CXIV
I slipped away the moment Squad Seventeen loosened formation. Not far—just enough to breathe. The crowds pressed in from every direction, voices overlapping, bodies shifting, scents mixing. For someone who had spent most of her life alone, it felt like drowning in color and noise.
Daryll didn't follow. He was busy climbing one of the giant shiny robots in the engineering hangar, admiring every bolt and servo like a kid in a candy store. The Hatman—my Hatman—had never seen technology like this in his prior life. He was halfway up the mecha's shoulder, poking at a glowing panel with the curiosity of a raccoon.
I slipped out of the hangar and into the open air.
The senior classes were running drills on the far field—glorious alien men in fighting gear, enhanced mechanical suits built from the same tech as the giant robots but scaled down to fit their bodies. They moved like living weapons, each step precise, each strike controlled.
Some were enormous plant‑types, bright green and towering near 190 centimeters tall, leaves sprouting along their arms and shoulders like natural armor. Others were felid and canid types—sleek, fast, predatory.
One of them spotted me.
"Hey, it's the Sol female," he called. "Let's go see. I've never met a Sol student before."
A small group broke off from their formation and approached. They were gigantic up close—broad shoulders, heavy gear, eyes sharp with training. One male stepped forward, his eyes bright and wide, covered with lens‑like plates that made him look like a bumblebee. His hands had three fingers, each with an extra joint, giving them a pincer‑like flexibility.
He bowed.
I blinked, then bowed back.
"Hello, Sol student," he said warmly. "We're students a year ahead of you."
His voice was friendly, curious, not condescending. The others gathered behind him—plant‑types rustling softly, felid soldiers flicking their tails, canid cadets sniffing the air with interest.
I straightened, trying not to look overwhelmed.
"Hi," I said. "Nice to meet you all."
The bumblebee‑eyed male smiled, lenses glinting.
And for the first time since arriving on Miridani, stepping away from the crowd didn't feel like hiding.
It felt like being seen.
Rex didn't even give me time to protest—one moment I was standing on the edge of the hangar trying to breathe, and the next his warm, golden‑furred hand wrapped around mine and he was bounding toward the mech suits like an overexcited retriever who'd just found a new toy.
"Come on! You'll love this!" he said, practically vibrating.
He introduced himself mid‑bounce. "Rex! Engineering track! Combat‑assist specialization!"
He pressed a glowing button on the mech's frame, and the armor unfolded like a blooming metal flower—panels shifting, servos humming, the interior padding rising to meet me.
"Sit, sit!" he urged. "The movement is fantastic."
I sat, sinking into the soft, shock‑absorbent padding. The suit responded instantly—closing around me in smooth, seamless motions. Delicate wiring wound itself along my arms and torso like metallic vines, syncing with my bracelet, reading my vitals. A visor slid down over my eyes, enhancing my vision with targeting relays and motion predictions.
It felt like slipping into another body.
"Just move like you always do," Rex said, tail wagging. "It's intuitive. Try lifting something!"
I lifted my enhanced arm, fingers now encased in sleek alloy. A one‑ton weight sat nearby—clearly meant for training. I reached out, half expecting the suit to resist.
It didn't.
My hand closed around the weight like it was nothing. I lifted it, moving it up and down, the servos humming in perfect harmony with my muscles.
"Oh my god," I breathed.
I took three steps—heavy, powerful, exhilarating—and nearly toppled forward. The suit compensated, stabilizing me with a soft hiss of hydraulics.
"Easy does it!" a bird‑like cadet chirped, hopping out of the way with a flutter of metallic feathers.
I steadied myself, heart pounding with excitement.
"This is so fun," I exclaimed, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
Rex wagged his tail so fast it blurred. "Right? RIGHT? I told you!"
The senior cadets laughed, delighted by my reaction. The mech's visor highlighted their silhouettes, marking them as friendly units. The suit felt alive around me—responsive, protective, powerful.
For the first time since arriving on Miridani, I wasn't overwhelmed.
I was thrilled.
