Page 39 of Stars in Nova

Each step was heavier than the last, his boots echoing against the sterile walls of the corridor.

His mind raced, replaying every moment spent with Samira, dissecting her words, gestures, and smile.

The sting of her betrayal cut deeper than he’d ever imagined, a sharp, unrelenting ache that settled in his chest like a storm brewing over an unprotected shore.

He clenched his fists as he entered the sparsely furnished space that served as his home.

The door hissed shut behind him, but the sound did little to break the rage consuming him.

He slammed his bag onto the floor, the force rattling the small table nearby, and began pacing the room.

How had he been so blind?

He’d started to believe her, to have faith in her.

That was the part that infuriated him the most.

Trust wasn’t something he gave without difficulty—not after everything he’d been through, not after the destruction wrought and the guilt he carried like a second skin.

With her, his guard slipped. He had dared to hope that she perceived something more in him, something good, something worth saving.

Now, the memories of her words echoed with a hollowness in replay, each compliment calculated, every glance another piece of some masterful game.

He replayed their conversations, scrutinizing her smiles and her sensuality.

Fokk, it had been an act, a facade to get what she wanted.

His hands gripped the back of a chair, the muscles in his arms taut as he tried to steady against the tide of rage.

The anger was easier to hold onto than the pain and humiliation.

Even as he stood there, breathing hard, the betrayal gnawed at him with relentless and raw insistence.

He slammed his fist against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room.

‘Damn it,’ he muttered, his voice thick with frustration, battling to let go - of her.

His reflection in the darkened window caught his eye, and he hated what he tagged: a man who let himself imagine he was more than his past, only to have it thrown back in his face.

She’d said the right things, hadn’t she?

Twas the words he’d desired to hear. About seeing the good in him and understanding his pain.

He’d craved to believe her so badly it made him sick to think about it now.

Kisan leaned against the wall, his head falling back with a dull thud.

The room crowded his senses, the walls closing in around him.

His chest tightened, not just from anger but from something deeper—disappointment. Not just in her but in himself. For dropping his guard down. For allowing her in.

‘Never again,’ he snarled into the empty room, hoarse with bitterness.

Yet even as the words left his lips, he recognized they were lies. Because despite everything, regardless of the betrayal and the humiliation, a part of him still wanted to believe in her.

That was the cruelest truth of all.

The Sable Group’s hangar stretched like a cathedral of industry, its vaulted ceiling lost in a haze of ambient light and exhaust fumes.

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