Thane Krios
She loves another.
—shots fly past our heads, relentless as Kahje rain. Air permeated with the stink of smoke and death. She shouts a warning and he responds, no hesitation. Bodies tense and voices low. Eyes only for each other—
—the shuttle rocks with her weight, precarious, dangling. Legs kicking, fingertips clawing at the ledge. I reach for her, but he's there first. Three-fingered hands hauling her to safety, not letting go.
She asked me, once: "Isn't there a risk that you could lose yourself in bad memories?"
—voices rise in celebration. Relief mingles with the euphoria of survival. Across the room, he approaches her, lowers his head to whisper in her ear. Her smile broadens, eyes alive with anticipation. They leave together, elevator door closing behind them—
Yes, siha. Yes, there is.