The Undercity had a scent all its own—a heady mix of oil, recycled stale oxygen and machinery. Neon lights flickered and buzzed overhead, lighting the narrow streets in jagged splashes of artificial color.

  Syra moved through it effortlessly, her boots near soundless against the slick pavement. A knowing smirk played at her lips. She'd been here too many times before. And she knew exactly where to find Colt.

  The bar, known as The Drift, was tucked into one of the lower levels of the Level 10, its entrance marked by a battered old sign and an automatic door that didn't open or close when it was supposed to. It was popular with locals—miners, scavengers, pilots and everything in between—folks who needed a drink after a long day of wrangling the unpredictable chaos that came with living in the Weave.

  Inside, the air was thick with smoke and laughter, the scent of strong liquor curling through the room. Syra pushed her way in, eyes scanning the crowd with the confidence of someone who belonged. Down here, everyone knew her. The tech she traded and the doors she opened had bailed more than a few of them out of trouble, and she'd earned her stripes in the shadows of the Undercity.

  Syra pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she descended the narrow metal stairs leading to the bar. The familiar hum of distant machinery and the murmur of voices reached her ears. She pushed open the heavy door, and the atmosphere hit her at once—a blend of synth-beat music, low chatter, and the clink of glasses.

  Inside, the Drift was dimly lit, with mismatched tables and chairs scattered around the floor and a bar lined with bottles of questionable planetary origin. The ceiling was low, and old holoview projectors flickered above, casting a faint nebula atmosphere over the patrons, in an attempt to give the place a sense of style.

  It wasn't fancy - Syra had seen some incredibly utterly mesmerizing holoviews in the bars in Sennia - but it was comfortable, and the kind of spot where no one cared too much about who you were or why you were there.

  Syra spotted her friends near the back, gathered around a circular table. Juni and Dorn were deep in conversation, leaning in close to hear each other over the music.

  Juni, a freighter pilot who worked the mining routes, was gesturing animatedly, her curly hair bouncing with every word.

  Dorn, a lean mechanic who had a bit of engine grease on every piece of clothing he owned, was nodding along, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  Syra made her way over, weaving between tables and dodging a couple of miners already half-drunk and laughing loudly. As she reached the table, Juni looked up, her face lighting up in a grin.

  "Sy! About time you showed up," Juni said, scooting over to make room. "I was starting to think you were buried under a pile of scrap at the shop."

  "Nah, just same old same old," Syra replied with a smirk as she took a seat, tossing her jacket onto the back of the chair. "But I figured I'd come down and see what real trouble looks like."

  "You've come to the right place," Dorn said, lifting his electronic service card to signal the bartender. A light on a panel lit up behind the counter indicating they'd received it. "We were just talking about your favourite topic: terrible repairs and why they cost twice as much as they should."

  "Don't even get me started," Syra said, rolling her eyes, "If I have to haggle with one more scavenger who thinks a half-busted gear cog is worth a small fortune, I'm going to lose it."

  Juni laughed, leaning back in her chair. "Sounds like you've had a busy day."

  Syra shrugged, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. "You don't know the half of it. Dad's been up all night tinkering again. He's trying to revive an old garbage unit that doesn't want to stay together."

  Dorn gave her a sympathetic look. "If your dad can't fix it the thing is screwed. Seems like you've got your hands full."

  "Nothing new," Syra replied, but her smile was genuine. "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about work. What have you two been up to?"

  "Works kind of all I have to talk about," Dorn said glumly, "They've got a new position open at the Freighters for Hauler Operators, like me. Only thing is it could take me to all the way past the Fringe, to Sennia."

  Syra's stomach sank slightly at the thought of Dorn being so far away for so long, but a job like that could set him up for life. "As much as I'll miss you, that's great news, Dorn. If you've got a ticket into Sennia, you'll never have to worry about credits."

  "It'd mean I'd be gone for months at a time though, possibly years, and all through Sovereigns day. My mom doesn't want me to go just so I don't have to miss it with the family. Juni's got a new run tomorrow as well," Dorn said, nodding toward her. "Apparently, they're sending her all the way out to the outer fields. She's trying to figure out if she's being rewarded or punished."

