Hua Fang was a free-falling expert. She had more extensive knowledge of falling than a skydiver. In a single month, she managed to fall out of favor with her family, fall behind on her PhD, fall prey to a neural bond pyramid scheme, fall face-first into a trap set by an old enemy, and fall in love.

  Only seven years ago, she was a graduate of Shenzhen Nexus University, falling just short of High Distinction for her Bachelor of Astrodynamics and Interstellar Navigation. She had been a local celebrity, having won so many orbital spaceship races as a teenager as well as a couple hackathons to boot. Now? She was a space hobo.

  When Fang decided to pursue Interstellar Navigation, her father had yelled at her for three months straight. He wanted her to take up a field that had real utility, something more conventional. On Earth. Hua Xin, her older brother, the model child, had tragically died mining space rocks, and that had implanted an entrenched, constituted fear in those who he had left behind. Those who had never once been in space.

  “Hua Fang, you will not throw your life away like your brother did.” Her father had slammed his fist on the table the day she told him of her choice. But that only fueled her desire to follow through with her decision.

  She had seen Liu Jiye, her cousin from her mother’s side, made it in space, albeit as a Republic watchdog, and had thought to herself countless times. Why can’t I have the same freedom?

  But Liu Jiye was born in space. Hua Fang, on the other hand, was born in Tianjing Monarchy. It was Tianjing, the place where the state could zoom in on your loose strand of hair once you stepped foot out of your door. It was the place where every street was lined with stone monuments of the past emperor, and of the one before that, and of the one before that. The place where every word you spoke carried the weight of centuries of traditions and fourty-eight editions of The Code of Conducts. The place where space was nothing but a tale of horror whispered to children before they were of age, of the treacherous aliens lurking behind the asteroid belts, of the dishonorable overlords siphoning the life essence out of every exploitable planet, of artificial supernovae explosions of horrific proportions. Of every and all evil that would never exist inside Tianjing.

  Tianjing was a good country; the best country on Earth. But that luxury wasn’t enough for Hua Fang. She wasn’t going to study what everyone else was studying, and she definitely wasn’t going to sit quietly and wait for a pre-detemined future. She was going to prove to everyone she could be content, she could be happy, she could be prideful. In her own way. Not the Tianjing way.

  Hua Fang had started with a dream and a small fortune to herself. Now, she had neither. She was a space hobo.

  And her love life might as well fall apart now.

  Most of the crew had scattered—Priest still digging through the drive, Sloan keeping to herself, Hunter off doing whatever kept her sane, probably taking showers until Gravel shouted at her about the importance of preserving water. Gravel was in the common room, watching a Flickball tournament, something that was only possible because Fang had personally set up a pirated uplink for him. Fang couldn’t believe such a gimmick sport had a competitive scene that was broadcasted galaxy-wide. But then again, League of Legends (the 1000th reboot) was broadcasted.

  Fang sat curled up in her bunk, holo-slate balanced on her knees, hesitated before opening her messages.

  Five unread texts. Three missed calls.

  Her stomach twisted.

  She already knew what this was about.

  Kai: Fang?

  Kai: Please call me back as soon as you can.

  Kai: Please be okay.

  Kai: Fang.

  Kai: Where are you now?

  Fang exhaled, running a hand through her hair. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  She should’ve checked sooner. She wanted him to not worry about her, and managed to achieve the exact opposite.

  Her fingers hovered over the call button—then stopped. Fang chewed her lip, opting to text instead.

  Fang: I’m here.

  The response was instant.

  Kai: Finally.

  Kai: Are you hurt anywhere?

  Fang inhaled slowly. Keep it normal. Keep it light.

  Fang: I’m good! :D :D :D

  Fang: Flying. Tuning systems. You know how it is.

  Kai: Fang.

  Fang: Seriously, Kai, it’s not a big deal.

  Nothing.

  Then—

  Kai: I’m calling.

  Her breath hitched. No, no, no.

  Fang: Kai, you’re in class.

  Kai: Lecture ended an hour ago.

  Fang: Damn, must’ve been the Trans-Galactic Saving Time at work!

  There was no such thing as the Trans-Galactic Saving Time.

  Kai: Pick up.

  Her pulse hammered.

  If she answered, he’d know. Fang’s fingers curled around the slate. She had one chance to fix this.

  So she did the only thing she could think of—

  She panic-texted him a wall of words.

  Fang: Okay, listen, it’s really not a big deal I swear, we just had a bit of a thing earlier but it’s fine now, I promise, I mean it, totally under control, I wasn’t even in danger really, just some stupid corpo nonsense that was way overblown but everything’s good now and I don’t wanna worry you because you have more important things to deal with like your dissertation and sleep and food and existing in general so you don’t have to call I SWEAR just text me back, okay?

  Silence.

  Then—

  Kai: . . . Fang.

  Then Kai’s voice came through a voice text. Fang’s fingers trembled as she hit play.

