Page 36 of Alien's Love Child

"That's good. We need the distance." She pulls back, wiping my cheeks with her thumb. "And you need to stop looking for ghosts."

Rena pulls away, settling back into her pilot's chair. "I just don't get it, Jess. You knew him for what, three weeks?"

My fingers trace the edge of the console, following the worn grooves. "Two and a half."

"And he lied to us the entire time." She crosses her arms. "For all we know, everything was an act."

The memory of his lips on mine in that rain-soaked alley floods back. The way his hands trembled when he pulled me close. How his breath caught when I whispered his name.

"It wasn't an act." The words come out barely above a whisper. "There was something there. Something real. Like we were always meant to..."

"Oh honey." Rena's voice softens. "I get it. Remember when I told you about Kex? That mechanic from my Academy days?"

"The one with the sleeve tattoos?"

"Yeah. Thought he was my soulmate after two dates. Turned out he was selling test answers to first-years." She leans forward. "Sometimes the heart sees what it wants to see."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. She means well, but she doesn't understand. This wasn't some teenage crush or hormone-driven attraction. The connection between Davin and me had felt fundamental, like gravity or the laws of physics. Something ancient and inevitable.

"You're right," I lie, forcing a smile. "I'm being ridiculous."

Rena squeezes my hand. "Time and distance. That's all you need."

I squeeze back, swallowing the truth that burns in my throat. Distance won't matter. Time won't heal this. How do you explain to someone that losing him feels like losing a part of yourself you never knew was missing until you found it?

The metallic thunk of crates hitting the cargo hold floor echoes through the ship. Taluk's scales glisten with sweat as he hefts another box labeled "Premium Canned Goods - Gur Distribution."

My fingers twitch toward the crate's seal. Just one peek...

"Something wrong with the manifest?" Paraxan's gravelly voice makes me jump.

"No, just..." The room spins slightly. "Making sure everything's secure."

"I can double-check the straps," Taluk offers, his dark eyes studying me.

"That's not-" The cargo hold tilts. I grab the nearest support beam. "I mean, yes. Please do."

Paraxan's fur bristles. "You look unwell, Captain."

"I'm fine." The words come out sharper than intended. The memory of Xander's hidden data files burns in my mind, along with the weeks of interrogations that followed.

"Perhaps some of my special tea?" Paraxan suggests.

My stomach lurches at the thought of his fur-seasoned brew. "Thanks, but I think I just need to lie down for a bit."

"We've got this covered," Taluk says, already securing another crate. "Right, Paraxan?"

The Odex nods, whiskers twitching. "Rest well, Captain."

I make it to my quarters before the dizziness overwhelms me. The room that used to feel like home now seems too big, too empty. I collapse onto my bunk, pressing my face into the pillow that still smells faintly of him.

My PerComm chirps with a message from Rena: "Pre-flight checks in two hours. Need anything?"

I tap back a quick "no" and shut my eyes against the spinning ceiling, trying not to think about what might be in those crates, or about silver hair and blue skin, or about anything at all.

My stomach lurches as the ship makes another minor course correction. I've been spacesick before, but this feels different. Deeper. Like my insides are trying to become my outsides.

"You look like death warmed over," Rena says from the pilot's seat. "And you've been looking progressively worse since we left Glimner two weeks ago."

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