The steady shimmer of the forcefield separated Elkader from the rest of the ship. She sat on the hard bunk like she owned it, sprawled back with her arms crossed and a bruise darkening her jaw. Her boots were scuffed from the fight, her knuckles still raw.

The doors hissed open. Captain Ayres stepped in. He nodded at the security officer posted nearby but his eyes quickly fixed on Elkader. “Lieutenant.”

“Captain.” She tipped her head in mock salute, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Come to congratulate me on my right hook?”

Ayres stopped a step from the forcefield. His face was stone and his voice was low. “You didn’t pick that fight because you thought Thorne was cheating. You picked it because you don’t know what to do with your anger.”

Elkader scoffed, grinning, though it did not reach her eyes. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe I like shaking things up.”

Ayres leaned slightly closer, his gaze unflinching. “No. You’re not reckless. You’re hurt. I’ve seen this before. People who can’t stop fighting after it’s over.”

For a heartbeat, she held his stare, her bravado hard. But then, just for a flicker, the mask cracked. Her jaw worked. Her voice lost its swagger. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the Vaadwaur tearing through my people. Dozens of them, gone. Colleagues. Friends. And me, still breathing. If I stop moving, if I stop fighting, all I hear are the names of the ones who didn’t make it.”

Her voice hitched, but she smothered it with a bitter laugh. “So yeah, maybe I’d rather throw a punch than sit still and remember.”

Ayres’ tone didn’t soften, but there was something in his eyes, something human, something heavy with understanding. “I’ve lost people under my command, Kasrin. Many during the Vaadwaur invasion. But I never once honoured them by tearing myself apart.”

She looked away. “You think the fight keeps you alive,” Ayres pressed. “It doesn’t. The fight’s over. What keeps you alive now, what honours them, is flying better, leading better, living better. Giving the people who survived with you a reason to believe tomorrow can be brighter than today.”

Elkader let out a scoff, her grin snapping back into place like armour. “You make it sound easy.”

Ayres’ voice cut through. “It isn’t. It’s one of the hardest things you’ll do. But it’s the only fight that matters for you right now.”

For the first time since he had entered, Elkader did not answer right away. Her fingers flexed against her bruised knuckles, her eyes drifting down. The grin lingered, but it was thinner now, fragile around the edges.

Ayres moved his bodyweight from side to side. “Think on that, Lieutenant. You want to be more than a brawler in the brig? Then start by deciding you’re worth more. Your people care about you. Even after you knocked the living shit out of them.”

He turned sharply, the door hissing open as he left her to the hum of the forcefield. Elkader leaned back against the bulkhead, staring up at the ceiling. She blew out a sharp exhale, rubbing her bruised knuckles against her thigh. The sting grounded her, but not enough. The captain’s words clung to her. Her jaw clenched.

He was not wrong. She dragged herself upright, pacing the small length of the cell. Back and forth. The walls felt closer than they had a minute ago, like they were waiting to swallow her whole.

She muttered under her breath, mocking his voice. “Live better. Honour the dead.”

But her feet kept moving, restless. Images flashed in her head: the screaming during the Vaadwaur assault, the tumbling, burning wrecks of fighters, the sickening silence when her wingman’s signal cut off mid-cry. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heel of her hand hard against her forehead as if she could shove it all away.

She sank back onto the bunk, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. For just a flicker, the grin and swagger were gone, replaced by something raw, fragile. The forcefield hummed. The walls closed in.

The brig doors hissed open again, and her head snapped up. She expected Ayres returning for another round, but instead it was Thorne. He stepped in slowly.

Elkader leaned back on the bunk, crossing her arms like armour. “What’s this? Come to press charges, or gloat you put me on my ass?”

Thorne stopped just shy of the forcefield. “Neither.”

She cocked a brow. “Then what?”

There was a long beat before he answered. “I wanted to see if you know why you swung at me.”

Elkader snorted, shaking her head. “You were cheating. The cards don’t fall like that unless someone’s counting them.”

“Maybe you believe that. I think you couldn’t cope with a friendly game. I think you couldn’t cope with being normal. And I think you’re angry at us for carrying on. And I think you’re angry at us for caring about you. For making allowances for you.”

Her attitude faltered. He pressed. “You’ve been different since the Vaadwaur. Everyone sees it. We used to follow you because you made us feel untouchable. Now we’re just waiting to see when you’ll break, trying to help you control all that pain.”

She shot up off the bunk, pacing to the edge of the field. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Thorne did not back down. “I was there with you, Kasrin. We all were. We survived with you. And I miss them too”

The words hung between them. Elkader could not meet his eyes. She stared down at her raw knuckles, voice quieter. “I just. I just don’t know how to stop feeling so much rage.”

Thorne studied her a moment longer, then nodded once. “Then figure it out. We’re running out of patience. Come back to us.”

He left, and the brig fell quiet again. For the first time in months, she did not have a quip ready, no snarl to spit back at the memory of his voice. She lowered her hands, breath ragged, and stared at the forcefield.