The water ran longer than it needed to.
Not because Ryven didn't know how to stop.
Because the moment he stopped moving— the battlefield came back.
Steam filled the narrow shower compartment inside the medbay recovery wing, curling against reinforced steel walls and softening the harsh white overhead lights into something dimmer. Water struck the floor in steady rhythm while Ryven stood beneath it motionless, head lowered slightly, one hand braced against the wall beside him.
The heat should have helped.
It didn't.
Because every time he closed his eyes—
he saw Wrong Sky again.
The beam.
The impact.
Kael going still.
Ryven's breathing tightened once.
Sharp. Controlled. Immediate.
His eyes opened again instantly.
Water rolled down the back of his neck and across old scars barely visible beneath the steam. The medbay cleanser had already removed most of the battlefield blood from his skin, but his body still carried the ache of prolonged synchronization strain and adrenaline collapse. His muscles felt heavy now. Not weak.
Used.
Overused.
The kind of exhaustion that arrived after the danger ended and the body realized it had survived long enough to feel everything afterward.
Outside the shower compartment, folded recovery clothes waited neatly on the bench where one of the medbay staff had left them earlier.
Clean. Pressed. Fresh.
Too normal.
Ryven finally reached forward and shut the water off.
Silence hit harder afterward.
The compartment vents hummed softly overhead while droplets slid slowly down the walls and disappeared into the floor drains. For several seconds he remained standing there, head lowered slightly, hands braced against the steel wall.
Still.
Then slowly— he moved.
The fresh uniform fit comfortably enough, though the collar sat tighter than usual around his throat where neural feedback bruising had started surfacing beneath the skin. His hair remained damp when he stepped out of the compartment, dark strands falling loosely across tired eyes sharper now only because exhaustion had stripped everything else away.
A tray of food waited near the recovery table.
Untouched.
Ryven stared at it for several long seconds like it personally offended him.
Then— because Leona would absolutely drag him back into the medbay if he didn't— he sat.
The first bite tasted like nothing.
The second tasted worse.
But he kept eating anyway.
Measured. Efficient. Functional.
Fuel.
Nothing more.
The recovery room remained quiet around him while the station clock projected soft blue light across one wall nearby. Outside the reinforced observation window, distant medbay personnel crossed adjoining corridors carrying datapads and portable scanners while recovery drones drifted overhead in calm, silent patrol routes.
Normal movement.
Normal systems.
Normal life continuing after a battlefield that should have killed them all.
Ryven finished exactly enough food to avoid another argument with Leona.
Then stood.
The tray remained mostly full.
That was still progress.
The corridor outside the recovery room felt colder than the shower compartment.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
People recognized him immediately when the doors opened.
A pair of lower-year medbay assistants froze mid-conversation. One of the security officers near the corridor junction straightened instinctively. Even the passing nurses stepped aside without meaning to.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Word had already spread.
Not details. Not the truth. But enough.
Ryven Voss had come back from Wrong Sky carrying Kael Ardent alive.
And somehow— that had already become something larger than either of them.
He ignored the looks.
Ignored the whispers that started the moment he passed.
The private recovery wing sat farther down the medbay corridor beyond reinforced doors reserved for senior cadets and critical stabilization cases. Security lights glowed softly overhead while transparent glass panels overlooked portions of the station exterior beyond the artificial gravity ring.
Theta-Nine looked peaceful from here.
Ryven hated that.
Because space shouldn't have looked peaceful after Wrong Sky.
The private room door slid open the moment he approached.
And the second he stepped inside—
the room went completely silent.
Not gradual silence.
Immediate.
Every conversation stopped at once.
Every movement paused.
Every single person inside the room looked toward him simultaneously.
The Elite Twelve occupied nearly every part of the recovery suite.
Some sat across the couches near the center table. Others leaned against walls or rested near portable med stations positioned throughout the room. Half-eaten food trays, datapads, discarded jackets, and medical wraps covered nearly every available surface.
Nobody looked good.
Aria sat sideways across one couch with one boot planted against the cushion and a healing patch stretched visibly along one shoulder beneath her loose shirt. Lysander occupied the opposite end dramatically upside down while Sylas looked exhausted enough to smother him personally.
Marcus Calder sat upright near the center table, posture still painfully straight despite the bandages visible beneath his rolled sleeves. Darius leaned quietly against the far wall with both arms folded while Rafe rested near one of the windows reviewing something on a datapad he clearly hadn't processed in the last ten minutes.
Lucian adjusted his glasses automatically the second the room quieted.
Mei sat near the center display station with a portable synchronization monitor still active across her lap.
And Torres—
for once in recorded Federation history—
didn't say anything immediately.
Everyone just looked at him.
Checking.
Confirming.
Alive.
Mei moved first.
Not dramatically. Not emotionally.
Just enough.
"…how are you feeling?"
Her voice stayed calm. Measured.
Softer than usual.
Then after a small pause—
"…how's Kael?"
That was the real question.
The entire room leaned into it even without moving.
Ryven answered immediately.
"Stable."
A beat.
"Sleeping."
The room exhaled all at once.
Not loudly.
But visibly.
Rafe slumped backward into the couch cushions. Aria closed her eyes briefly. Marcus Calder nodded once. Darius' shoulders lowered slightly against the wall.