Rex wasn't subtle.
The moment I lifted that one‑ton weight, he inhaled sharply, tail wagging so hard his entire suit vibrated. "She smells really nice. I like her so much," he blurted, golden ears perked straight up.
His friend Scai—white‑and‑brown, with that soft‑eyed, gentle canid look—stood beside him, visor tilted as he watched me move. Rex nudged him with an elbow hard enough to make Scai stumble.
"Get her number, man," Rex urged. "Don't want to be last in line. I think Oren is shooting his shot too."
I froze mid‑step.
Oren—the blue‑feathered alien currently teaching me how to run without falling over—chirped brightly from my left. "Yes! Contact info! For training coordination!" His feathers puffed up in excitement, which was apparently the avian equivalent of blushing.
Scai's ears flattened in embarrassment as Rex shoved him forward again. "Go on! She's friendly!"
The bird cadet hopped closer, visor flickering with little icons as he scanned my suit's balance metrics. "You're doing great," he said, then added—far too casually—"Also, I would like your comm frequency."
I nearly tripped again.
The suit steadied me automatically, but my heart did a weird little flip. I wasn't used to attention—especially not from three different aliens at once, all enormous, all gorgeous in their own strange ways, all apparently very interested.
Rex wagged his tail harder. "See? Oren's already asking. Scai, hurry!"
Scai stepped forward, bowing his head shyly. "I… would also like your contact information. If that is acceptable."
I blinked behind the visor, cheeks warming.
This was new.
This was very new.
But the mech suit made me feel bold, powerful, almost invincible. I grinned, still holding the one‑ton weight like it was a purse.
"Sure," I said. "I can share it."
Rex let out a triumphant bark.
Oren chirped happily.
Scai's tail wagged in a slow, hopeful arc.
And for the first time in my life, I felt like the center of a very unexpected—and very alien—kind of attention.
Daryll spotted me before I spotted him. I was too busy with adapting to walking in a mech suit to notice.
He stepped out of the hangar with that loose, predatory stride he had—half swagger, half shadow—and the moment his eyes landed on me surrounded by three very enthusiastic, very handsome upper‑class cadets, something in him lit. Literally. His pupils flashed that waxy yellow glow that meant his shadow was paying attention.
He stopped at the edge of the field, arms crossed, expression somewhere between amused and territorial.
The senior cadets didn't notice him at first. Rex was still wagging his tail so hard his mech suit's servos whined. Scai was trying to work up the courage to ask for my comm frequency again. Oren was chirping instructions about balance metrics while subtly inching closer.
And Daryll just stood there, staring at the tight unitards the males wore under their mech suits—sleek, form‑fitting, engineered for mobility. They left very little to the imagination.
His shadow curled around his feet like smoke.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath, voice low and incredulous. "They are eyeing my little sunflower."
He didn't storm over. He didn't growl. He didn't make a scene.
He just watched—eyes glowing, jaw set, expression a mix of protective instinct and baffled jealousy—as three upper‑class aliens tried to impress me with mech suits, strength tests, and very earnest attempts at flirting.
I turned slightly in the mech suit, visor flickering as it registered Daryll's presence. Even through the armor, even through the stabilizing glasses, I felt the familiar tug of him—warm, grounding, unmistakably mine.
Rex followed my gaze and froze.
Scai's ears shot straight up.
Oren's feathers puffed in alarm.
Daryll didn't move. He just tilted his head, shadow rising behind him like a curious animal.
And the message was clear without him saying a word:
That's my Helianthus.
I couldn't help it—I grinned inside the visor.
Because even surrounded by gorgeous aliens in mech suits, even with three of them asking for my number, even with the suit making me feel ten feet tall and unstoppable…
Daryll's presence still hit me like gravity.
Daryll didn't storm over. He didn't shout. He didn't bare his teeth.
He just stood there, arms folded, eyes glowing that molten wax‑yellow that meant his shadow was paying attention, watching me walk toward him with three very handsome upper‑class cadets suddenly pretending they weren't flirting.