  "Definitely punished," Juni said, downing the last of her drink and waving the empty glass in the air. "I mean what did I get my Higher Education for? Dust and stray rocks? I swear it's because Gri went to head office about the muffin I ate off the breakfast bar But hey, it pays better, and Sovereign knows I could use the credits."

  Syra chuckled. "Well, if you need someone to give your ship a once-over before you head out, I know someone who owes me a favor. Got a deluxe ship wash heading my way with your name written all over it."

  The Cyrin bartender weaved effortlessly between patrons, their short, stocky frame making them a natural at slipping through tight spaces. Their silver-hued skin had a smooth, rubbery texture, catching the dim neon light in shifting tones of blue and violet. A soft, flexible crest ran from their temples over the curve of their rounded head, its bioluminescent glow pulsing faintly with their mood—though whether that meant contentment or irritation was anyone's guess.

  Their wide, glassy eyes, completely black and reflective, blinked, a quick flick of an unseen membrane. Their lower face was smooth, with only a small set of lips where the mouth was.

  With short but nimble fingers, they placed a mug of crimson-blue liquid on the table with practiced ease. Then, without a word, they turned and shuffled back toward the bar, their small, rounded feet making almost no sound against the floor.

  Familiar, unremarkable, just another Cyrin in the Weave—efficient, adaptable, and always moving.

  Dorn simply smiled and slid the mug in front of Syra and let Juni continue.

  Junie replied, grinning. "I'll never say no to a deluxe package. I'm not going to ask how you acquired that."

  "I simply asked nicely," Syra winked, grinning as she swirled her drink.

  "Maybe Malwood could learn a thing or two from you," Dorn teased. "Might be able to get more people on his side that way."

  "Malwood can go to hell, Dorn. There's a reason why people aren't on his side." Juni said bitterly.

  "Ah, he's not that bad. All he wants is to put bots out in the field, some of the most dangerous mines that not even level 3 would attempt."

  "He wants to replace hard-working people with bots in a society built on and dependent on its citizens to mine," Syra said, "I have to agree with Juni. He's an ass. It dismantles everything the Weave was created for."

  "No, no, he said he wanted to introduce help to the miners."

  "Oh don't be so dense, Dorn." Juni said. "The miners don't want help. They want the work that was promised to them. Malwood only cares about credits. He doesn't care about the people. He'd sell you for a single credit if it meant saving his own ass."

  Dorn put his hands up in defense. "All I know is that the the liberty association are pushing for huge taxes on our machinery, and sixty people already got let go from taxes we can't keep up with. We can avoid that by letting the machines work out in the fields, generate thousands of credits. The council will start hiking up credit rates for everything soon, especially if we have to decommission the machinery we do use because crazy people think is alive."

  "I heard it spoke to one of them." Syra said.

  Dorn waved his drink dismissively in the air, "They malfunction all the time, it's nothing new."

  Syra's eyes crossed the bar. It was more crowded now, the noise level rising as more patrons trickled in. Syra glanced around, her gaze drifting to the door out of habit. She wasn't expecting Colt to walk right up to her, especially with Dorn right beside her, as their history was complicated, but she expected to see a glimmer of him somewhere.

  As she turned back to the table, Juni was watching her with a curious look.

  "You alright?" Juni asked, tilting her head.

  Syra blinked, then gave a small shrug. "Just thinking," she said, swirling the now purple drink in her hand. "Feels like the Weave's getting a bit more crowded than usual, that's all."

  Dorn snorted. "Always does when there's talk of a big haul nearby."

  "Yeah, they've got some good stuff coming apparently." Syra said absently, though there was a hint of unease in her tone. She hadn't seen any Dominion ships in the Weave but she couldn't shake the feeling that things were shifting.

  Syra leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink while keeping an eye on the entrance. Juni and Dorn sat across from her, chatting about their latest gigs, but they noticed the way her gaze kept drifting to the door.

