Page 14 of Human Reform
My throat constricted as the weight of what I’d done—what I was still doing to these people—crashed down on me.I’d been so careful to avoid this exact feeling for three years, barricading myself away in those mountains, pretending I didn’t need connection or redemption or anything beyond my own survival.
The teenager’s terrified face flashed in my mind.The boy who couldn’t control his own body.Just like hundreds of others walking around this colony with a ticking time bomb I’d planted inside them.Just like Daxon.
“I told myself I was protecting myself by living alone,” I whispered, my voice cracking.“But I was hiding.From this.From what I’d done.”
My hands began to tremble.I twisted my bracelet frantically, the metal links digging into my skin.
“Three years pretending I didn’t need anyone.That I was better off alone.And during that time, you were here, building families, creating a future, while I…” The dam broke, and a sob tore from my chest.“What if I’m always alone?What if that’s all I deserve?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks as years of carefully controlled isolation crumbled around me.I pressed my palms against my face, trying desperately to stop the flood, but it was useless.
Daxon moved decisively.His strong arms encircled me, drawing me against his chest with a gentleness that contradicted his size.One large hand cradled the back of my head while the other spanned my back, holding me together as I fell apart.
“You’re not alone now,” he murmured into my hair, his voice a deep rumble I could feel against my cheek.
I clutched at his shirt, sobbing into the solid wall of his chest.He smelled like something clean and earthy—like cedar and rain and something uniquely him.His warmth enveloped me completely, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel the need to run away or rebuild my walls.Instead, I leaned in, accepting the comfort he offered.
My body shook with each sob, but Daxon held me steady, his thumb tracing small circles on my back.
“I can fix this,” I finally managed between hiccupping breaths.“I need to fix this.”
Daxon pulled back just enough to look down at me, his eyes now holding a faint violet glow around the edges of that icy blue.“You will,” he said with absolute certainty.“We will.”
At that moment, something sparked inside me—not just the strange electric attraction but something I hadn’t felt in so long I’d almost forgotten its name.Hope.
SIX
DAXON
I heldAlora tighter against my chest as her tears dampened my shirt.That strange protective urge rushed through me again.The sensation—this primal need to shield her from any pain or suffering—was overwhelming.
“I will help you fix this,” I promised, meaning every word with a certainty that surprised even me.
Her breathing slowly steadied, but I didn’t loosen my hold.The weight of her against me felt right—like a missing component I hadn’t realized I needed until this moment.The silver pond rippled before us, capturing fractals of the twin suns’ light while jungle creatures called in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my chest.“I don’t usually fall apart like this.”
I drew back slightly, tilting her chin up with my finger so I could see her face.Even with reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, she was absolutely beautiful.
“Don’t apologize for feeling,” I said.“I’ve spent two and a half years trying not to feel anything at all.It’s… exhausting.”
A small, broken laugh escaped her.“Three years for me.”
I wiped away a tear with my thumb, memorizing the pattern of freckles across her nose.My programming had always been about data collection, but this was different.This was learning her because I wanted to, not because I needed to.
“When you’ve lived through a war and its brutal aftermath,” I said softly, “sometimes feeling nothing seems safer.”
As I held her, something inside me shifted fundamentally—like a lock clicking open.I didn’t just want to help her for the colony’s sake.I wanted to erase that haunted look from her eyes and to protect her from anything that might cause her pain in the future—including herself.The urge was deeply primal and undeniable.
“Your guilt…” I continued, “I understand it.But you weren’t the only one who chose to implement that code.And you leaving CyberEvolution three years ago—that was a choice, too.”
She looked up at me, her gray eyes sparkling with silver flecks in the afternoon light.“A choice that came too late.”
“No,” I said firmly.“Not too late yet.You’re here now.”
I realized with frightening clarity that I couldn’t imagine Planet Alpha without her.Couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.The thought should have worried me—this attachment forming after less than a day—but instead, it felt inevitable.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I admitted, the words escaping before I could analyze them.“Not just because we need your help.Because I—” I faltered, the language for what I was feeling still beyond my grasp.
