Page 65 of Silver Slayer

QUIN

“Come join us.” Marie patted the bench beside her.

“Thanks.” I set my bowl down next to Marie and slid onto the bench, the wood warm beneath me from bodies that had been sitting here longer. The women around me looked up with the easy curiosity of people who had been where I was standing and remembered it.

“You remember Amy from the welcoming committee,” Marie said, gesturing to a woman withflaming red hair, bright green eyes, and an easy smile that lit up her face. “Like me, she’s one of the originals. Been here since we crash-landed in the Gretolic ship that’s now a greasy spot to the southwest of us. She’s Maxxon’s mate. He’s the Royal Medic, basically the head doctor in charge here in Huren.”

“Welcome, new friend,” Amy said, raising her spork in a half-toast.

“Elise is an OG too,” Marie continued. “She’s Vallon’s spirit mate. She can hear but can’t speak, so she uses ASL or her tabletto communicate to the ones of us who haven’t picked up her hand language.”

Elise smiled and lifted her hands.Nice to meet you,her fingers said.

Nice to meet you too,I signed back.

“You already know sign language?” Marie gaped. “Good for you because I suck at it.”

“I can teach you, if you'd like,” I offered. “The team at Terra Vitae took an American Sign Language course. Out in the field, it's a lot quieter than talking when you're trying not to disturb wildlife.”

“Last but not least. Bella and Holly,” Marie finished, pointing to the two women at the far end. “Everybody, this is Quin.”

Bella met my gaze immediately, curiosity written plainly across her face, as if she wasn't about to let a single detail escape her notice. Holly sat quietly beside her, offering me a welcoming smile. She had almond-shaped eyes and a sun-kissed complexion that gave her an exotic beauty, but there was a gentle steadiness about her that made her seem approachable despite the crowded room.

“Quin,” Bella repeated, testing the shape of it. “That’s an unusual name for a girl. I like it.”

“Thanks. My mom named me after her brother. He died in a car accident right before I was born. Quentin. She shortened it.”

Holly’s expression softened. “That’s a wonderful way to honor him.”

“It is.” I lifted my spork and took my first bite of elksen stew. The flavor was a deep, complex punch to the senses. The closest thing to home I’d tasted in weeks. I closed my eyes and savored the moment.

When I opened them, I saw Vala crossing the cookery toward our table, a blonde woman walking beside him. She was laughing at something he’d said. Vala. Composed, unreadable Vala, with a warmth in his expression I had never once seen on the ship. I blinked twice.

They reached the table and settled onto the bench across from me. Then my gaze moved past them and stopped.

He could have been Jakkar, the male who had introduced himself as ruler of the whole damn planet. Same broad shoulders, same strong, artistic face, except no crown, and his white hair was longer, falling well past the middle of his back in a way that softened the resemblance just enough to make me question it. He captivated me for a long moment before I realized I was staring.

“Sakkar,” Marie murmured beside me as if she could read my confusion. “Jakkar’s twin. Used to be Sia of Huren before—” She stopped herself. “It’s complicated. I’ll catch you up on the history you’ve missed later. It’s a lot.”

I went back to my stew and let my gaze drift.

The cookery hummed with the music of a community at ease. Voices overlapped and braided together. Laughter broke out in pockets and subsided. Luminescent stones sat in metal sconces at regular intervals along the walls, and in their cool, shifting glow, the Valosian males moved through the space with the loose-limbed confidence of warriors off-duty, their scalescatching and throwing back the light in subtle shifts of silver and blue.

And the couples.

A male leaned sideways to murmur to his mate, his hand resting on the small of her back with the casual intimacy of someone who had stopped thinking about where his hands belonged because they belonged there. A pregnant woman, Rose, who I’d meet earlier, laughed at something her mate said, and he reached across to wipe a drop of stew from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, his touch so gentle it made my heart twist.

Another pair shared a bowl between them, taking turns with the same spork, foreheads pressed together over the steam. No performance. No self-consciousness. Just two people who had found each other in the wreckage of tragedy and built a peaceful life from the pieces.

The shawra seemed to burn through the fabric of my shawl, an insistent glow that I could feel even if no one else could see it. I adjusted the drape and kept eating.

My gaze drifted across the cookery and found Erin. She was seated at a table near the wall with Vorrax, their bodies pressed so close together that the line between them blurred. His massive hand wrapped around her waist, thumb tracing idle circles against the fabric of her kilt-dress. Erin was laughing, her head tilted back, one hand resting on his forearm like she’d been touching him her whole life. The composed, steady woman who had kept us all grounded through eight weeks of hell looked like she’d been unplugged from a wall socket. Relaxed and open in a way I’d never seen her.

There was no sign of Brooke or Truxxet. I smiled despite myself. Brooke had made good on her promise with impressive speed.

My gaze traveled the room again, table by table, bench by bench. I told myself I was taking inventory. Cataloging the space. Being thorough.

Vennox wasn’t here.