  Juni caught on first, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Let me guess...Colt's in the Weave?"

  Syra took a sip from her drink, "He said he'd be here tonight."

  Dorn rolled his eyes, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh.

  Juni snorted. "But he hasn't showed? Sounds about right. Probably off charming some poor trader out of half their stock. You know how he is."

  Syra shrugged, her lips curving into a faint smile. "He's always been like that. But he's not going to flake. He'll be here."

  Dorn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You've been letting him drag you into his schemes since we were kids. How many times have we ended up in a cell—or worse—because Colt decided to go off-script?"

  She couldn't argue with that. There was history there, sure—more than a little, if she was honest with herself. "He's always come through when it mattered," she said, glancing at the door again. "You can't hold a grudge forever."

  Dorn shook his head, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I'm not saying I'm holding a grudge. I just remember the time we had to pull his ass out of the scrapyard after he got us all stuck trying to climb the wall. Mr. Mig was about to kill us."

  "Or when he convinced us there was buried treasure in the old mining tunnels," Juni added. "And we all ended up knee-deep in muck in a restricted area for an entire day."

  Syra couldn't help but laugh, "Hey, we all bought into that one," she said. "Besides, Colt always kept things interesting."

  "Interesting," Dorn echoed, smirking. "That's one word for it. Selfish. Arrogant. Asshole would some others."

  "That was probably the best take you've had all night Dorn." Juni said, hiccupping.

  "I get it guys," Syra said wryly. "But what can I say? It's not like I'm marrying him. And Colt owes me credits. Big credits. Don't worry, Dorn, I'll buy you something pretty to make up for it."

  Syra glanced around again and there he was. Colt.

  He was walking up to the bar, leaning against it with an easy, confident posture, his rough-edged handsomeness impossible to miss even in the low light. His dark hair was tousled, a little unruly, and his scruffy jawline only added to his rugged charm.

  She wasn't surprised to see his signature jacket - a rugged, dark leather coat, worn and scuffed from years of use. It fit snugly over his broad shoulders, tapering down at the waist, with patches from various spaceports stitched along the sleeves. The high collar gave it a tough, militaristic look, while the dark brown lining inside was frayed from wear. Faintly visible on the back was the faded insignia of his old unit, nearly worn away, but still a reminder of his past.

  It was more than just a jacket - it was part of Colt, always with him wherever he went. When he saw her, his eyes gleamed, and she noticed the slight tug of his smile. Syra's heart quickened. He was every bit the handsome smuggler she'd met all those years ago.

  "I'm going to love and leave you both," Syra said, sliding off her chair.

  Syra excused herself from the table ignoring her friends teasing and made her way over, slipping onto the barstool next to him without a word. Her presence alone was enough to draw his attention like a magnet. Colt held up his drink card and the same silver-skinned bartender nodded in acknowledgment.

  Colt turned his head to look at her, caramel eyes meeting hers.

  "You look damn good, Syra," he said, his voice low, smooth. There was a hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Been a while."

  "Has it?" Syra replied, she arched an eyebrow, lips curving into a slow smile. "Feels like just yesterday you were sneaking out of my window."

  Colt chuckled, the sound warm and rich as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving hers. "Here I thought you enjoyed a little excitement." His gaze dipped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. "That's what made me so irresistible."

  "You. Irresistible? As far as I remember, you begged me to stay the night."

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he shifted closer, resting one elbow on the bar as his hand brushed against her arm, just for a second. His voice dropped, thick with the playful heat that always simmered between them. "Well, I know how much you like it when I do so do you really want me to stop?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He leaned in just a little more, and for a brief moment, Syra could feel the heat radiating off him. His scent was masculine, earthy, mixed with the faintest hint of engine oil and danger. He was exactly the kind of trouble that she liked – something to flirt with, but never to take too seriously.

  "I want my credits," she said, leaning back just enough to break the intensity, her smile wicked. "And that drink you promised."

