Chapter Five

  Departing Nettle Station**

  The Wayward Starling greeted them with her usual soft hum when the twins stepped back aboard, crumbs still on Kessa’s shirt and a sense of quiet momentum settling around Kael like a warm coat.

  She ran her hands along the bulkhead as the airlock closed. “Did you miss us, girl?”

  A soft clang echoed somewhere deep in the ship’s guts.

  Kael raised a brow. “I’m taking that as a ‘yes’?”

  “Obviously.” Kessa grinned and booped the nearest panel. “We’ll bring you more muffins next time.”

  Another clang.

  Kael sighed. “Please don’t get her addicted to pastries.”

  Kessa shrugged. “A happy ship is a loyal ship.”

  “That’s not—” He stopped, thinking about it. “…Actually, that feels right.”

  Pre-Flight Checklist, Twin-Style

  Kael slid into the captain’s seat, the cushions molding around him with the familiar hug of well?worn upholstery. Kessa parked herself sideways in the co-pilot chair, one leg thrown over the armrest, snacking on a mint-chip swirl bar with the air of someone enjoying a luxury suite.

  “Alright,” Kael said, pulling up the flight panel. “Checklist.”

  “Go for it, Captain Serious.”

  “Hull integrity?”

  “Solid.”

  “Fuel reserves?”

  “Fuller than me after that muffin.”

  “Navigation?”

  “Online.”

  “Life support?”

  Kessa sniffed the air dramatically. “Smells breathable. We’re fine.”

  Kael stared at her. “This is why I double-check everything.”

  Kessa raised her bar like a salute. “Balance, dear brother. Balance.”

  He tried not to smile. He failed.

  A Visit from Gribble Sundown

  A chime sounded from the airlock.

  “Oh!” came a familiar voice. “Incoming Gribble!”

  Kessa perked up like someone had announced free dessert. “Let them in!”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Gribble Sundown floated through the hatch a moment later, bubble helmet slightly fogged from muffin steam.

  “I brought you a parting gift!” Gribble declared, producing two small daisy-patterned tins from their bag. “Emergency muffins.”

  Kael blinked. “Emergency… what?”

  “Muffins,” Gribble repeated. “For emergencies.”

  Kessa held a hand to her chest. “I love you.”

  Gribble beamed. “I know.”

  Kael accepted his tin reluctantly, though the warm weight of it brought an undeniable comfort. “Thank you. Really.”

  Gribble tapped the ship’s frame lightly. “She looks happy.”

  “She… rattled at us,” Kael said.

  “That’s happiness,” Gribble insisted.

  Kessa nodded. “Told you.”

  Kael gave up.

  Gribble clasped their hands together. “Safe travels, dearies! And if the kale does anything weird, call Elyra immediately. Or me. I’m good at emotional support for confused haulers.”

  “We’ll let you know,” Kessa said.

  “No promises,” Kael murmured.

  Undocking Procedures (or Something Like Them)

  The Starling hummed as the clamps disengaged, gently rocking the ship free of the dock. Kael guided her out with slow, deliberate nudges of the thrusters—determined not to repeat their “mating dance with Docking Beacon Eleven.”

  Kessa offered commentary.

  “You’re very steady today.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Is it because of the muffin?”

  “No.”

  “It’s because of the muffin.”

  Kael refused to dignify that.

  The station’s outer hull drifted past the viewport: warm light glowing in its windows, traffic beacons blinking a soft farewell.

  Kessa sighed, leaning back. “I’m gonna miss this place.”

  “We’ll be back,” Kael said. “Elyra’s sending another contract. And Gribble will probably invent a reason to summon us.”

  “She better.”

  Kael chuckled. “She?”

  Kessa waved a hand. “Gender is fluid. Gribble is… Gribble.”

  Kael nodded. That felt accurate.

  The Lanes Call Again

  “Starling,” Kael said quietly, fingers gliding across the control panel, “set course for Jump Point Three.”

  The engines responded with a rising hum—smooth, eager, familiar.

  The view filled with stars. The jump-lane beacon pulsed like a waiting heartbeat.

  Kessa watched the lights. “Think this run will go better?”

  Kael shrugged. “Define better.”

  “Less plant drama.”

  “Possible.”

  “Fewer snacks stolen.”

  Kael groaned. “That was one bar—”

  “And the beginning of a pattern!”

  “Kessa—”

  She grinned, bumping her shoulder against his. “I’m joking. Mostly. I’m proud of you, you know.”

  Kael blinked. “What?”

  “You’re doing great.” She gestured around the bridge. “Captain. Hauler. Responsible adult. Keeper of all the official forms you won’t let me touch.”

  “I let you touch them once.”

  “And we learned from that experience, didn’t we?”

  Kael laughed—soft, surprised, genuine. “Yeah. We did.”

  The jump-lane lined up ahead of them, glowing brighter now. Waiting.

  Inviting.

  Kessa popped the last of her bar into her mouth and pointed dramatically at the beacon.

  “Take us home, Captain.”

  Kael nodded, placed his hand on the initiator, and whispered—mostly to himself—

  “Here we go.”

  He punched the jump.

  The universe stretched and softened and welcomed them back.

  Their next journey had begun.

  And somewhere out there—quiet, patient, waiting—was the first clue in Uncle Jorin’s mystery.

  The “small star” he’d left behind.