  “I’m not mad,” he said in a deep, cooing voice.

  Fang exhaled, pressing her forehead against her knees.

  “I just . . .” Kai hesitated. “I don’t like feeling this helpless.”

  Fang’s fingers twitched over her slate. Guilt. That’s what it was. Curling up inside her, clawing at her ribs.

  She was doing this. She was the reason he sounded like that.

  Her breath hitched, and before she could think, before she could stop herself—

  Fang: I swear, I swear, I’ll tell you everything from now on, I won’t keep things from you, I’ll text you first, I won’t wait until it’s bad, I’ll tell you the truth, just please don’t be upset, I promise I’ll be better, I’ll do better, I’ll tell you everything, okay? Please, please, just don’t worry. Please, sweetie.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The moment she hit send, her stomach twisted.

  The read receipt popped up.

  Silence.

  Her fingers clenched around the slate.

  Then—

  Kai: You know you always text the most basic things when you're in damage control, right?

  Fang’s grip tightened.

  Kai: You always say it like that, like you’re reading off a script you wrote just to keep me from being mad.

  She swallowed hard, fingers frozen over the keyboard.

  Fang: That’s not—

  She stopped.

  Her own words stared back at her.

  A beat.

  Then Kai’s next message came in.

  Kai: I don’t need you to tell me everything, Fang.

  Kai: But I’d like to know when you’re about to, you know, almost die.

  Kai: But you’re always off doing things that might hurt you, and I never know what exactly you’re getting into.

  Fang curled up tighter, pressing the slate against her chest.

  She typed. Deleted. Typed again.

  Fang: I’m sorry.

  Kai: Yeah, it’s all good. Glad you’re safe.

  Kai: Can I call in 30 mins?

  Fang stared at the screen, heart pounding. Her fingers fidgeted and she kept gripping and releasing her grip on the holo-screen, despite not being able to grab it. It was a holo-screen, after all.

  He was letting it go. For now.

  Her fingers hovered, then she typed—

  Fang: Of course. I’ll be here.

  She hesitated. Deleted.

  Fang: Yeah. Call whenever :D

  The read receipt popped up.

  Kai didn’t text back.

  Fang shut off the holo-slate and pressed it to her forehead.

  Thirty minutes later, on the dot, Fang’s holo-slate buzzed. She stared at the screen. Incoming Call: Kai.

  He had always been so incredibly punctual.

  She pressed on the Accept button, and immediately from the other end came an affectionate exasperation. “You okay?”

  The question was gentle. Not prying, not demanding, just… there. Waiting.

  She exhaled. “Yeah. I am.”

  “You look pretty okay, if not a bit sleep-deprived. Still freakishly hot though.”

  “As do you. The hot part, not the sleep-deprived part.”

  He smiled. His smile was like starlight on still water. “Well, Fang. Since you won’t tell me about your day, why don’t I tell you about mine?”

  “I’d love to hear it.”

  He proceeded to tell her about his Law professor, who spent thirty full minutes ranting about a student who had turned in an AI-generated paper. They all got a free lecture on the artistic integrity of thesis writing.

  Fang let out a quiet breath. Kai was giving her an easy out, filling the silence so she wouldn’t have to. But he shouldn’t have to.

  He always did this, let her slip past the hard conversations, even when she knew he wanted to know more. Even when she knew he deserved more.

  He was too perfect for her. If he knew the life she led, he wouldn’t be here talking to her. He’d be talking to someone who wasn’t a criminal.

  So why should she think so much about something she had no choice over?

  Fang flashed him her brightest grin. “What happened next? Tell me.”

  ***

  The irksome whirring of the ship was softer beneath the layers of insulated bulkheads. The storage closet—Sloan’s temporary quarters—was small, cluttered, and not any more private than a shared bunk with a faulty curtain. She hadn’t done much to settle in. There wasn’t much to settle into.

  She sat on the edge of the cot, elbows resting on her knees, staring at the overhead light. For some reason, the light over her room had a yellowish tint to it, in contrast to the whiter shade in the other lounges. The brightness of the screen in front of her was reduced to minimum, and the faint light from diagnostic readouts cast dull blue patterns across her face.

  If only before her eyes were the sterile, fluorescent corridor of the 11th floor of McPherson Dynamics. That corridor, so precisely organized and bathed in clinical light, led to her personal office. White with the occasional black stripes, it was outfitted with a holographic swivel chair that adjusted to her every whim, and a transparent work table embedded with a digital interface that projected her day’s schedule in 3D. On one wall, a framed hologram—her own candid smile captured during a rare moment of joy amidst endless deadlines. Her holographer had told her to smile for the camera.

  In a discreet compartment built into the desk, she kept another, more personal photo. Of her and her family. Her father appeared every bit the emblem of quiet authority, etched with fine lines of disappointment and unfulfilled expectations. Her mother was nowhere to be seen.