  Colt laughed softly, his teeth catching his bottom lip again as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small distinct credits chip. He slid it across the bar to her, his fingers brushing hers as he did. "Always business with you, Syra."

  She took the chip and tucked it into her jacket, her fingers grazing his hand purposefully before the Cyrin appeared and slid a drink across the counter. "Can't afford not to be," she replied, though her voice softened just slightly, her eyes still on him. "But I won't say no to another drink, either."

  He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes half-lidded as he looked her over. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."

  "That's why you keep coming back."

  They were dancing around each other, as always, neither willing to take the first step but both more than ready for the chase. But as they sat there, close enough to feel the heat of each other's skin, both of them knew that there would always be more between them, even if they pretended otherwise.

  The room had grown louder, the haze of cheap liquor and laughter filling the air as Syra leaned against the bar. He tilted his head toward the door, asking quietly, "You wanna go somewhere and talk?"

  A familiar sparkle glimmered in his eyes. She knew that look all too well.

  They didn't go far. Colt led her to a quiet corner of the spaceport's rooftop, a place where the asteroid field stretched out above them through the large port views in all its jagged glory. The view was the best in the weave. The distant trails of mining ships and visitor's creating bursts of light and shadow across the void. It felt like home, yet so far away from the life she used to know on Kessyra.

  Syra sat against the steel wall and stared out into the vastness. Without the crowd, without the music, there was nothing to distract them, no illusions about who they were to each other and the history that they shared. "How have things been for you?" Syra asked as he placed two metal cups on the ground and poured liquor into them.

  "Things have been... busy," Colt started, handing her the mug, "Business is as lucrative as ever. Got my own ship now as you've seen, a couple of decent contracts. Enough to keep me flying."

  Syra took a sip, the sharp bitter warmth of the drink settling in her chest. "Sounds like you're doing all right for yourself."

  "I get by," he said with a crooked grin. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression easing. "What about you, Sy? What're you doing now?"

  Syra chuckled, eyeing him up, "Letting trouble in the front gates for fourteen thousand credits." she softened,

  "It's been, what, a year since I last saw you? Strutting around in that Dominion uniform, looking all official and untouchable."

  Syra let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, turns out the Dominion and I had a bit of a...disagreement on priorities." She leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers idly on her cup. "Apparently, they don't appreciate a little creative problem-solving. They'd rather be right than see reason." She smirked, tilting her head at him. "But hey, at least I got a nice send-off. You ever had a debrief where they stare at you like you just set fire to their grandmother's house? Won't be forgetting that anytime soon." She gestured at him. "What about you? Still charming your way into trouble, or did you finally pick up some common sense?"

  Colt let out a quiet chuckle, but there was something unreadable in his eyes as he studied her. "Yeah... sounds about right." He swirled his drink absently, tapping his fingers against the glass. "I figured you'd land on your feet, but I also figured you'd still be wearing that uniform." He exhaled, shaking his head. "Guess even the Dominion couldn't tame you. Trouble has a way of finding me whether I like it or not. What're you doing now?"

  "I'm here for dad," she said, "I help him with the shop, he pays me when he can. I don't like taking from him though so I had to find other means of income."

  Syra stared out at the darkness, spotted with silver light, the memory of her decision like a dull ache in her chest. She had done what she had known was right. The Council had called it treason, but in her mind, despite the burn of it, she'd have probably done it again.

  Her mind yanked her back to the moment she'd made the call—the choice that had cost her everything. Prison hadn't been her fate; they'd spared her that. Instead, they sent her home, tore the uniform from her back, and made sure she'd never wear it again. A different kind of sentence.

  She still didn't understand how she hadn't been shipped straight to the salt mines. Maybe, in their own twisted way, the Dominion had recognized she wasn't entirely wrong.

  "You did what you had to do, Syra," Colt said quietly. "And you're the only one who could've done it."

  "I know," she said, "But it still doesn't feel any better. I don't even know what happened to them after I dropped them in the safe zone - I can only hope they didn't burn with the rest of them or I lost it all for nothing. Is that selfish of me to say?"

