"I have a call in from Chief Stenton," said Emma.
"Put him through," said Scott.
"Commander Scott, the memorial is fully evacuated," Chief Stenton's voice came over the channel. "All personnel are clear."
Scott exhaled. "Emma, confirm."
"There are no unauthorized life signs remaining in the structure," Emma responded. "External perimeter scans show no movement. We are ready for launch."
"Do it."
Outside, the air shimmered as the ship's engines engaged, displacing dust and debris across the abandoned plaza. Slowly, the massive ship lifted from its resting place, ascending into the sky.
"How long until we reach Sasha's?" Scott asked.
"Approximately twenty minutes at our current speed," Emma replied.
Scott leaned back in his seat. He wasn't sure why he felt so tense. It was just twenty minutes. Yet, the weight in his chest grew heavier with each passing second.
"Grandpa? Am I going to meet Grandma?" Marshal asked.
Scott hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Yes, I am afraid you will," he said.
He turned back to his console, staring at the numbers ticking down—19:48… 19:47… The minutes dragged by at an agonizing pace, each second stretching longer than it should. He hated waiting.
His fingers hovered over the controls, mindlessly tapping at the screen before he forced himself to stop. Why hadn't she contacted him? All this time, she'd been on the same damn planet, and she never once reached out. Had she wanted to be left alone? Had she—
Scott exhaled sharply, shaking the thought away. Sitting here wasn't helping. He needed to move.
He pushed himself up from the chair and stepped out of the bridge, his boots echoing softly in the corridor. Instead of heading straight to the shuttle bay, he took a detour to the galley. The dim lights flickered on as he entered, casting a faint glow over the otherwise empty space.
Scott walked to the dispenser and grabbed a cup, pressing the worn button for instant coffee. The machine hummed to life, steam rising as the dark liquid filled the cup. He wrapped his hands around it, savoring the warmth.
He had forgotten how good the coffee was on the ship. It brought back other memories too—how comfortable the bed was in his cabin, how effortlessly the ship provided for its crew. He had to get used to living in the real world after they landed, where nothing manmade was as refined as the technology on board.
But this also brought back memories of Sasha. The good times they had.
Times he missed.
Times that were stolen from him when the ship she was on didn't make it with them.
She was lost to him. And now, after all these years, she was alive. On the same planet.
Scott tightened his grip on the cup, his jaw clenching. He didn't know what he'd say to her. He didn't know how he felt. But he knew one thing for certain—
He had to see her.
Scott left the galley, gripping the now-empty coffee cup in his hand. The warmth had faded, but his frustration had not. If anything, it had grown, simmering beneath the surface, gaining heat with every step toward the shuttle bay.
He was angry.
Angry that she had been here—on this planet—all this time. Angry that she never tried to reach him. Angry that he had spent years believing she was lost, while she had been living among humans, choosing silence.
His jaw clenched as he turned a corner. The ship's hum vibrated beneath his feet, a familiar rhythm that should have been comforting. It wasn't.
He reached the bay doors and pressed his palm against the access panel. The doors hissed open.
He knew she was there.
The moment the doors parted, the weight of her presence hit him like a force beyond sight or sound—something deeper, something instinctual.
He could feel her.
It was woven into every fiber of his body, an undeniable certainty that she was just beyond that threshold. And layered within that presence, he felt something else—her emotions.
Love.
A deep, aching longing. A silent relief so strong it nearly staggered him. She had missed him, just as much as he had missed her. The weight of it pressed into him, stealing the breath from his chest.
But why?
Why now? Why did it feel like she had suffered just as much as he had—when she had been the one who chose silence?
She stepped out of the shuttle, and the dim light caught the glow of her yellow markings. His breath hitched. It wasn't just the visual glow—he felt them.
Warmth—not from heat, but from something deeper. Affection. Love. A wordless connection that reached through the void of time.
This wasn't what he had prepared for.
He had been ready to rage. To unleash the years of anger, grief, and resentment in an unrelenting storm. He had imagined it countless times. But now, standing here, face to face with her, none of it came out.
Instead, something else surfaced—something just as painful.
Loss.
The love they had shared, the years stolen from them, the moments that should have been. The space between them felt vast, filled with everything they had lost.
But his anger still demanded action.
The hurt hadn't disappeared.
The love he still felt for her didn't erase the pain. But now, that pain clashed with something unexpected—hope.
His anger was melting away.
She saw him standing there by the doorway.
Still. Silent. Unreadable.
Her heart clenched. She had forgotten how difficult humans were to read. They concealed so much—kept their emotions locked behind careful expressions, controlled movements, hidden signals. Her people didn't do that. They couldn't.
She had once known him so well. His posture, the way he carried tension, the subtleties of his expressions—every gesture had once spoken to her as clearly as words.
But that was a lifetime ago.
For years, she had forced herself not to read humans. She had chosen not to. Not because she couldn't, but because every attempt was a reminder of what she had lost.
Of him.
It had been easier to stop trying, to ignore the way people moved, to pretend their emotions weren't there at all. It made conversations harder, made her more distant, but it also kept the pain away.
But now…
Now, he was standing in front of her, and that old instinct returned—unbidden, unstoppable.
He was familiar. The way he stood. The set of his shoulders.
She could see the tension in his stance, the stiffness in his posture, the way his jaw was tight.
Was he upset?
