Page 83 of Stars in Nova

Her heart skipped. How he gazed at her—unflinching and full of something more profound—made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.

A flare of need passed between them, a silent understanding that neither dared to voice just yet.

‘They like you, you know,’ she said, breaking the quiet, her lips curving into a small smile. ‘Malik already asked if you’ll stay for a long time.’

Kisan chuckled. ‘I don’t know about that. I’m not exactly the best influence.’

‘You might be surprised,’ she replied, her tone teasing but her eyes earnest. ‘You’re not as rough as you think.’

He raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking. ‘That so?’

She nodded, holding his gaze. ‘That’s so.’

For the first time that evening, a laugh rumbled through him. ‘If you say so, Samira.’

For the first time in years, Kisan felt that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe it himself.

Utterly Consuming

The bioluminescent lights in the garrison’s ceiling and walls flickered as Kisan sat at the edge of the workbench, running fingers over the device in his hands.

His metanoids sent telemetry to his neural node as the cool alloy pressed against his palms, its dark spinel and glowing green circuitry dormant.

Despite its lifelessness, the mask felt heavier than before—like it bore the load of the Vaelorian’s future, which hung in the balance.

Across from him, Sharin stood with her arms crossed, frustration evident in her furrowed brow and the slight tension in her jaw.

Tools lay scattered on the table, their once-precise organization disrupted by hours of futile attempts to crack the mask’s secrets.

‘I’ve tried everything,’ she said, her voice hoarse, exhausted, tapping her foot on the stone floor in irritation.

‘Heat, cold, sonic pulses, micro-drills—nothing works. This thing is built with tech I’ve never seen. Without its blueprints, we’re flying blind.’

Kisan glanced down at the mask. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface. ‘Sad to say, but it is dead. Won’t work unless I gain access to its schematics to untangle what the fokk is wrong with it and how we can repurpose it for your war.’

Sharin sighed. ‘Not what I wanted to hear but expected.’

‘The designs aren’t in my neural index, neither on my ship’s database,’ he rasped, raising a brow.

Sharin tilted her head, her star-flecked eyes narrowing. ‘Where are they?’

‘Galicia,’ Kisan replied.

He set the artifact down, the thud reverberating through the space. ‘In a jewel maker’s shop in Trivina. The designer, an Iccythrian gemstone master, who created this mask left the technical sketches in their private vault. If we’re going to replicate it—or figure out how to restart it—we’ll need those plans.’

Samira entered the room, her gaze flicking between the Rider and Sharin. ‘I just caught the last bit of your conversation. How do you propose we get them?’ she asked the Rider, her voice laced with caution.

Kisan turned to face her, his aqua eyes glowing in the dim light. ‘I’ll have to freakin’ steal them because no self-respectin’ Iccythrian will hand them over to me. Not when they hold the secrets to one of the most terrifying anarchists ever known. Least of all, the master jeweler who doesn’t need to know my new identity.’

Her brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. ‘Robbing an Iccythrian? Some of the most skilled trigger-happy mofos on this planet. You’re just going to waltz into Trivina,appropriate the blueprints from a secure location, and get out alive? Alone?’

‘Nada,’ he rasped. ‘I’ll need one or two intrepid souls to have my six.’

Samira’s lips twisted with a shaky exhale. ‘Who are you thinking of?’

Kisan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced away, lost in thought. ‘A Sarabaite,’ he admitted, his tone gruff. ‘One living on Skardis, near the fringe of Pegasi. He owes me a favor.’

Samira arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest. ‘One of those wandering monks who refuse alliances, live like hermits, and quote scripture when they’re pissed off or need to get their way? How do you even know one?’

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