Jur saluted and made to follow the medical personnel. Before she departed, she turned to Mara and stuck out her hand.

“They strong-armed me into the mission,” Mara said. “Thanks aren’t necessary.”

But the lieutenant smiled. “What I saw weren’t the actions of someone being coerced. You had your own stake in the mission.” Her gaze slid toward Kell, talking with an officer.

“And you?” Mara struggled to keep the tension from her voice.

Jur’s smile turned melancholy at the edges. “That ship has flown. It flew away years ago.” Then she left with the medical team, with a volley of new applause following her as she departed the docking bay.

The captain noticed Kell’s arm still wrapped around Mara’s shoulders, but said only, “You two must be exhausted and,” she added, eyeing their wounds, “you need treating, as well. Commander Rigg, escort the commander and our honored guest to the medical bay.”

“Honored guest?” Mara repeated.

“That you are.” Kell’s gaze was a warm caress. “The 8th Wing is honored by your presence. As they should be.”

Shouts of agreement rose up from the assembled crowd.

She had no answer to that, to them. She felt herself dropped into someone else’s life—someone who did not run with criminals, who was not an exile. Someone who belonged. A similar feeling to whenever she had set foot in that tawdry bar on Ryge. But here, the currency was honor, not cunning.

That life was lost to her now.

Her chest tightened with panic. She belonged to no one, and no one would have her.

She told herself that again, when Commander Rigg escorted her and Kell from the docking bay and more cheers sounded from the throng. Disturbing, to walk through the 8th Wing ship and see not suspicion or curiosity in the faces that passed her, but welcoming smiles.

It did not take long for her wounds to be cleaned and mended. The medical team worked quickly,

with a minimum of fussing, which she appreciated. She remembered the hovering nurses and nannies from her childhood, the oppressive atmosphere that barred her from playing outside like other children, lest she hurt herself. Of course, that had made her desire to sneak off and roughhouse with the groundskeeper’s children all the stronger.

She sat on an exam table, watched from across the room as medics treated Kell’s leg. His pants had been cut open, exposing the hard muscles of his calf and thigh and the burned flesh surrounding the plasma pistol wound. Even though the treatment required a bit of probing and some heat sutures, he bore it all with stoicism, talking the entire time with Commander Rigg and giving no notice to the painful work being done on his leg. Yet in the middle of all this, he caught her staring at him and sent her a look of searing, carnal intent. It was a wonder the medical team crossing between them didn’t burst into flames.

Her pulse hammered, and her body responded immediately, growing sensitive and aware. She wriggled on the examining table as she glanced away. It had been too long since she touched Kell, felt his body against and within hers. Her need for him frightened her. Somehow, she would have to acclimate herself to this new paradigm: life without Kell.

But what new life awaited her?

“Ms. Skiren.” A fresh-faced lieutenant stood beside the exam table. “Do you think you have the energy for a debriefing?”

“I’m not 8th Wing. I can’t be debriefed.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless it’s mandatory, and I’m being taken into custody.”

“What’s the problem, Lieutenant?” Kell, against the protests of the medical tech, stood and crossed the bay, scowling.

“No problem, sir,” said the lieutenant at once. “Command just wants to get Ms. Skiren’s statement about the mission, and then she’s free to go.”

“Am I not free now?”

The lieutenant, clearly not expecting this kind of hostility, stammered. “Of…of course you’re free. But it would be…very helpful for future missions if we could get your statement about what happened on this one.” He shot a nervous glance toward Kell. “If that’s acceptable, sir.”

Kell held Mara’s gaze, and the concern and protectiveness in his eyes threatened to shatter her heart. “You don’t have to.”

“Where will you be?”

“Doing the exact same thing. Talking myself hoarse to a debriefing panel.”

She turned to the lieutenant. “Let’s get this over with.” She hopped down from the examining table and, even though all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around Kell’s long, solid body, she made herself walk toward the medical bay doors.

“Mara.”

She turned at Kell’s voice. He stood next to the exam table, with medical staff busily milling around, and yet all he saw was her, and all she saw was him.

“Think about what I said.” His voice was graveled, low. “It’s here if you want it.”

If I want it. What was it? Life with him? Joining 8th Wing? As she left the medical bay, his words resonated over and over within her, like the tolling of an ancient bell announcing either celebration or disaster.

She didn’t see Kell again. The next few hours were spent in a small room with two 8th Wing officers, recounting every detail of the past few days. Mara left out some details, namely the times she and Kell made love. Those memories belonged to her and Kell. No one else. She hoarded them like gems, to be guarded jealously, possessively.

The 8th Wing officers listened and recorded her statements, asking her questions or requesting clarification of certain details. She had initially braced herself for antagonism, or sneering condescension. She was a scavenger. They were 8th Wing. Her clothes were grimy from battle. Their uniforms and insignias gleamed.

Yet no one made snide remarks. No one treated her poorly. If anything, she felt embarrassed to be the recipient of the officers’ unadorned praise. They marveled at her piloting ability, and how she fought side-by-side with Kell and Lieutenant Jur.

“You distinguished yourself, Ms. Skiren,” said a commander. “And your actions went far beyond what any of us had anticipated.”

“Commander Frayne has also had nothing but praise for your contribution to the mission,” a captain added.

At the mention of Kell, her cheeks heated. “What did Kell…I mean, what did Commander Frayne say?”

“He’s still being debriefed. We can’t discuss that.” The captain studied a digitablet. “But I can tell you that he’s pushing hard for a special commendation for you.”

“Commander Frayne overstates my involvement.” She didn’t want that commendation, not if it meant she’d earned it with her body rather than her skill.

“Lieutenant Jur is seconding that commendation,” said the commander. “Do you disagree with them both?”

“I…no.” Breath left her. She wondered briefly if the ship’s gravitational mechanism had gone off line, then realized it was her own equilibrium being unsettled. Rules and certainties as she’d known them did not exist, leaving her to find new truths. About the world as she knew it. About herself.

After the interview concluded, Mara wandered around the ship, searching. She found neither Kell nor even Lieutenant Jur. When the ship landed at the 8th Wing base, she oversaw the unloading of the Arcadia, checked her ship for any damages, but even after she found everything to be in good condition, she lingered. Still no sign of Kell. He hadn’t come out of the carrier ship.

“We’ve prepared special quarters for you, ma’am,” an ensign informed her.

“I’ve got quarters on my ship.”

“These are a little more spacious. Besides, they come equipped with a water shower.”

A water shower sounded like the Starfields of Eternal Bliss. Yet, even with this temptation, she was reluctant to stray far from the docked carrier.

The ensign saw her gaze straying toward the ship. “Commander Frayne was escorted off the ship as soon as it docked.”