  Not on this photo, nor on any other.

  She tried to imagine the moment her father learned that the woman he never fully trusted had become a criminal—a killer—what kind of expression would he have had? His eyes would narrow, scrutinizing every misstep in her life, and the familiar stern tone that once attempted to guide her would turn into a sharp reprimand, laden with regret. The very idea would shatter the delicate veneer of order he clung to, leaving him to wonder where his daughter had strayed from the path, and whether the chasm that separated them could ever be bridged again.

  “Look, Dad. I’ve climbed the ladder higher than you ever could,” she’d once told him, her voice steady and defiant. Now, that declaration lingered on her like a perpetual bitterberry on the tip of her tongue. But it stung less than the answer he’d given her.

  “Qualified people must’ve been rarer lately.”

  She was probably not as qualified, not as smart as she believed she was. Mura must have tracked her activities. Catching her in the act with this rogue crew was just the final piece of irrefutable evidence to secure her downfall.

  The quiet creak of the door broke her from her thoughts. She didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the checking-in type.”

  Priest leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. The light from his visor clashed against the subdued lighting from above like they were in a game of tug-of-war, casting his irises into a murky veil of refracted color. “You have not slept.”

  Sloan exhaled, rolling her neck. “I’m like 100 years past curfew already.”

  “You are thinking about something.”

  She snorted. “Your years of experience as a strategist are really shining through.”

  Priest didn’t react, which made it worse somehow. Of course he didn’t. Stoic bastard.

  A silence stretched between them, and for once, Sloan wasn’t in the mood for it.

  She shifted, glancing at him. “Do you remember that awful lunch spot near the transit hub?”

  Priest tilted his head slightly.

  Sloan continued, half-smiling. “Back when you were still a logistics officer. You used to grab lunch from there all the time. Swore up and down they had the best fried rice in the district. What’s the name . . .”

  Priest was quiet for a second longer than necessary. Then, evenly, “It was good fried rice.”

  Sloan huffed out a quiet laugh. “It was overpriced fried rice, for something so synthetic.”

  “I did not say it was affordable.”

  Sloan leaned back against the wall. She figured a more relaxed stance would make him less in-guard. “I remember you making me try it. I think that was the only time we ever sat down for lunch together.”

  Priest studied her, then said, “You did not complain about the food at the time.”

  Sloan snorted. “No, but I did complain about the company.”

  “Only once.”

  “Loudly.”

  Priest huffed. Almost a laugh. Almost.

  Sloan shook her head, staring at the ceiling again. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

  Priest didn’t disagree.

  The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sloan let it sit for a while before sighing. “You’re really not gonna let me stay up in peace, huh?”

  Priest didn’t move from the doorway. “Not my problem if you sleep or not.” A pause. “I figured you would need it.”

  He reached into his coat, then tossed something her way. Sloan caught it out of reflex, blinking down at the small, foil-wrapped packet in her palm.

  Protein ration. One of the better ones.

  Sloan glanced at him again. “Thanks.”

  He just gave a slow nod, pushing off the doorframe. “Alright.”

  He turned to leave, but just before he stepped out, Sloan’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Dakarai.”

  Sloan rolled the ration between her fingers, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her voice was casual, or at least she had tried keeping it as casual as it could be. Priest had told her long ago that it didn’t work, and that she was always halfway between a joke and a threat, like she couldn’t decide whether to amuse or unsettle.

  “You know, I could’ve made things a lot harder for you back on Kestris.”

  Priest paused in the doorway, turning just slightly.

  Sloan continued, tilting her head. “I could’ve locked down the impound tighter.” She flipped the ration packet. “Instead, I made sure the Black Fang was somewhere retrievable. I kept my men off your backs when I could. I wasn’t trying to be your enemy.”

  Priest didn’t react at first, and his grey eyes grew even hazier as they hid behind the adjusted brightness of the visor. Then, after a beat, he exhaled.

  “No point sweet-talking me. We are in this mess together, no matter what.”

  Her lips curved into a half-smiled as she stretched her legs out. “See, I prefer allies to co-conspirators.”

  A pause. Then, almost offhand, he added, “Especially with your name in the drive.”

  Sloan’s fingers stilled against the ration packet.

  Priest continued, “If you really want to be an ally, it might be a good time to tell us what you actually know.”

  Sloan’s grip on the ration eased. “I told you. I don’t know anything else.” She rolled the packet between her fingers. “What good do you get from this?”

  Priest said, “It helps us solve the mystery.”

  “Not that.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “What good do you get from solving mysteries for this crew?”

  Priest didn’t answer right away. If he had one at all, it wasn’t immediate.

  “More than what I got from you,” He finally replied as he shifted back toward the hallway.

  Now that’s venom. He still has it in him.

  Sloan didn’t argue. She just let her half-smile linger as the door slid shut behind him.

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