Rook's Fall didn't feel like a victory.
It felt like a job site after a building collapse—too many men walking around with clipboards, too many machines parked crooked because nobody had time to line them up right, too many quiet corners where the smell of burned insulation wouldn't leave.
The spaceport was "secured," which mostly meant mercenary infantry had stacked cargo containers into walls and welded steel plates over doors that used to be civilian. Floodlights washed everything the color of old bone. Somewhere beyond the perimeter, parts of the city still popped and crackled where fires ate what the raiders had left behind.
Inside the Leopard's hangar bay, Dack stood beneath the Dire Wolf's chest like he was measuring its shadow.
The Daishi was patched and ugly in places, armor plates bolted on in mismatched shades. The Highlander sat to one side with its jump-jet housings open, techs elbow-deep in wiring. Taila's Centurion was cleaner than it had ever been—less because it had taken less damage and more because Taila had watched the techs with a hungry attention and made sure they didn't cut corners.
The Griffin chassis they'd claimed sat in a temporary cradle on the far edge of the bay—half-stripped, tagged, waiting for its gyro check and actuator rebuild. It wasn't the heavy Taila had wanted, but it was real. It was theirs.
The only thing not made of steel in the bay was the girl in black lace.
Morrigan Kestrel stood near the ramp, arms crossed tight over her chest, gothic dress hanging stubbornly out of place in a military hangar. She glared at everyone like it was a hobby. Her boots were scuffed now—ash on the soles, grime at the hem of her skirt. She still held her chin up like she was too proud to bend, even after the hill and the capture and the collarless kind of bondage that still felt like a collar.
Jinx walked past her with a smirk. "Still glaring?"
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Still breathing?"
Jinx laughed once. "Cute."
Taila, in a black halter top and combat leggings with red stripes, moved between the Centurion and the Griffin cradle like she couldn't decide which machine was her future. She glanced at Morrigan, then at Dack, then away again—trying to keep her face neutral and failing.
Lyra Sato didn't hover.
She moved.
Tablet under one arm, hair tied back, posture calm, she threaded through the bay checking readouts and inventory like she was the only thing holding the Leopard together. She spoke to techs, signed for parts, flagged discrepancies in the salvage manifest, and never once looked directly at the thin-wall corridor that had made her hear too much over the last week.
Dack noticed everything.
He just didn't comment on most of it.
"Arbitration's in forty," Lyra said, stopping at Dack's side without quite facing him. "Payment office after that. They're trying to bundle 'security fees' into the final disbursement."
Dack's answer was blunt. "No."
Lyra's mouth twitched like she almost smiled. "That's what I told them."
Jinx leaned in from behind Taila and murmured loudly enough to be heard, "He says 'no' and it becomes law."
Morrigan scoffed. "Pathetic."
Jinx pivoted toward her like a cat turning toward a moving string. "Aw, she's jealous."
"I'm not jealous," Morrigan snapped instantly, then added, because she couldn't help herself, "Not that you'd be worth it."
Jinx grinned wider. "Oh, you're going to be so much fun."
Dack's voice cut across the bay. "Enough."
Jinx shut her mouth—mostly.
Lyra's eyes flicked toward Morrigan, cool and assessing. "She's still under restraint protocol."
"She's not going anywhere," Dack said.
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "I'm right here."
Dack didn't look at her. "Exactly."
That made her flush with anger.
Taila watched that exchange with a strange tightness in her chest—jealousy, yes, but also something else: relief that Dack wasn't soft with Morrigan, and guilt that relief existed at all.
Lyra saw Taila's expression and looked away like she hadn't. Professional. Always professional.
But then Lyra's gaze slid back to Dack for half a second too long.
And she finally made a decision.
"Dack," Lyra said quietly, "I need to speak with you. Alone."
Jinx's brows shot up.
Taila went still.
Morrigan's lips curled in a mean little smile like she'd just been handed a new thing to hate.
Dack didn't ask why. He just nodded once. "Now."
Lyra turned and walked toward the Leopard's narrow corridor with the steady pace she used on final approach. Dack followed.
Behind them, Jinx made an appreciative noise. Taila's throat tightened. Morrigan's glare burned holes into Lyra's back.
---
The Leopard's corridor smelled like metal and old heat. Thin bulkheads. Narrow doors. The kind of ship that kept secrets badly.
Lyra stopped outside the cockpit hatch, where the ship's hum was loud enough to drown out most casual conversation—if anyone in the bay wasn't trying to listen.
She didn't look at Dack at first. She stared at a seam line on the wall like it was a runway centerline.
Then she spoke.
"I'm not good at this," she said.
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "At what."
Lyra swallowed. "At… not being professional."
Silence stretched.
Dack didn't rescue her with jokes. He didn't fill the air. He waited. That steadiness—patient, unyielding—was the thing that had gotten under her skin.