Even Sylas looked less homicidal for half a second.
Torres finally breathed again.
"…good."
The word came out rougher than expected.
Ryven stepped farther inside while the door slid shut quietly behind him.
The room remained strangely still.
Waiting.
Then Ryven spoke again.
"I came to thank you."
That startled them more than the battlefield footage probably would have.
Aria blinked first.
Torres physically sat upright.
Lucian actually missed adjusting his glasses correctly the first attempt.
Because Ryven Voss did not walk into rooms voluntarily thanking people.
Ever.
And then somehow— he made it worse.
"…and apologize for my behavior."
The silence deepened into something almost supernatural.
Aria stared at him openly.
"…what behavior?"
Torres finally recovered enough to make noise.
"Yeah, if THAT was your bad behavior, I'd like to file a complaint because I nearly died watching it."
"Shut up, Torres," Aria muttered automatically.
But there wasn't much bite behind it anymore.
Mei watched Ryven quietly.
"…you held the line."
Not praise.
Not comfort.
Fact.
Ryven looked toward her briefly.
Didn't answer.
Because that wasn't what mattered to him.
Marcus Calder spoke next.
"You stayed."
Darius' voice followed quietly after.
"…the line didn't break."
Lysander tilted his head slightly upside down from the couch.
"Statistically improbable."
Sylas answered immediately.
"Operationally reckless."
Lucian adjusted his glasses again.
"…medically horrifying."
That—
that almost felt normal.
Almost.
Torres pointed toward Ryven dramatically.
"Also just saying—if THIS is your emotional vulnerability phase, I fear what happens when you become affectionate."
Aria threw a ration packet at his face.
"Stop talking."
"It's a valid concern."
"You are a valid headache."
The packet bounced harmlessly off Torres' forehead.
He looked offended.
"Violence against intelligence."
"Debatable," Lucian murmured.
Torres gasped loudly.
"I carried this team emotionally."
"You screamed through most crises," Sylas corrected.
"That IS emotional support."
A few people laughed again.
Small. Tired. Real.
Ryven stood quietly in the middle of it all watching them unravel around him.
And slowly—
something in the room shifted.
Not healed.
Not okay.
But alive again.
Mei lowered the synchronization display onto the table.
"The medbay confirmed the bond stabilized his endocrine collapse almost immediately."
The room quieted again.
Because underneath the humor—
that still felt unreal.
Marcus Calder folded his arms.
"…you stayed connected the entire time."
"Yes."
"How bad was it?" Rafe asked quietly.
Not the injuries.
Not the combat.
The bond.
The thing none of them fully understood yet.
Ryven went silent for several seconds.
Long enough nobody interrupted.
Then—
"…it felt like he was disappearing."
The room froze again.
Because Ryven's voice stayed calm while saying it.
That somehow made it worse.
"After the beam impact, I couldn't feel him correctly anymore."
Mei's expression sharpened immediately.
"…the synchronization destabilized."
"Yes."
Torres stopped moving completely.
Ryven looked down briefly toward his hands.
"I thought I was too late."
Nobody knew what to say to that.
Because they remembered him afterward.
Cold. Precise. Absolutely terrifying.
Not panicked.
Certain.
Certain that anyone trying to touch Kael would die.
Aria looked away first.
"…you scared the hell out of us."
Ryven didn't apologize.
Because he knew.
Darius finally pushed away from the wall slowly.
"You held center pressure alone for almost four minutes."
"That's impossible," one of the recovering seniors muttered automatically.
Marcus Calder answered quietly before Ryven could.
"No."
A beat.
"…just not survivable."
The room settled heavily again.
Outside the observation windows, station traffic continued normally through the corridor beyond.
People walking. Drones moving. Life continuing.
Disconnected from the truth inside this room.
Kael Ardent had almost died.
And somehow they were all still sitting here afterward.
Torres finally leaned back into the couch cushions dramatically.
"…I still can't believe the dessert thing was real."
That broke the tension instantly.
Lysander pointed upward.
"I said the signs were there."
Sylas groaned softly.
"You literally say that after every disaster."
"Because I'm usually right."
Torres slapped both hands against his knees suddenly.
"THE PUDDING WAS COURTSHIP."
Aria buried her face into one hand.
"Oh my god."
Mei looked genuinely exhausted now.
"Please stop calling it that."
"The science supports me."
Lucian stared at him.
"You are weaponizing medical terminology."
"I'm innovating."
Darius spoke quietly again.
"…it does explain why Voss tolerated him."
The room stilled briefly.
Because Darius was right.
Everyone in Helius knew Ryven tolerated nobody.
Except Kael.
Kael stole his food. His space. His time. His attention.
And Ryven never stopped him.
Torres looked personally vindicated by the universe.
"I KNEW IT."
Ryven finally sat down.
Not fully relaxed.
Never fully relaxed.
But enough.
Enough that the room settled around him naturally instead of orbiting him like unstable debris.
For several long moments—
nobody spoke.
Then Torres looked toward him again.
Quieter this time.
More honest.
"…we thought we lost you both."
No jokes followed that one.
Ryven looked toward the floor briefly.
Then answered with complete certainty.
"You didn't."
The room held onto that answer carefully.
Like something fragile.
Because tonight—
they wanted to believe him.