘Boss says you’re doin’ amazing and he trusts you. The executive level was using autobots, but they don’t add a personal touch. He wants you to bring a crew to clean more cabins on that level.’
Soleil’s eyes widened. ‘I get a team?’
‘Two names. Make ‘em count.’
She didn’t even have to think. ‘Astra and Zima.’
Zima was a second-gen lunar native who decided she had had enough of the moon and wanted to live on a real planet like Dunia.
She’d sold all her gold jewelry, paid off half the ticket fee, and jumped onto The Sombra.
To pay off the rest of the fee, she worked a few days each week, like most lower-deck residents of the ship.
Astra almost fainted with delight when she stepped onto Deck 27 the next day, sweeping her eyes over the lagoon and faux skyline. ‘This isfokkin’ gorgeous.’
‘It’s freakin’ unbelievable,’ Zima breathed.
‘It is. Now shut up and grab your mops, lovelies’ Soleil muttered, smiling.
Between scrubbing and cleaning the cabins they were assigned, Astra and Zima stood at the windows or on the terrace.
Staring at the breathtaking beauty of the unimaginable lake.
It gave Soleil so much joy to share this small pleasure with them.
Wren brought down lunchboxes for them each shift, stacked tins of rice and beans, stewed protein, spiced root crisps, and chilled bottles of hydra tonic.
They ate by the water, their feet dipping into the calm, warm waters, laughing as if the starkness of the dark decks below was a distant memory.
It was heaven.
Every so often, Soleil glanced up, eyes flicking to the distance, to the terrace of Cabin 2.
To where a now familiar silhouette sat, elbows resting on the armrests, a synth pad glowing in his lap, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
At times, she spotted him raising a chin at her, and she ducked her face away, flushing at being caught eyeing him.
After that, she made pains not to stare.
Still, she sensed him and the scorching heat of his gaze.
All languid muscle and coiled restraint, the kind of male who didn’t need to pounce to be deadly; for he already was.
Santi Alvarro was everything her instincts warned her about.
Quiet. Controlled. Potent. A man accustomed to command. A man used to obedience.
He had a mysterious power about him that emanated even from so far away.
‘He’s always here when we’re working,’ Astra said over lunch one afternoon, squinting up at the cabin with a smirk.
