The wind off the open water hits harder than it used to.

Or maybe that’s just me.

My ikran banks low over the reef, wings cutting through salt-heavy air as the Metkayina shoreline comes into view. I haven’t landed here since the day we took her. Since the day I told myself it was just leverage. Just orders.

Now I’m flying toward the only man who might help me undo it.

My hands tighten on the reins.

Behind me is the facility.

The testing rooms.

The glass.

The doctors talking about “viability” and “anomaly.”

Inside those walls is my girl.

And she’s carrying my child.

I circle once before descending. I don’t come in aggressive. No weapons raised. No formation. Just one rider breaking off from the sky like a stray thought.

When my feet hit sand, I unclip slowly and let my hands lift, palms open.

I don’t reach for anything.

I don’t posture.

I’m not here as a soldier.

Warriors gather fast. Ilu riders from the shallows. Spears angled but not thrown.

I don’t blame them.

I’d spear me too.

Jake Sully steps forward through them.

Older than the last time I saw him up close. Harder. Fully Na’vi in a way that doesn’t feel borrowed anymore.

His eyes narrow.

“You’ve got about ten seconds to explain why you’re standing on this shore,” he says.

I swallow once.

No rehearsed speech survives this moment.

“I need your help.”

It sounds thin against the surf.

He doesn’t move.

“With what?”

I hold his gaze.

“I can’t get her out alone.”

His expression shifts, just slightly. Confusion.

“Get who out?”

My jaw tightens.

“The blind girl,” I say. “The one we took from Ta’unui. She lived here for a time... Säli'weh."

Recognition flashes across his face.

“She’s still alive?” he asks, sharp.

“Yes.”

The word lands heavy.

“And she’s pregnant.”

That’s when the shoreline really goes silent.

Even the warriors behind him still.

Jake studies me in a way that feels like being dissected.

“Pregnant,” he repeats carefully.

“My child,” I say, voice low but steady. “They found out during testing. Now they’re escalating. More scans. More oversight. They’re not just studying her anymore. They’re studying what she’s carrying.”

Jake’s eyes harden.

“And you’re telling me this why?”

Because this is the part that costs me everything.

“Because I can’t stop them from inside,” I answer. “And I won’t let them test on her, or my baby.”

The word baby feels strange and solid in my mouth.

Real.

Jake steps closer.

“You expect me to believe you care about her?” he asks quietly. “After what your people did?”

I don’t flinch.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” I say. “I expect you to understand leverage. You’ve seen what they do to anything they think is valuable.”

His jaw tightens.

“She’s blind,” I continue. “She’s never seen a cage in her life. She maps the world by wind and sound. In there? It’s humming metal and recycled air. No tide. No reef. No open sky. And now they’ve got her on tables more often because she’s carrying something they can’t explain.”

I inhale slowly.

“I betrayed my own chain of command coming here. If I go back empty-handed, I’m finished. If they find out the kid’s mine, I’m worse than finished.”

Jake studies me for a long moment.

“You chose this,” he says.

“Yes,” I answer.

No hesitation.

“I chose her. And I’ll choose her again.”

The words settle between us like something irreversible.

A wave crashes hard against the reef behind him.

“You realize,” he says, voice steady, “if I help you, you’re not going back to being who you were.”

“I’m not who I was,” I say quietly.

That’s the truth of it.

I look past him toward the open water.

“I’m not a skyman anymore,” I continue. “Not in any way that matters.”

The admission tastes like severance.

Jake watches me carefully.

“You’re asking me to move against the RDA,” he says.

“I’m asking you to help me move her before they decide to hurt her or the little one,” I reply, voice steady but tight.

The warriors behind him shift at that.

I keep my hands raised.

“I can’t do this alone,” I say again. “I won’t make it past the gates.”