Steam gathered in pale ribbons beneath the curved ceiling of the bathhouse, drifting lazily through slats of amber light that filtered down from the roof vents. The air was dense and warm—pleasantly so—soaked with the mineral scent of heated stone and unfamiliar herbs steeping somewhere beyond the walls. Brahve moved quietly through the outer corridor, long white hair still slightly damp from the mist of the port streets. The rest of the crew had scattered just as easily. Exploration, someone had called it. For Brahve, the word had held less appeal than quiet air and a place where the body could settle after the long confinement of interstellar travel. Odarian physiology rarely tolerated new environments kindly. Even with Oatith’s steady presence beneath the skin—its faint, living awareness threaded along nerves like cool roots through soil—the body still carried tension whenever a new world’s microbes brushed too closely against unfamiliar tissue. Heat helped. Heat, and stillness. The bathhouse attendant had directed him deeper inside without much curiosity. Travelers passed through this port often; a tall alien with pale blue skin and elegant posture had hardly been the strangest figure to cross their threshold.

Stone floors radiated warmth beneath bare feet as Brahve stepped through the last curtain of woven reeds. And someone else was already there. Even through the haze, the figure was easy to recognize. The shape of the shoulders—narrower than a Terran’s, joints fine and delicate. The way posture curved naturally inward, comfortable in the enclosed warmth of the chamber rather than the sprawling openness of the port outside. Dark curls dampened by the humidity clung loosely around a familiar face. A Venerean silhouette if ever there had been one. Brahve paused at the entrance, observing in the quiet way that came naturally to a scientist long accustomed to studying bodies before words. Venereans carried heat differently. Their physiology favored warmer internal temperatures, something the sauna only amplified. Even from several paces away, a faint flush could be seen across the other man’s skin where the steam kissed it. It suited him. Several days aboard the Amaretat had been enough to form an impression. Not a complete one. Brahve had been careful about that. Secrets traveled poorly through space, especially when pirates hunted them across systems. Conversation aboard the ship had stayed light—navigation talk, cargo manifests, the occasional commentary about Terran food when meals were shared. Enough familiarity to pass the long hours of travel. Not enough to invite dangerous questions. Yet curiosity had begun to slip through the cracks.

Particularly when it came to the pilot. A small breath escaped Brahve’s lungs as he stepped farther into the room, lowering himself onto one of the stone benches. The heat wrapped around him immediately, easing the stiffness in muscles worn from days spent in a starship’s narrow corridors. Across the chamber, the Venerean remained where he was, steam curling lazily between them. A rare pairing, statistically speaking. Odarians and Venereans did not often cross paths long enough for anything meaningful to form between them. Yet when they did, there was an undeniable biological curiosity to it—two species whose sensory profiles often aligned in unusual ways. Attraction rates in the studies had been… notable. Brahve had read the data many times. Living beside the subject of such statistics, however, proved to be something entirely different. Brahve leaned forward slightly, long fingers resting against the warm stone between his knees. Days of traveling together had earned at least one honest question. Pale eyes lifted through the drifting vapor toward the other man, expression calm but curious. At last, Brahve spoke.

“Correct an observation, if necessary… but Venerean, yes?”