Page 16 of Nansar
The tracker slipped free of the wound with a wet, obscene sound, landing in my blood-slicked palm. It was smaller than I'd imagined—a tiny cylinder of dark metal, innocuous and deadly all at once. This little thing had led them to me. Had gotten Captain Karvat and his entire crew killed.
I stared at it, my vision swimming, my arm screaming in protest.
"Give it to me," Nansar said.
I held it out, my hand trembling. He plucked it from my palm without making contact with my skin—a careful, deliberate avoidance that I noticed even through the haze of pain. He moved to a nearby rock, placed the tracker on its flat surface, and brought a stone down on it with controlled force.
The tracker shattered with a satisfying crunch.
He ground the stone against the fragments, pulverizing them into unrecognizable debris, then swept the remains into the undergrowth with the edge of his boot.
When he turned back, I was still standing there, blood running freely down my arm, the wound gaping and raw. The pain had settled into a deep, throbbing ache.
Nansar crouched beside me—still not touching—and pulled his own blade free. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the hem of my jumpsuit.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He cut a long strip of fabric from the bottom of the jumpsuit with quick, efficient movements, then folded it into a makeshift bandage. "Hold your arm out," he said softly.
I extended my arm, watching as he wrapped the cloth around the wound. His fingers moved gently, pulling the fabric tight enough to staunch the bleeding but not so tight it would cut off circulation. He never once touched my skin. Even when the bandage slipped and he had to readjust, he managed to avoid contact, his movements careful and deliberate.
It was such a small thing. Such a simple act of respect.
But it cracked something open inside my chest, something I'd kept locked and barred for so long I'd forgotten it was there.
When he tied off the bandage, he stepped back, giving me space. "That should hold until we can get you proper medical attention."
I looked down at my arm, at the blood-soaked fabric already darkening to rust-brown, and felt the weight of what I'd just done settle over me. The tracker was gone. Destroyed. I'd cut it out of my own flesh rather than let someone else touch me, and Nansar had let me. Had helped me without pushing, without demanding, without making me feel broken for needing the distance.
"Thank you," I whispered, the words inadequate but all I had.
He met my eyes, and something passed between us—an understanding, maybe. An acknowledgment of boundaries given and respected.
"You are the bravest female I have ever met, Chloe," he said finally, truth ringing through his tone.
The sound of my name on his lips sent an unexpected jolt through me—intimate somehow, despite everything. The way he said it, with that slight accent curling around the syllables, made it sound like something precious.
I found myself watching the precise shape of his mouth as he formed the words. The way his lips moved around the vowels, the slight press of his tongue against his teeth for the L sound. There was something about it that felt...
Wait.
I wasn't hearing his words filtered through my translator. There was no delay. No artificial smoothness. Just his voice, rich and resonant, speaking my language with perfect clarity.
"You're speaking English," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "Actual English. Not translated."
Nansar's expression shifted—surprise flickering across his features before settling into something softer. Almost vulnerable. "Yes."
"How?" I stepped closer without thinking, my injured arm forgotten, my curiosity overriding my usual caution. "You speak it naturally, like... like you grew up with it."
He was quiet for a moment, his luminous eyes studying my face as if weighing how much to reveal. "My mother is human."
The words hung between us, simple and profound.
"Your mother," I repeated slowly, trying to reconcile this information with the towering, horned warrior standing before me. With his ivory skin and alien beauty, his otherworldly grace. "You're half-human."
"Yes." He said it matter-of-factly, but I caught something in his tone—a guardedness, maybe. As if he expected judgment or rejection.
Instead, I felt something inside me shift and resettle, like tectonic plates finding a new alignment.
