From day one, it had been easy. Being the Calypsos advisor, you’d been around Troy all your life.

Your lives were stitched together by years of shared chaos and quiet moments: high-stakes missions, long nights planning and weaving ideas for new expansions for the Calypsos. Long flights home as they discovered interplanetary travel.

Late nights at the bandit pub where his laughter lit you up like a spark, movie marathons that ended with the two of you asleep on opposite ends of the couch, legs accidentally tangled. You were there when his last girlfriend ripped his heart out. He held your hair when you got food poisoning from bad sushi and stayed up all night to make sure you didn’t dehydrate.

There was a rhythm to them. Safe. Steady. Familiar. A constant in a world that changed too damn fast.

So when you called—quiet voice, clipped tone—to say your date had stood you up again, Troy didn’t hesitate. Didn’t tease. Didn’t gloat.

He just rolled his eyes, grabbed his fast travel pod, and said, “I’m on my way.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was at her door. A small apartment in Elecra City, Where they had a giant settlement for the Children of the Vault.

You opened it with crossed arms and a brave face, but Troy saw the disappointment anyway—lingering in your eyes, tightening your hands.

You tried to brush it off with a smile, but it barely touched her lips. “Guess I’ll just reheat leftovers.”

“Not a chance.” He reached past you for your jacket, his fingers brushing yours without apology. “Bandit Bar has a new shipment of booze and theyre doing curry night. You, me, and a pint—my treat.”

You hesitated, blinking at him. “Troy, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice dropped to something softer. Something heavier. “Besides,” he added with a crooked grin. “I’ll have some freaks chop his head off.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest lifted.

You laughed—genuine, warm, the sound of something settling into place—and took Your jacket from his outstretched hand.