After only the barest hesitation, the mechanic’s clever hands removed Rhea’s clothes with utter care until they were piled on the glass at their feet. Then Clo returned her hands to her lap and simply looked. She drank Rhea in like nectar. Rhea felt her desire, but it was softened now. Tinged with wonder and awe.

No one had seen Rhea like this—not even when she’d been put on display. Their eyes had slid over her. In the Garden, she’d often felt like a means to an end. And they had never seen her as she truly was. Not like this. Every marking was truth written on her skin.

And she no longer had to hide.

“Let me see you,” Rhea whispered.

Clo undid her shirt, button by button. Rhea took in every inch of skin as it was unveiled. Her vest fluttered to the floor, and she wore nothing to support her breasts. More scars spidered from her right shoulder, down her bicep and forearm.

“I fell in the Snarl,” Clo said, as Rhea traced the marks.

She twisted, the muscles moving beneath the wings of her scapula, showing her ribs and the lines and dents of newer scars, only just fading to white. “Shrapnel, from the mission on Sennett. With Eris.”

Clo shed the rest of her clothes, revealing a smattering of small scars that turned deeper and led to where puckered skin met the hard metal of her prosthetic. Gods, she was beautiful. Strong. She had endured so much before she met Rhea; the geography of her scars was proof of that.

Clo returned Rhea’s appraisal with one of her own. They stayed like that in silence. Not touching. Only looking, memorizing every detail. Taking each other in.

Clo asked her for nothing. Expected nothing.

After a while, they donned their clothes once more. Clo grabbed bedding from one of the rooms and arranged them on the floor, a soft nest of blankets and pillows under the stars. Clo fit herself against Rhea’s back, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed a gentle kiss to Rhea’s neck. Surrounded by the warmth and comfort of Clo’s body, Rhea’s eyelids grew heavy.

As she fell asleep, she prayed to all the gods that this would not be her last night with Clo under these stars.

49.

NYX

Present

The two co-commanders of the Novantae had arrived.

Nyx stood at attention when they entered the bridge, her instinct to give a Tholosian salute to her superiors. When she realized where she was, she froze, hand in the air.

Kyla offered a small smile, as if to say, I know the feeling. “At ease,” she said, grasping Nyx’s hand. “It’s nice to see you alive. Good work on Macella.”

“Bit of a shitty exit in the end, but I always did hate that palace.”

Kyla looked confused. “Wait, what?”