  "I think it's human," Colt said, "You have every right to feel how you do especially knowing what you sacrificed could've been for nothing. But it wasn't for nothing, Syra. I've been hearing the stories about what happened on Thenia, especially from people working the outer-fields directly affected. The people that were able to escape because of the dominion pilot who made it so - you've made a name for yourself whether you know it or not, despite the controversy and sometimes that's more powerful than any order some Dominion lackey could give."

  Syra simply smiled at him, and placed a hand over his, "Thanks Colt. I hope you're right."

  "You know," Colt said after a long pause, "if you ever wanted to, there's always room on my ship. You're the best pilot I know, Sy. You would be an invaluable crew member."

  She smiled, shaking her head. "I appreciate it, but I've had enough trouble to last me a while. Ask me in five years, I might have a different answer."

  He grinned, tipping his drink in her direction. "I'll hold you to that." He stretched one arm over the back of the bench, glancing sideways at Syra. The distant stars reflected in his eyes, making them seem brighter than usual. "To be honest, I didn't think I'd see you back here," Colt said after a moment. "I was worried my message would go unread."

  "Gotta make a living," Syra smirked, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out at the asteroid field. "Thought I could outrun this place. Get all my license's and never come back. I'd have moved dad to the city, or at least as close as I could convince him. I was saving for this perfect apartment on Sennia."

  Colt raised an eyebrow. "Your father? Living in one of the most over-populated, oppressive cities in the galaxy? I think your version of perfect and his are vastly different."

  "He just needed to see it. He could've opened his shop up again, had real credits. I wouldn't have to be making deals with assholes just so we can make the rent the council keeps hiking up."

  "I'm not including myself in that demogEdranic," Colt said, "You're doing a great job, Sy. I missed you." His tone was light, but there was something deeper underneath, something that Syra knew better than to brush off.

  She turned her head toward him, studying his grey-hued eyes for a moment before answering. "I missed you too, Colt."

  "You could've called, you know. Even when things went to hell."

  "Could've," she echoed, her gaze dropping to the ground. "But I didn't want to drag you into my mess."

  Colt let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, mirroring her posture. "Since when do I mind getting into trouble?"

  "That's the problem," Syra chuckled. "You are trouble and I didn't need anymore of it," she looked at him, really looked at him. The easy grin, the familiar cocky charm - it was still there, but she could see past it now. The years hadn't been easy on either of them. Still, despite the time and distance, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They didn't have to explain their choices or their mistakes. They both just knew.

  "You're probably right." Colt agreed, the familiar mischief had worked its way back into his smile, "If you're interested, I've got a bottle of a Xilian wine. It's from the 3307 harvest. It's over a hundred years old," Colt said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "If you want, we could go somewhere more comfortable. Talk, or...not talk. Just you and me, like old times."

  Syra crossed her arms, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "You trying to impress me, Colt?"

  "Maybe," he said, leaning closer. "Bet you've never tasted anything like it. Perfect for a night of... catching up. Just you, me, and a bottle worth more than this entire level."

  Syra met his gaze, her heartbeat a little quicker than she wanted to admit. The offer wasn't new, and it wasn't unexpected. There was always that unspoken connection between them, that lingering pull that never quite went away, no matter how many times they tried to ignore it.

  She smiled, her lips curving up in a way that was equal parts teasing and thoughtful. "Somewhere more comfortable, huh?"

  Colt shrugged, but there was a glint in his eyes. "My ship is docked outside the elevator. Fancy a walk?"

  For a second, Syra hesitated. The weight of everything she'd been through, the scars that still lingered from her past, they all threatened to hold her back. But then, looking at Colt - the only person who had always been there, no questions asked - it felt easier to let go, even just for a little while.

  "Alright," she said, her voice light, but there was something more in it. "But the wine better be good."

  Colt stood, offering her his hand. Syra took it, her fingers curling around his as they walked together, leaving the rooftop and the distant hum of the city behind them. "You'll stay for more than just the wine."

  They barely made it through the door of his quarters before their hands were on each other, urgent and impatient, sliding over her hips, pulling her close.

