If I thought the outside was old, the inside of the Razor was even more ancient. It wasn't insulated, and the inner walls had long been stripped in favor of tech bolted to the metal. There were plenty of contraptions I didn't recognize, then a few-like a locked armory-that I did.

The bathroom was simple-he called it a fresher for some reason, pointing out the rooms in his ship. No tub, as expected from the man he was looking to be, but the small area was clean, yet empty of the personal items I thought every bathroom was supposed to have.

My sleeping quarters were right next to his, a book that didn't look big enough for him, let alone the both of us. There was also a small hammock hanging to one side of it, and when I asked, he didn't want to say what it was for.

It wasn't a creepy evasion to a question, but more of an emotional one, and for now as strangers, I wasn't about to press his limits. It was quite possible we would always be strangers, and that worked best for adventures.

All in all, his ship was mostly cockpit and tech bay. There was little else that made it up, though there was room enough for plenty of creature comforts. Maybe he'd let me buy a chair someday, or even a stool for now.

But as he pulled the Razor into the air, I felt a wave of doubt along with the force of gravity pulling against me. I couldn't just get out now. It wasn't so easy to abandon ship when we were several miles above ground, soon to be thousands.

He'd put me in the single spare cockpit chair, of which wasn't that cushioned or even large enough for the metal framing not to bite into my sides. I tried not to complain, thouth, because what would he think of a whining Chiss he'd just married, complaining about chairs?

He didn't mind silence, making it apparent by not speaking for a good hour after we'd reached cruising speed.

After a while, I gave up thinking of something to say, because now it'd be too awkward to break noise into the cockpit.

He'd said tonight, but who knew what time it was out here? It was late afternoon back on Descant, but days were thirty hours long there and so night would fall in another six.

"Don't call me sir."

His voice broke through the silence like a shot to a heart, and I jumped in my seat, hitting the end of the restraining belts before flushing with my rash response.

"Um, oka-"

"Or father. Or lord," he broke in. "I'm not your daddy, and so don't call me that."

I cringed away from the entire conversation. Had he gone through this before? This utterly stupid conversation of nicknames?

"I wouldn't," I said, latching my hands through the seatbelt. The cabin was pressurized, but the gravity was still less than I was used to, and hanging onto something gave me a sense of solidity.

"Good."

After a handful of minutes and no more requests forthcoming, I made one. "Where's the food? And water?"

"I'll show you later."

Despite what looked like autopilot on the dash, he seemed content flying by hand, and he did just that.

For another three hours.

By the time he even considered getting up, I was dying of boredom and creeping hunger, and that's just when he pushed himself from the seat, finally letting autopilot take over. He lead me from the cockpit and down to the inner holding bay, pointing out a cabinet bolted to the wall where I had as many as two choices of meals and-thanks to some contraption that sucked moisture from passing space-as much water as I wanted.

He waited until I'd chosen a meal, then he took one for himself and left me in the tiny dining area, heading off who knew where? Maybe he wasn't used to eating in front of people, but come on, he'd literally married me to fuck me. Surely eating was the least of intimate things he planned to do with me.

Despite the weirdness, the food was decent and the water was pure, and when I'd had my fill, I got to wander back toward the cockpit by myself, touching whatever surface I wanted and clocking the random tech on the walls as many times as I liked.

He kept things clean, but they were also randomly placed, like he'd arranged the ship on the fly, mind so preoccupied with bounties that he didn't bother placing similar tech together. I also didn't get why he didn't utilize more of the space for a sitting area. Even bounty hunters had to relax, and personally, not having a couch was gonna get real old, real fast.

Though it was dead silent, I finally reached and climbed my way back into the cockpit, only to find it empty and still on autopilot. It was stupid to go back to the cockpit anyhow, since I'd never seen him return, but it seemed like a decent place for him to end back up, so it was my first thought.

Instead, I found him absolutely passed out in the sleeping area wearing just a nightshift. It made him look like a wolf in a puppy bed, sprawled out like he was in a space that wasn't exactly accomodating to his height.

I let out a sigh, trying not to kill myself as I stripped down to my underclothes and crawled over his ten billion limbs all over the bed. I tried not to touch him too much while I found a tiny comfortable spot facing away from him, back arched in to avoid his elbow and both my knees touching the cool metal wall.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but he was very human.

I, on the other hand, was a stark contrast to his skin tone, his hair color, his build.

I wondered again why he'd picked me.