Yes.
Something in her stomach twisted.
She wanted to read him again—to understand what he felt, to know where they stood—but at the same time, she was afraid. Knowing what this particular human felt was important to her.
Was she reading him wrong? Was he upset? Had she forgotten how to read him?
He couldn't move as he watched her approach.
He had imagined this moment a thousand times.
He had envisioned shouting, demanding answers, letting his anger loose like a storm after years of silence. He had prepared to feel betrayal, to confront her for leaving him in the dark for so long.
But now—standing here, seeing her—none of that happened.
His body refused to move, his mind caught between two conflicting realities.
She was here. Right here.
The woman he loved.
For a fleeting moment, it was as if no time had passed at all, as if they had spoken just yesterday, as if the years had never happened.
But they had.
And the weight of those missing years crushed down on him like a vice.
His mind rebelled against the illusion.
No. This isn't yesterday.
I haven't seen you in years.
And you need to know how awful that was.
His breath was unsteady. His muscles were locked, caught between fight and surrender. His body wanted to close the distance between them, but his anger—his pain—was still there, demanding to be acknowledged.
And then—
She slowed.
His eyes sharpened, catching the sudden change in her movement.
She had been moving toward him with certainty, but now... now she hesitated.
Why?
Why had she slowed?
She had been moving toward him, following an instinct buried deep within her.
But suddenly, something felt wrong.
She saw it—the shift in his expression, the tension that flickered behind his eyes. She was reading him again, for the first time in years, and what she saw unnerved her.
Had she misread him?
She thought she had seen warmth. Love. A longing just as deep as hers.
But now—
His body was still. Too still.
His expression was tight, controlled. Unreadable.
Her stomach twisted.
She had forgotten how humans concealed their emotions. Had she lost the ability to read him? Had he changed so much that she no longer understood him?
Or worse—
Was he hurt so badly that what she saw wasn't warmth at all, but something else?
Something colder.
A sudden panic crept in, gripping her chest.
What if he didn't want to see her?
What if she had made a mistake?
He watched the hesitation spread across her.
First, in the way she slowed.
Then, in the way she shifted her weight, uncertainty creeping into her movements.
And finally, in her eyes.
She was questioning herself.
He could see it. Feel it.
She wasn't sure what he felt, and that made her nervous.
And now, he was hesitating, too.
Because he could feel something else, something subtle but unmistakable—
She was afraid.
Not of him.
But of what he might say.
What he might do.
What he might not feel anymore.
The realization was like ice in his veins.
Had she been afraid of this moment all along? Had she stayed away because she thought he wouldn't want her anymore?
His anger wavered.
He had been so focused on his own pain that he hadn't considered hers.
And that—that—made something shift inside him.
For the first time since he saw her, his body relaxed.
His shoulders lost their tension. His breath evened.
And then—he took a step forward.
Her actions did not match her feelings.
He felt a new emotion from her—hesitation.
She was trying to read him.
She had lived among humans for so long, and she had learned. She had adapted. She was watching him carefully, searching for clues in his body language.
She could read him better than before.
That realization unsettled him.
He hadn't noticed it until now, but he had always felt confident around her before. Because she couldn't read him the way she read her own people.
But now?
Now, that small advantage was gone.
Did he want it back?
No.
No, he did not want that edge.
He wanted her.
He smiled—just slightly—and picked up his pace toward her.
As fast as she realized he was hesitant, she felt something new.
He was no longer holding back.
His hesitation had been there—she had seen it, felt it—but now, it was gone.
His posture changed. His stride quickened.
He was coming toward her.
That usually meant only one thing.
A loved one wanted to be with you after so much time apart.
She didn't need to analyze it. She didn't need to question it.
She only needed him.
For years, she had held herself back. She had forced herself to ignore what her body, her instincts, had always told her.
Not now.
Now, she threw all her senses into the wind and ran to him.
He felt something new.
Something he had never felt before.
Indecisiveness.
And then—she ran to him.
The moment she moved, everything else disappeared. The hesitation, the uncertainty, the weight of the years—they no longer mattered.
He didn't care why she hadn't come sooner. He didn't care about the questions still unanswered.
He only knew that she was here.
And he opened his arms to her.
They embraced.
At first, it was hesitant—uncertain, as if testing the reality of each other's presence. But then, slowly, it melted into something familiar.
Something right.
Scott exhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of her against him. The tension he had carried for years—the weight of anger, of loss, of wondering if she was even alive—released.
She was here.
After all this time, she was real.
He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on her, breathing her in.
In a soft, broken whisper, he said, "Where were you all this time? I missed you so."
All of a sudden, she felt safe.
The years of distance, the silence, the fear—it faded in his arms.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
She didn't care that she couldn't read him.
She didn't need to.
She could feel everything she needed to in the way he held her.
She was home.
Then she heard his words.
His voice was low, almost fragile—laced with pain.
Her heart clenched.
She had hurt him. She had known it before, but now she could feel it in every syllable he spoke.
Compassion surged through her. His suffering was hers.
Softly, she whispered back, "It will take too long to explain right now. Let's just enjoy the moment. I missed you so desperately all this time."
He could feel her sincerity.
Her love.
He couldn't press her for more. Not now.
He simply held her tighter.
And for the first time in years, they stood together, lost in each other—until a voice broke the silence.
"Aw."