  His lips found hers with a hunger that matched her own, mouths colliding in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. Syra responded in kind, pushing him back against the wall with a force that belied her smaller frame, her fingers already threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

  He kissed her again, his tongue sliding over hers. Syra gave in to the heat that had been simmering inside her all night. Her jacket hit the floor first, followed by his shirt, the heat of his big muscular body pressing against her as they moved toward the bed.

  Colt's hands roamed, sliding over her curves, tugging at her belt before gripping her with both hands bringing her legs around him in one swoop. She let out a soft moan as his fingers skimmed under her shirt, trailing over her skin, igniting a fire everywhere he touched.

  He moved towards the bed, laying her down and then stood tall in front of her. His teeth tugged on his bottom lip as his eyes watched her

  "You think you're in control?" her voice a low purr as she straddled him, her hands pressing against his chest, pinning him down. She knew all the right moves to make men like Colt submit to her. She gazed down at him with sultry eyes, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and let the round fullness of her breasts fall out in front of him.

  Colt groaned, eyes roaming appreciatively, his hands running up her sides to cup them with smooth calloused hands. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

  Syra smirked, rocking her hips against him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Maybe."

  Then, she kissed him again, this time slow, deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched as her body pressed against his. The friction between them was electric, every touch, every movement sending sparks through her. Colt's hands roamed her back, her waist, pulling her closer, needing more, but Syra was in control, taking her time, enjoying the way his body responded to hers.

  Syra's nails raked down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake as she rocked against him, her breath coming in short, heated bursts. Colt groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips as he tried to pull her down harder, but she was teasing him, holding back just enough to drive him crazy.

  "Syra..." he gasped, his voice raw with need, his body tense with anticipation.

  She smiled, slow and wicked, before finally giving him what he wanted, sinking down onto him in one fluid motion. He fit her snuggly, causing her to gasp and moan as Colt's head fell back against the bed, a guttural sound escaping his throat as she moved, her body fitting against his perfectly.

  The room seemed to spin around them as they found a rhythm. Syra moved her hips up and down, the slick wet warmth of her sliding over his thick shaft again and again as he gripped onto her hips and thrust with her, their body meeting in an inferno of passion growing with every second, every breath.

  Colt was completely undone beneath her, his hands gripping her as if he were afraid she might disappear. She leaned down, her lips finding his neck, breathing in his masculine earthy scent, kissing along his jaw and down her neck as she rode him, her breath hot against his skin.

  Colt's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as wild and unrestrained as the rest of their movements. Syra moaned into his mouth, her body shuddering as the tension inside her built, every nerve on fire. She could feel him trembling beneath her, could hear the rough gasps of his breath as they moved faster, harder, both of them chasing the same inevitable release.

  Twenty minutes turned into an hour of contortionism, and when they both came, it was explosive. Syra's body tightened, her breath catching in her throat as her nails dug into Colt's skin. He followed seconds later, groaning her name as his body tensed beneath her, his hands gripping her hips so tight it almost hurt.

  For a moment, neither of them moved, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. Syra stayed where she was, her forehead resting against the bed, her body still trembling from the intensity of it all. Colt's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and for just a second, it felt like more than just a fleeting moment of passion. He kissed her cheek, her shoulder then stood up.

  Syra lay back against the cushions, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk as she watched him stand in all his glory, breathing hard, his erection twitching as he wiped his forehead and walked into the bathroom. "Still think I'm just business?" she teased, laying flat against the soft mattress, her voice breathless but laced with amusement.

  Colt chuckled from the other room, the tap running, "No. Not just business."

  Syra lay sprawled on his bed, deliciously content, observing Colt's cabin. It was a mix of chaos and charm, its clutter revealing more about Colt than he'd probably ever say out loud. The faint, metallic hum of the ship framed the moment as she took in her surroundings.

