She was going to die. If the seizing in her lungs wasn't enough, she could turn to the panic in her heart for confirmation. Wild, squeezing, bucking about in her empty chest like a shuttle in subspace eddies. Yes, she was going to die, and it scared her.

Not because she was dangling in space, speckled with a billion uncharted stars, and not because she'd die a coward's death (which she would; oh, she would). It wasn't even because she didn't want to die.

It was because she'd never told him.