Chapter Eight

  The Long Drift**

  The second jump corridor shimmered ahead like a faintly glowing ribbon, stretching into the soft blues of hyperspace. Kael guided the Wayward Starling toward the lane marker, feeling oddly peaceful after their time at Port Serein. Something about that station — its quiet hallways, its moss-scented air, its polite bees — had smoothed the edges of his thoughts.

  Kessa, feet propped on the console, was still beaming in the afterglow. “Kael,” she said dreamily, “I want a bee.”

  “No.”

  “A little one.”

  “No.”

  “A mini one.”

  “That is… also no.”

  She blew out a loud huff. “You’re no fun.”

  He smiled sideways. “You had an excellent day. I’m trying to preserve it by keeping you out of trouble.”

  “Well,” she said, “that’s a losing battle.”

  She wasn’t wrong.

  The Drift Begins

  They slipped cleanly into hyperspace. The ship hummed deeper, like someone had drawn a warm blanket over its hull. The stars stretched into slow, silver arcs. Kael leaned back in the captain’s seat, letting the rhythm of the Starling settle into his bones.

  Half an hour into the jump, a soft chime sounded — the normal chime, not the quacking one.

  Kessa frowned. “Whoa. That wasn’t Duck Alert.”

  Kael checked the console. “Lane recalibration ahead. Traffic Control wants us to drift until they finish the adjustments.”

  “How long?”

  He read the update. “Four hours.”

  Kessa pumped a fist. “Yesss. Forced relaxation.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “You’re excited?”

  “I love drift pauses. They’re like cosmic nap time. Zero pressure. No schedules. No stress.”

  “Plenty of stress,” Kael said. “We have paperwork.”

  She groaned. “Oh no. Not that. Anything but that.”

  Kael flicked a few toggles, shifting the ship into low activity mode. The lights dimmed slightly. The engine hum softened.

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  The Wayward Starling drifted, weightless in the quiet.

  Quiet on the Bridge

  Kessa swung her legs off the console and curled up sideways in her chair, eyes drifting toward the swirl of hyperspace outside.

  “You ever think about it?” she asked softly.

  “About what?”

  “This.” She gestured vaguely toward the infinite. “Us. Here. Doing this. Actual space haulers. Running cargo. Meeting robot bees. Telling seedlings they’re doing great.”

  Kael let out a warm breath. “Yeah. I think about it.”

  “It’s wild.”

  “It is.”

  “And kind of perfect.”

  He looked over at her. Her face was lit blue by the drifting hyperspace currents, soft and peaceful — not the usual mischievous spark, but something calmer, deeper.

  “Yeah,” he said again. “It is.”

  A silence settled between them — the comfortable kind, the kind that only comes easy around family.

  After a moment, Kessa pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. “Kael?”

  “Mm?”

  “You ever get scared we’re going to mess this up?”

  Kael blinked. “Mess what up?”

  “This life,” she said. “The ship. The contracts. Uncle Jorin’s legacy. All of it.”

  Kael didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the console. The bridge lights glowed softly around him.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get scared.”

  Kessa looked over, surprised. “Really?”

  “All the time.”

  She tilted her head. “Why?”

  “Because I want to do this right,” Kael said. “For us. For the Starling. For Jorin. And sometimes I worry I’m not… good enough. Or experienced enough. Or—”

  Kessa reached out and pulled the chair opposite her closer, twisting it around and planting her feet on the floor.

  “Kael.”

  He hummed.

  “You’re doing great.”

  He went still.

  “Like… really, really great,” she said. “I know I joke a lot. I know I give you crap. But I see you. Every day. Taking care of stuff. Thinking ten steps ahead. Making sure nothing falls apart.”

  She nudged his foot with hers. “We’re not here in spite of you. We’re here because of you.”

  Kael swallowed.

  “I couldn’t do this alone,” she said softly.

  He met her eyes.

  “And I wouldn’t want to.”

  Something warm and fragile formed in his chest — something like gratitude, or love, or the quiet relief of knowing he didn’t have to hold everything by himself.

  He breathed out. “Thanks, Kes.”

  She smiled. “Anytime.”

  A Drift Tradition

  They stayed like that for a while — two siblings, drifting in hyperspace, safe in the soft hum of their ship.

  Eventually, Kessa stood, stretched, and announced, “Okay. I’m making tea.”

  Kael blinked. “Tea?”

  “It’s drift tradition,” she said.

  “Since when?”

  “Since right now.”

  Kael snorted. “Alright. Tea break it is.”

  She disappeared into the galley. A moment later came the sound of mugs clinking, water heating, Kessa humming softly.

  Kael closed his eyes, letting the quiet wrap around him like a warm scarf.

  The Starling drifted peacefully, her hull glowing faintly in the hyperspace mist.

  When Kessa returned, she handed him a mug.

  He took a sip.

  “Chamomile?” he asked.

  “And honey,” she said proudly. “Robot-bee inspired.”

  Kael shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

  “Loveable,” she corrected.

  He raised his mug. “To drift pauses.”

  She raised hers. “To drift pauses, robot bees, dramatic plants, and my very responsible brother.”

  They clinked mugs.

  The ship hummed softly.

  And together, they drifted on.