Page 84 of Nansar
Part of me wanted to slink away, to curl into myself and disappear into the shame that threatened to consume me whole.
But no. Chloe deserved better than that. She deserved a mate who faced his sins head-on, who didn't cower when confronted with the consequences of his actions. She'd chosen to stand beside me—the least I could do was stand tall beside her. Whatever judgment Adtovar delivered, whatever hatred burned in those blue eyes, I would meet it. Not because I was brave, but because my mate's courage demanded that I try to be.
I lifted my gaze and forced myself to meet his eyes. Beside me, Chloe stood straight and true, her hand wrapped tightly around mine.
"Captain," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. Even that felt like too much. Like I had no right to address him at all.
Adtovar moved closer, his footsteps measured, stopping at the foot of my bed. The silence stretched between us, heavy with history and blood and regret.
"I owe you an apology," I said, the words coming easier than I'd expected. "For what I did to you. For following others I knew were wrong. For being too much of a coward to stand up when it mattered." I met his eyes, refusing to look away despite the shame threatening to drown me. "I am ashamed of my past behavior. I'm sorry."
Adtovar studied me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, weighing my words. Then, to my surprise, his features softened slightly, the hard edges of judgment easing into something more complex.
"Everyone deserves a second chance, Nansar. I know that better than anyone," he said quietly. "The male who threw himself in front of a blaster to save Chloe—that's not a bad male. That's someone who found something worth being better for."
My throat tightened with emotion. I hadn't expected forgiveness. Didn't feel I deserved it, wouldn't have granted it to myself.
"I won't lie to you," Adtovar continued, his tone becoming more practical. "I don't know what will happen when we reach Calpa. The Alliance Prime will want answers. There's a chance she'll send you back to Palaydium to complete your sentence." He paused. "But aboard this ship, you're a free male. You've earned that much. I can have a cabin prepared for you—"
"Nope," Chloe interrupted.
Both Adtovar and I turned to look at her. She stood at my side, her chin lifted in that defiant way I'd come to love.
"Nansar will be staying with me," she said, lacing our fingers together. Her eyes met mine, intense and certain. "He's my mate."
Adtovar's eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly. For a moment, the composed Alliance commander looked completely off guard. His gaze darted between Chloe and me.
"Your... mate?" he repeated carefully.
"Yes," Chloe said, her grip on my hand tightening. "My mate."
I held my breath, waiting for his objection. Waiting for him to tell her she was making a mistake. That I wasn't worthy of her, that she deserved someone without my past, someone who hadn't done the things I'd done, someone honorable and good.
But Adtovar's shock gradually transformed into something else—understanding, perhaps. His expression softened as he looked at our joined hands, and something almost like approval flickered in his eyes.
"I see," he said finally, the words carrying acceptance. He was quiet for another moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. If that's your choice, Chloe, I respect it." His gaze shifted to me, his voice taking on a warning edge. "But Nansar, if you hurt her—"
"I won't," I said immediately. "I'd die a thousand times before I'd cause her pain."
Adtovar studied me, weighing my sincerity. Then he gave a single, decisive nod. "I believe you would." He stepped back toward the door. "And Nansar—welcome aboard theHistoria. Officially this time."
I'd traveled on this ship only once before, on the way to begin my sentence on Palaydium.
The door whispered shut behind him, and the silence that settled over us felt different somehow—charged with possibility, weighted with an acceptance I'd never dared to hope for.
George appeared not long after, his arms full of folded fabric and his ever-present medical scanner dangling from one hand. "Final readings," he announced, though the knowing gleam in his eyes as they flicked between Chloe and me suggested he was well aware of what had transpired. "Then you're free to go."
I endured his examination with as much patience as I could muster while he passed the scanner over my chest in slow, methodical sweeps. The wound had closed completely—no scar tissue, just a patch of skin several shades lighter than the rest of my torso. A ghost of death, permanently etched into my flesh.
"Soreness for a few days, nothing more," George declared, pressing the bundle of clothes into my hands. Alliance gray—a simple tunic and pants. "And do me a favor? Don't get shot again. I'd prefer to maintain my high success rate."
"I'll make every effort," I said, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself.
After George departed, I dressed with deliberate slowness, each movement pulling at muscles that still remembered trauma. Chloe stayed close, her presence a quiet offer of help that she was careful not to impose. When I finally pulled the tunic over my head, she reached for my hand again, and that simple contact felt like discovering something I'd been searching for my entire life.
"Come on," she murmured, her thumb brushing across my knuckles. "Let's find you somewhere more comfortable than a medical bay."
TheHistoria's corridors thrummed with life—crew members rushing between stations, the ship's systems humming their constant mechanical song beneath the organized chaos. We walked hand in hand through it all, and I felt every single stare that landed on us like a physical weight.