  A half-empty bottle of some amber liquor sat on a narrow shelf, the label peeling and stained, next to a small collection of mismatched trinkets—tokens from different planets, maybe. One caught her eye: a carved wooden figure of a bird mid-flight, its edges worn smooth. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand. The craftsmanship was simple, almost childlike, but there was something deeply personal about it.

  Across the cabin, an old pilot's helmet rested on a hook, scuffed and dented from years of use. A set of faded Dominion wings was scratched into its surface, nearly worn away. Beneath it, a stack of dog-eared paperbacks sat precariously on a stool—actual books, not tablets or slates. Syra leaned closer, spotting titles ranging from military strategy to old adventure stories. She smirked to herself.

  Her gaze shifted to the wall above the bed, where a crumpled map had been pinned. Brightly colored markers dotted the chart, tracking what looked like flight paths or smuggling routes. A few points were circled in red, annotated in Colt's sharp handwriting. Next to it hung a photo in a cracked frame, a younger Colt grinning with his arm slung around a wiry man she didn't recognize. There was a warmth in his expression she hadn't seen before, unguarded and unpolished.

  She glanced back at Colt, who walked out of the bathroom wearing a loose pair of shorts and fell onto the bed next to her, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling. Shaking her head with a quiet laugh, she set the wooden bird back on the shelf. This room, this mess, it was all so... him. A little reckless, a little sentimental, and somehow, still holding together despite the chaos.

  For an hour or so, Syra lay awake, thinking about her life. The earlier heat of the moment had softened, replaced by a warm stillness that wrapped around them like a blanket. Syra lay on her side, one hand tucked under her head, her breathing slow and steady. Colt lay close behind her, his arm draped loosely over her waist.

  She thought about what their life could look like if she were to eventually settle down. But the mere thought of it sent a crawling sensation through her. It was a life she had refused to live for so long and the image of her bearing children just didn't quite sit right with her. It had never been her. Whatever maternal instinct she was born with fizzled out long ago.

  The sheets were tangled between them, a faint trace of warmth still clinging to the fabric. Syra stared at the faint lines of light filtering through the vent above, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind just beginning to quiet. Colt's breath was steady against the back of her neck, and his presence was comforting in a way that surprised her as much as it disturbed her.

  Syra slipped out of bed, moving quietly across the small room to gather her clothes. Colt woke, arms folding behind his head, watching her.

  "You leaving?" he asked, voice still rough from sleep.

  Syra pulled her pants on. She couldn't forget who Colt was - inconsistent, dishonest and ambitious. "Come now, we both know how this goes," she replied, her tone casual.

  Colt sat up slightly, his gaze tracking her every movement. "I'm here for a few days, I was hoping we could...I don't know, do this again before I go."

  "I'm a busy woman," she smiled jokily, tugging on her boots. "I've got some important stuff to do."

  "Like leaving me in the middle of the night?" His voice had a hint of amusement, but there was something else underneath it - something closer to disappointment.

  Syra glanced at him, a small smile curling at her lips. She walked over to where he lay and took his jaw between her fingers, tilting his head up so his gaze met hers. "Colt, it's not like you to get sentimental."

  "What can I say?" He shrugged, leaning into her touch. "Being out in open space for months has its disadvantages."

  She arched an eyebrow. "No one on board to treat you right?"

  He leaned up, his lips hovering just a breath away from hers. "None that are you."

  A grin spread across her face as she playfully pushed at his cheek, forcing him back down against the bed. "You're such a flirt," she said, grabbing her shirt off the floor.

  "Is it so unbelievable to think I could have feelings for you?" Colt asked, his eyes locked on her as she pulled the shirt over her head.

  "Yes," she replied with a smirk, adjusting her collar. "You'd charm a snake into your bed just to tell it you're not interested. I need to get going. "

  There was a familiar, hungry look in his eyes that made her hesitate for a moment. "Will I see you later?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

  Syra leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a brief, lingering kiss. "If you're lucky."

  Colt gripped her jersey and pressed his lips to hers and chuckled as she turned to leave, his gaze never leaving her. "I'm always lucky," he called after her, a crooked smile on his face as the door slid shut behind her.