Lyra's fingers tightened around her tablet until her knuckles whitened. "I've spent my entire life in flight schedules and maintenance plans and proving I'm competent enough to not be treated like cargo."
Dack didn't interrupt.
Lyra continued, voice low. "I didn't date. I didn't… do anything. Not because I'm above it. Because I didn't have time, and because the moment I slipped, people would assume I'd earned my position with something other than skill."
Dack's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah."
Lyra's jaw flexed. "Then I take a contract with you. And I hear…" She stopped, cheeks warming. "I hear things. Through the bulkheads."
Dack didn't pretend confusion. "Yeah."
Lyra exhaled hard through her nose. "And I'm embarrassed. And I'm angry at myself for being distracted. And then I watch you in combat—how you check them, how you keep them moving, how you refuse to let them be thrown away."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "They're my crew."
Lyra's eyes finally met his. "That's the problem."
Dack didn't move. "Explain."
Lyra's throat bobbed. "Because I'm… not just watching it like a distant observer anymore."
The silence after that felt heavier than armor.
Lyra forced herself to keep going before she could retreat into professionalism again. "I want to know what it would feel like to be… included. Not as a joke. Not as something Jinx teases about. Included."
Dack's gaze held steady. "Why."
Lyra's breath caught—partly because it was a brutal question, partly because it was exactly what she needed.
"Because," she said softly, "I'm lonely. And because I respect you. And because I trust you more than anyone I've flown with." Her cheeks flushed. "And because when I heard you with them, it didn't sound like using. It sounded like… belonging."
Dack's jaw worked once.
He was more talkative lately, but the words still came like rounds you didn't waste.
"Do you want sex," he asked, blunt as a weapon, "or do you want a place."
Lyra froze.
Then she answered honestly, voice tight. "A place."
Dack nodded once like that mattered more than anything else she could've said.
He didn't reach for her. He didn't touch her. Not yet.
"Then it's not just you and me," he said. "It's the crew. Taila. Jinx." A beat. "Now Morrigan."
Lyra flinched slightly at the name.
Dack noticed. "You don't owe Morrigan anything. She's under my protection, not in my bed."
Lyra's cheeks warmed. "I didn't assume—"
"Good," Dack said. "Don't."
Lyra steadied herself. "So… what happens."
Dack stared at her for a long moment, like he was looking at a battlefield line and deciding where the break point would be.
Then he spoke—more than he would've a month ago. Still blunt. Still simple.
"It happens if you want it," he said. "And if they want it. No pressure. No games. No crew favoritism. No distractions on contract."
Lyra's voice was small. "That sounds like a contract."
"It is," Dack replied. "Because contracts keep people safe."
Lyra swallowed. "And if I want it."
Dack's gaze didn't waver. "Then you say it to them. Not just to me."
Lyra's fingers loosened on her tablet. "I don't know if I can."
Dack took a step closer—not touching, just closing distance so she felt the weight of him without the excuse of armor.
"You can," he said. "You flew through flak. You can talk."
Lyra's lips parted, and for a moment she looked like she might laugh at the absurdity of the comparison.
Instead she whispered, "What do you want."
Dack didn't flinch from the question.
"You," he said, blunt. "If you mean it. If it doesn't break the crew."
Lyra's breath caught. Heat rose in her face, not shame—something sharper, cleaner.
"Okay," she said.
Dack nodded once. "Okay."
Lyra stared at him like she was waiting for something dramatic.
Dack didn't do dramatic.
He lifted a hand and paused—permission in the hesitation.
Lyra's eyes flicked to the hand, then back to his face.
She nodded.
Dack touched her—just fingertips at first, then a firm grip at her upper arm. Grounding, not possessive.
Lyra's voice trembled. "I'm—"
"Don't apologize," Dack said.
Lyra let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. "I wasn't going to."
Dack's mouth twitched—almost a smile, almost.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle poetry. It wasn't frantic either.
It was simple. Certain. A decision.
Lyra's eyes closed. Her hand rose to his chest like she couldn't stop herself, fingers pressing into the fabric of his suit as if checking that he was real.
Dack pulled back after a second, not pushing further.
He looked at her and said, blunt, "We're still getting paid."
Lyra blinked.
Then she actually laughed—quiet, breathy, embarrassed, real. "Yes."
Dack nodded once. "Good."
---
When they walked back into the bay, Jinx had the expression of a woman who could smell blood in water from three rooms away.
Taila was trying to look casual and failing hard. Her arms were folded. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth was set like she was bracing for impact.
Morrigan stood behind Lyra now—just off to the side—glaring like she'd been personally offended by the concept of happiness.
Lyra's cheeks were still faintly pink. She tried to bury it under professionalism.
It didn't fully work.
Jinx saw it immediately. "Oh."
Taila's voice was tight. "What."
Dack didn't dance around it. He didn't do soft introductions.
He said it like he said everything. "Lyra talked to me."
