Kinley Pryse sat sideways in the pilot's chair, boots braced against the console, the hum of the ship's systems filling the quiet like a heartbeat. The cockpit lights were low, just enough to paint everything in soft amber and shadow. She hadn't bothered to clean the blood off her knuckles yet. Or the bruise blooming along her ribs. Or the split lip she could taste every time she breathed.
The holoprojector flickered to life in front of her.
"Alden Pryse," she said gently.
The image stabilized, resolving into her father's familiar, worn face, older than she remembered it being the last time they'd spoken. One ear was gone, the side of his head wrapped in fresh bandages, the gauze already darkening through in places. His gray hair was mussed, his expression distant, like he'd just woken from a dream he couldn't quite shake.
"Kin?" he asked, squinting at the image. "That you, sweetheart?"
Her chest tightened. "Yeah, Dad. It's me."
He smiled at that, a tired thing. "You're lookin' fuzzy. Or maybe my eyes are. Doctor says it's the meds."
"You look fine," she lied smoothly. "How're you feelin'?"
Alden shrugged, a slow, uncertain motion. "Been better. Been worse. Hard to tell lately." He lifted a hand, touching the bandage with a wince. "Don't rightly remember how this happened. That's the part that's got me rattled."
Kinley's jaw clenched. She knew exactly how it happened. Flint. A job gone sideways. A message meant for her, delivered to the man she loved most instead. A reminder that debts didn't disappear just because you ran fast or shot first.
But Alden didn't need to know that.
"I'm sure it was just an accident," she said lightly. "You've always been stubborn like that. Probably picked a fight with a door and lost."
He chuckled weakly, then frowned. "Maybe. Still… feels wrong, not rememberin'. Makes a man wonder if he's startin' to slip. Mind goes, then the rest follows."
"You're not going senile," she said quickly. Too quickly. "You're tougher than half the galaxy, and you know it."
"Used to be," he murmured. His eyes drifted, unfocused for a moment. "Your mother used to say gettin' old was just learnin' how to let go."
Kinley swallowed hard. She shifted in her seat, the motion sending a spike of pain through her side. She sucked in a breath and hoped he couldn't hear it.
"You look tired, kid," Alden said suddenly, peering at the flickering image. "You sick?"
"No," she said, and forced a crooked grin. "Just ugly lighting."
She hadn't turned on her cockpit lights so it was hard to see her face. She couldn't use them. Not with the bruises shadowing her jaw, the split skin along her ribs, the way one eye still ached to open fully. Not with proof written all over her that she was in deeper than he'd ever forgive her for.
"I'll come see you soon," she said. "Promise. Once I wrap up a few things."
Alden's smile softened. "I'd like that. Be good to see you in person. Remind me what you look like these days."
Her throat tightened.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "Me too."
There was a pause. The hum of the ship. The faint crackle of the holoprojector.
"Kin?" he said.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"…Be careful out there, alright?"
She closed her eyes. "Always am." The transmission ended with a soft flicker, the image collapsing into light and then nothing. Kinley leaned back in the pilot's chair and let out a shaky breath. Her hand drifted to her ribs, pressing gently, as if she could hold the pain in place.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty cockpit. "I love you dad."
Outside the viewport, the stars waited, cold, endless, and uncaring. And somewhere out there, Flint was still breathing, and Black Sun was still in control of her life.
