Small.
Cautious.
Then a voice—low, tight with fear.
"Silpha?"
Kelli.
My knees damn near give out right there.
Silpha steps aside without a word.
I move forward before I can think too hard about it.
Push the door wider.
Step inside.
The room’s barely bigger than a cargo cell.
Dim lights buzz overhead.
Old blankets, makeshift furniture, crates stacked like barricades against the walls.
And there she is.
Kelli.
Standing stiff, holding a broken piece of pipe like it’s a sword.
Her hair’s longer now, tangled around her shoulders, a shade darker than I remember.
Her body’s different too—sharper angles, leaner muscle under thin clothes worn from too many hard nights.
But her eyes, those damn eyes.
Stronger than I ever remembered.
Steel and fire.
She stares at me like I’m a dream she doesn’t trust.
I open my mouth to speak.
Nothing comes out.
Kelli’s fingers tighten around the pipe, knuckles white.
"You’re real," she whispers.
It's not a question.
Still, I nod once.
Rough.
Choked.
