“No, stay.” Her voice carried the weight of command. She heard it, and he heard it. He raised an eyebrow, and it was almost as if she could see the protective veneer of Fiveson Oran slide into place.

“As you like, Captain.”

He remained standing just six feet away and slightly lower than her on the hillside. He was dressed in a dark blue jacket tied close around his waist, the cut of it perfectly accenting his lithe body. His wounds had healed for the most part, and he’d slowly worked to rebuild his strength. In the early morning light his brown hair shone with highlights of copper and rust. One side of his face caught the rising sun, leaving the other cast in shadow.

Her midnight conversation with Ares lurked in the back of her mind. She’d done her best to keep it there, and not consider it too closely, but it was time to let all the questions she’d formed that night come out.

“Who are you, Oran?”

The skin around his eyes tightened. “You know who I am. Your crew. Your friend. Yours.” He added the last softly, sadly.

She let her fingernails bite into her palms. “You told me once that you wouldn’t lie to me. Is that still true?”

“It will always be true.”

She hurried forward, afraid she would lose her intention in the deep pool of his brown eyes. “What made you a Fiveson?”

“Caledonia.” He said her name with such gentle remorse.

“I’ve waited as long as I could.”

“I understand,” he said.

A sudden inexplicable fear squeezed in her chest. “Wait,” she commanded.

She closed the distance between them in three long strides, sliding her fingers along his jaw and into his hair. She paused just long enough to see surprise widen his eyes. She opened her mouth to ask for his consent, but it was there. They crashed together without a word. His lips were warm and welcoming, his tongue sweet against her own. His arms circled her waist and pulled her flush against him. She kissed him hungrily, fiercely, and then slowly, as though it were the last thing she might ever do.

She let her fingers twist through his hair, skate along his jaw, and slide down his neck as her kisses grew further and further apart. His breath was warm against her lips, and the tips of their noses brushed. Then she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

“Caledonia,” he said again, like the most personal of prayers.

“I’m sorry,” she answered. Then she pulled herself out of his grasp, putting only air and sunrise between them. “I need to know.”

He turned away from her, pinning his eyes to the orchard as though speaking his past to the trees were somehow easier.