“Haven’t what? Haven’t had complicated reasons for being here? Haven’t had their own missions or secrets or baggage?” Laura squeezes my hand, her touch warm. “Sweetie, I’m saying this with love, but you’re painting every alien with the same brush because you’re hurt by one situation.”
“But Khatak lied?—”
“Did he?” Elana asks. “Or did you never ask? Because there’s a difference between someone actively deceiving you and someone not volunteering information you never requested.”
The words hit like a bucket of cold water. I think back to every conversation with Khatak. Did I ever ask why he was here? Did I ever inquire about his life, his family, his reasons for visiting the resort?
No. I just... assumed.
“You’ve spent days with aliens who’ve shown you nothing but kindness,” Elana continues. “You’ve made friends here. You’ve built a life. And the second something goes sideways with one person, you’re ready to write off an entire galaxy of beings?”
“I didn’t mean—“ My voice cracks.
“I know you didn’t.” Laura’s tone softens. “But Selene, think about what happened to you. To all of us. We were abducted by asmall group of terrible aliens who treated us like cargo. Like we weren’t even people.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “So you understand?—”
“Do you know what they probably thought about humans?” Laura asks. “That we were all the same. All just... things. Not individuals with our own stories and complications and reasons for being who we are.”
The parallel hits me like a physical blow.
Oh.
Oh no.
“I’m...” The words stick in my throat. “I’m doing exactly what they did.”
“Hey.” Nelan speaks for the first time since I said those terrible words. His voice is low, but not unkind. “You’re hurt. You’re scared. That’s understandable. But Laura’s right—you’re judging an entire species based on what? Your abductors? One misunderstanding with Khatak?”
I bury my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry. Nelan, I didn’t mean?—“
“I know you didn’t.” His cybernetic hand covers mine, the metal cool against my skin. “But intent and impact are two different things. And right now, you need to ask yourself: are you making decisions based on reality, or based on fear?”
“I just...” I look up at him, then at Elana and Laura. These people—these aliens and humans who’ve become my family. “I was so sure. So certain that he was just using me.”
“Based on what evidence?” Elana asks, not unkindly. “A meeting with Rist? That means he came here on business. That doesn’t mean everything else was fake.”
“Think about what you actually know about Khatak,” Laura urges. “Not what you’re afraid of. What you’ve seen with your own eyes.”
I close my eyes, forcing myself to really think. To push past the panic and hurt.
Khatak’s face when he carved that pumpkin. The genuine embarrassment, the vulnerability. The way he wore his emotions so openly, never playing games, never hiding what he felt.
His terror in the haunted house. Real, unfiltered fear. And his admission afterward—I’m not a warrior. The shame in his voice when he said it, like he was offering me the most damaging truth about himself.
“He told me he wasn’t a warrior.” The memory makes my throat tight. “He looked so ashamed when he said it. Like he was giving me the worst truth about himself and waiting for me to reject him.” I press my hands to my face. “And I didn’t. I didn’t care that he wasn’t some big, tough soldier. I loved that he was honest about it.”
“So the pattern you’re seeing,” Elana says carefully, “is someone who shows you exactly who he is, even when it makes him vulnerable. Even when he thinks it might make you reject him.”
“Yes.” The word comes out as barely more than a breath.
“Does that sound like someone playing a game?” Laura asks gently. “Or someone trying desperately to prove himself to you?”
I blink at her. “What?”
“Think about it, Selene.” Laura leans forward. “These aliens—so many of them take the whole warrior thing, the provider and protector role, to an extreme. It’s not just about being strong. It’s about being worthy.” Her voice softens. “What if Khatak thought he had to earn you? That he wasn’t good enough as he was?”
The words settle into my chest, heavy and aching.