Jinx's grin turned wicked. "And?"
Lyra drew a breath like she was on final approach again. Calm. Controlled. Terrified.
"I… have feelings," she said, voice low. "For Dack. And for… the crew." She glanced at Taila, then Jinx. "I don't want to disrupt anything. I don't want special treatment. I don't want to be a problem."
Jinx stepped closer, studying her like a puzzle. "You heard us."
Lyra's face went red. "Yes."
Jinx's grin softened a fraction. "And you still want in."
Lyra swallowed. "Yes."
Taila's chest felt too tight. Jealousy flared—hot, immediate—then tangled with guilt and something warmer: Lyra had kept them alive. Lyra had never once acted like she deserved anything. Lyra had only ever been steady.
Taila's voice came out smaller than she meant. "Do you… want him. Like… like us."
Lyra met her eyes. "Yes." A beat. "And… I think you're incredible. Both of you. I'm not trying to take anything. I'm trying to… join."
Jinx laughed softly. "That's the right answer."
Morrigan made a disgusted noise behind Lyra. "You're all insane."
Jinx didn't even look at her. "Shut up, lace gremlin."
Morrigan's eyes went wide with fury. "What did you just call me—"
Dack's voice cut through. "Morrigan. Quiet."
Morrigan snapped her mouth shut, glaring so hard it looked like it hurt.
Taila looked at Dack, then at Lyra, then at Jinx. Her voice shook. "I don't want to be replaced."
Dack answered immediately. "You won't be."
Taila's eyes stung. "You say that like it's easy."
"It is," Dack replied. "Because it's true."
Jinx stepped up behind Taila and rested her chin on Taila's shoulder, arms loosely around her waist—casual possession. "You're our girl."
Taila flushed. "Jinx…"
Jinx kissed her cheek. "No running."
Taila swallowed and looked at Lyra again. "If you're in… you don't get to act like you're above it."
Lyra's cheeks warmed. "I'm not."
Taila took a breath, then stepped forward and hugged Lyra—quick, awkward, sincere. The kind of hug you gave when you were scared and decided to be brave anyway.
Lyra froze for half a second, then hugged her back.
Jinx watched, eyes bright, and then—because she couldn't help herself—she walked up and kissed Lyra on the cheek like she was stamping a contract.
Lyra's face turned bright red.
Jinx grinned. "Welcome to the problem."
Lyra exhaled, a shaky laugh. "Thank you."
Dack didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
He just stood there, and the way his hand settled lightly at the small of Taila's back—grounding—said more than any speech.
Morrigan glared at the whole scene like she wanted to set it on fire.
Then, quietly, she muttered, "Disgusting."
Jinx shot her a smile without turning her head. "You'll live."
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "Not because I want to."
"Yeah," Jinx said. "We know."
---
The payment office was a glass-walled prefab near the control tower. Inside, the air smelled like antiseptic and fear—people who'd never seen a King Crab die trying to act like they were in charge of men who had.
The employer rep sat behind a desk with a forced smile. "Final disbursement is contingent upon—"
Lyra slid her tablet forward. "No. It isn't."
The rep's smile tightened. "Excuse me?"
Lyra's voice was calm, sharp, and absolute. "You already issued partial. The remainder is due upon confirmation of comms neutralization and spaceport seizure. Both confirmed. Your contingent language doesn't exist in the signed contract."
The rep's eyes narrowed. "You're very confident."
Lyra didn't blink. "I'm correct."
Dack stood behind her like a wall. Jinx stood to one side like a threat. Taila stood closer to Dack than she would've a month ago, chin up like she belonged there.
Morrigan was not brought into the office. Dack didn't trust the employer not to "accidentally" shoot her and call it an escape attempt.
The rep tried one more angle. "Security costs—"
Lyra cut him off. "You hired mercenaries for security."
The rep's jaw clenched. He looked at Dack, hoping to intimidate.
Dack's voice was blunt. "Pay."
The rep swallowed. "Fine."
A transfer confirmation beeped on Lyra's tablet—C-bills routed, escrow released.
Lyra watched it hit the account and exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding her breath since they dropped through flak.
"Paid," she said.
Jinx laughed, satisfied. "Now we're really in love."
Taila rolled her eyes, but she smiled.
Dack didn't smile. He just felt the tight knot in his chest loosen.
They left the office with money in the bank, salvage in the bay, and a crew that had changed shape in a single day.
Outside, the spaceport was still ugly. Still loud. Still dangerous.
But when Lyra walked beside Dack this time, she didn't keep an extra step of distance.
She didn't touch him in public—she wasn't ready for that.
But her shoulder nearly brushed his, and that was enough.
Dack noticed.
He didn't comment.
He just matched her pace—steady, blunt, present—already thinking about the next contract, the next world, the next fight.
And behind them, somewhere in the Leopard's narrow corridor, thin bulkheads waited to tell secrets again.