Page 28 of Accidentally Fearless

"Come here," she said softly. She held out her unbandaged hand.

I took it. Her fingers folded into mine. I held on with the desperate grip of someone who has just discovered what he cannot lose.

Behind us, the celebration was building. Shouts and songs and the sounds of a war's end reverberating through the compound. Beyond the medical bay, I knew, Zenir was investigating the comm sabotage. She had already identified the compromised access codes. The evidence trail led to Therak.

It would be damning.

But here in the medical bay, there was only Rory's hand in mine, and the steady beat of her pulse against my palm.

And the vast, terrifying, knowledge that I was in love with a woman who had twelve days left on a contract that would take her to the other side of the galaxy. She fell asleep with her hand in mine.

I watched her breathe. I memorized the exact shade of brown her hair became in low light. I traced the line of the scar on her left hand without touching it.

Twelve days. I had won the valley. I had honored my parents. I had accomplished the mission I had spent twenty years preparing for.

And none of it mattered. Because the only thing I wanted was sleeping on a medical cot with a bandaged arm and a bruised temple, and in twelve days, she would leave.

I did not know how to survive that.

This was a war I could not win with tactics.

11

RORY

Eight days left on my contract, and the war was almost over.

Krenix hadn't surrendered after the Grand Melee—technically, the honor code allowed him to continue fighting as long as he held any disputed territory, but his forces had pulled back to the far western edge of the valley, a thin strip of rocky terrain with minimal strategic value. His soldiers were demoralized. His supply lines were stretched. Three of his junior officers had formally requested transfer, which was apparently the Velkorin equivalent of a vote of no confidence.

We'd won. Not officially, not on paper, but everyone knew it. The Council had convened a special session to formally recognize the tactical achievements of the Fourth Division, and for the first time in three years, Vrex stood before the Council receiving commendation instead of criticism.

I watched from the observer gallery, wearing borrowed Velkorin formal attire that Zenir insisted I needed—a deep bronze tunic over dark pants, with a collar that sat high on my throat in the Velkorin style. Zenir had adjusted it three times, muttering about human proportions, before declaring it "adequate."

"The Council recognizes the extraordinary contributions of Commander Talon's division," the Council Chair announced. "And notes, for the record, the effective utilization of external consultation."

External consultation. That was me. Reduced to a euphemism so the Council didn't have to say "the human from the paintball arena won our war."

Vrex accepted the commendation with a formal grace that came naturally to him and the carefully hidden exhaustion that only I could read. His appearance was polished to a deep shine—formal grooming, Zenir had told me, usually reserved for ceremonial occasions. The bronze undertones caught the chamber's light, making him look like he'd been cast from precious metal.

Eight days. In eight days, the Bureau's transport would activate, and I would be returned to my apartment in Scranton, to my couch with my Netflix queue, to Battlezone Arena and Kyle and cold pad thai and a life where nobody noticed me.

I hadn't let myself think about it. There was always another engagement to plan, another training session to run, another late night in the war room with Vrex where we sat too close and talked too long and pretended the countdown wasn't happening.

But the Council session ended, and the soldiers filed out. I was standing in the corridor outside the chamber when a holographic projection materialized directly in front of me.

"Ms. Sullivan! Wonderful news." The dispatcher's hologram flickered with its budget-quality rendering. "Your contract assessment indicates successful resolution of the primary objective. Preliminary transport scheduling has been initiated. Return to Earth in seven standard days!"

The floor tilted under me. Not literally—Velkorin architecture was extremely well-constructed, but something in my chest dropped like a stone.

"Seven days," I repeated.

"Seven days! Well within the contracted thirty-day window. The Bureau thanks you for your service and notes that your customer satisfaction survey will be delivered upon return. Your feedback is very important to us."

"Can the contract be extended?"

"Extended?" The dispatcher's tone suggested I had asked whether gravity could be politely rescheduled. "Extensions require supplemental funding authorization. Current budget allocation for human consultation is—" She paused. "—not available for extension."

"What about staying voluntarily? Without the Bureau contract?"