The Black Fang hummed, stabilizing from the jump. Most of the crew had scattered—Priest still digging through the drive, Sloan keeping to herself, Hunter off doing whatever kept her sane. Gravel was somewhere, probably being a pain.

Fang sat curled up in her bunk, holo-slate balanced on her knees.

She hesitated before opening her messages.

Five unread texts. Three missed calls.

Her stomach twisted.

She already knew what this was about.

Kai: Fang?

Kai: Please call me back as soon as you can.

Kai: Please be okay.

Kai: Fang.

Kai: Where are you now?

Fang exhaled, running a hand through her hair. Shit.

She should’ve checked sooner. She wanted him to not worry about her, and managed to achieve the exact opposite.

Her fingers hovered over the call button—then stopped. Fang chewed her lip, opting to text instead.

Fang: I’m here.

The response was instant.

Kai: Finally.

Kai: Are you hurt anywhere?

Fang inhaled slowly. Keep it normal. Keep it light.

Fang: I’m good! :D :D :D

Fang: Flying. Tuning systems. You know how it is.

Kai: Fang.

Her stomach sank. He wasn’t letting it go.

Fang: Seriously, Kai, it’s not a big deal.

Nothing.

Then—

Kai: I’m calling.

Her breath hitched. No, no, no.

Fang: Kai, you’re in class.

Kai: Lecture ended an hour ago.

Fang: Damn, you’re fast.

Kai: Pick up.

Her pulse hammered.

If she answered, he’d know. Fang’s fingers curled around the slate. She had one chance to fix this.

So she did the only thing she could think of—

She panic-texted him a wall of words.

Fang: Okay, listen, it’s really not a big deal I swear, we just had a bit of a thing earlier but it’s fine now, I promise, I mean it, totally under control, I wasn’t even in danger really, just some stupid corpo nonsense that was way overblown but everything’s good now and I don’t wanna worry you because you have more important things to deal with like your dissertation and sleep and food and existing in general so you don’t have to call I SWEAR just text me back, okay?

Silence.

Then—

Kai: . . . Fang.

Then Kai’s voice came through a voice text. Fang’s fingers trembled as she hit play.

“I’m not mad,” he said in a deep, cooing voice.

Fang exhaled sharply, pressing her forehead against her knees.

“I just . . .” Kai hesitated. “I don’t like feeling this helpless.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Fang’s fingers twitched over her slate. Guilt. That’s what it was. Curling up inside her, clawing at her ribs.

She was doing this. She was the reason he sounded like that.

Her breath hitched, and before she could think, before she could stop herself—

Fang: I swear, I swear, I’ll tell you everything from now on, I won’t keep things from you, I’ll text you first, I won’t wait until it’s bad, I’ll tell you the truth, just please don’t be upset, I promise I’ll be better, I’ll do better, I’ll tell you everything, okay? Please, please, just don’t worry. Please, sweetie.

The moment she hit send, her stomach twisted.

The read receipt popped up.

Silence.

Her fingers clenched around the slate.

Then—

Kai: You know you always text the most basic things when you're in damage control, right?

Fang’s grip tightened.

Kai: You always say it like that, like you’re reading off a script you wrote just to keep me from being mad.

She swallowed hard, fingers frozen over the keyboard.

Fang: That’s not—

She stopped.

Her own words stared back at her.

A beat.

Then Kai’s next message came in.

Kai: I don’t need you to tell me everything, Fang.

Kai: But you’re always off doing things that might hurt you, and I never know what exactly you’re getting into.

Fang curled up tighter, pressing the slate against her chest.

She typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Fang: I’m sorry.

Kai: Yeah, it’s all good. Glad you’re safe.

Kai: Can I call in 30 mins?

Fang stared at the screen, her pulse pounding.

He was letting it go. For now.

Her fingers hovered, then she typed—

Fang: Of course. I’ll be here.

She hesitated. Deleted.

Fang: Yeah. Call whenever :D

The read receipt popped up.

Kai didn’t text back.

Fang shut off the holo-slate and pressing it to her forehead.

***

The hum of the ship was quieter here, softer beneath the layers of insulated bulkheads. The storage closet—Sloan’s temporary quarters—was small, cluttered, but private. She hadn’t done much to settle in. There wasn’t much to settle into.

She sat on the edge of the cot, elbows resting on her knees, staring at the overhead light. The screen in front of her was dimmed, the faint flicker of diagnostic readouts casting dull blue patterns across her face.

The quiet creak of the door broke her from her thoughts. She didn’t look up. “Didn’t peg you for the checking-in type.”

Priest leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His visor caught the low light, unreadable as always. “You haven’t slept.”

Sloan exhaled, rolling her neck. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew.”

“You don’t. Just means you’re thinking about something.”

She snorted. “Your years of experience as a strategist are really shining through.”

Priest didn’t react, which made it worse somehow.

A silence stretched between them, and for once, Sloan wasn’t in the mood for it.

She shifted, glancing at him. “Do you remember that awful lunch spot near the transit hub?”

Priest tilted his head slightly, processing the shift in topic.

Sloan continued, half-smiling. “Back when you were still a logistics officer. You used to grab lunch from there all the time. Swore up and down they had the best fried rice in the district.”

Priest was quiet for a second longer than necessary. Then, evenly, “It was good fried rice.”

Sloan huffed out a quiet laugh. “It was overpriced fried rice, for something so synthetic.”

Priest shrugged. “Didn’t say it was affordable.”

Sloan leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “I remember you making me try it. I think that was the only time we ever sat down for lunch together.”

Priest studied her, then said, “You didn’t complain about the food at the time.”

Sloan smirked. “No, but I did complain about the company.”

“Only once.”

“Loudly.”

Priest huffed through his nose—almost a laugh. Almost.

Sloan shook her head, staring at the ceiling again. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Priest didn’t disagree.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Sloan let it sit for a while before sighing. “You’re really not gonna let me stay up in peace, huh?”

Priest didn’t move from the doorway. “Not my problem if you sleep or not.” A pause. “Just figured you’d need it.”

He reached into his coat, then tossed something her way. Sloan caught it out of reflex, blinking down at the small, foil-wrapped packet in her palm.

Protein ration. One of the better ones.

Sloan glanced at him again. “Thanks.”

He just gave a slow nod, pushing off the doorframe. “Alright.”

He turned to leave, but just before he stepped out, Sloan’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Dakarai.”

Sloan rolled the ration between her fingers, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her voice was casual, but Priest had heard that tone before—calculated, precise.

“You know, I could’ve made things a lot harder for you back on Kestris.”

Priest paused in the doorway, turning just slightly.

Sloan continued, tilting her head. “I could’ve locked down the impound tighter.” She flicked the ration packet lightly. “Instead, I made sure the Black Fang was somewhere retrievable. I kept my men off your backs when I could. I wasn’t trying to be your enemy.”

Priest didn’t react at first, just watching her from behind the visor. Then, after a beat, he exhaled.

“No point sweet-talking me.” His voice was as even as ever. “We’re in this mess together, no matter what.”

Sloan smirked slightly, stretching her legs out in front of her. “See, I prefer allies to co-conspirators.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Priest said, shifting back toward the hallway.

Sloan didn’t argue. She just let her smirk linger as the door slid shut behind him.