I jogged the mech suit over—carefully, because it still wanted to topple me—and popped the visor up.
"Hey, hi!" I called, grinning. "The students are really friendly. They let me drive their suits."
He nodded, but his mouth pulled into that slight frown he got when he was trying not to look jealous.
"Did you have fun, my lady?" he asked, voice smooth but edged with something territorial.
He wrapped an arm around me—very deliberately, very visibly—hugging me in a way that made it extremely clear to the senior cadets that he was staking a claim. His shadow curled around my legs like a possessive cat.
"Yep," I said brightly. "Made lots of new friends. They're good candidates for crew members later. I got some numbers."
His eyebrow twitched.
"Hunting for crew members, I see."
He looked back at the trio of males—Rex, Scai, and Oren—who were now blushing so hard their visors flickered. Rex's golden retriever ears flattened in unease. Scai's tail tucked. Oren's feathers puffed like a startled pigeon.
"Ah, um—class is almost over," Rex said quickly, stepping back. "We better get going and check in with the teacher."
"Bye, keep in touch, Sol girl," Scai added, waving awkwardly before practically dragging Rex away.
Oren chirped a goodbye and bolted after them.
Daryll watched them retreat, his shadow stretching behind him like a smug beast.
Then he leaned down, voice low and amused.
"My little sunflower," he murmured, "you cause trouble without even trying."
I pressed the release button on the mech's chest plate, and the armor peeled away from me like a metallic flower folding back into its stem. The wiring unwound, the padding sank, and I hopped down—far less gracefully than I intended.
My knees wobbled.
Daryll caught me instantly, arms wrapping around me in a gallant sweep that was absolutely for show. His shadow curled around my ankles like a smug little creature.
"Come, darling," he said, voice warm but carrying that unmistakable edge of jealousy‑turned‑theatrical. "Let's find somewhere to eat. I'm sure you're famished from all the flirting."
I humphed, crossing my arms even as he kept one firmly around my waist.
"I was not flirting."
"Yes, yes," he said lightly, "I believe you."
His face said the exact opposite—eyebrows raised, mouth pulled into that knowing smirk, eyes flicking back toward the senior cadets who were still watching us from a distance, ears flattened, feathers puffed, tails tucked.
Daryll tightened his grip on my hand like he thought I might sprint back toward the handsome aliens without parental supervision. His shadow even rose a little, as if ready to herd me.
Behind us, Rex lifted a hand in a nervous wave. "Uh—bye! Keep in touch, Sol girl!"
Scai echoed him, tail wagging shyly. "Yes! Bye! Message us anytime!"
Oren chirped something enthusiastic and promptly tripped over his own talons.
Daryll guided me away, chin lifted in smug triumph.
"My sunflower," he murmured, "you're going to give me heart palpitations."
I nudged him with my shoulder, unable to hide my smile.
"Maybe you should stop climbing robots and keep an eye on me."
He grinned, eyes glowing faintly.
"Oh, I intend to."
My stomach growled loud enough that even the mech suit's sensors probably picked it up. Daryll's ears perked, his expression sliding instantly into smug amusement.
"Ah, it seems flirting takes enough energy to make you hungry."
I elbowed him lightly. "I was not flirting."
"Yes, yes," he said, voice dripping with disbelief. "I believe you."
His face absolutely did not believe me. He tightened his grip on my hand like he thought I might sprint back toward the handsome upper‑class cadets if he let go for even a second. His shadow curled around my wrist like a seatbelt.
He tugged me toward the dorms with purpose.
"Where are we going?" I asked. "The cafeteria's the other way."
"I am going to cook for you," he announced, chin lifted proudly.
I stopped dead. "You can cook?"
He looked almost offended. "One of my classmates said that to win the heart, one must first appease the stomach."
I blinked. The saying sounded familiar—something old, something Earth‑like, something that had drifted across cultures and planets because it was simply true.
Daryll's shadow puffed up like it was proud of him.
He continued, voice warm and theatrical. "So I will feed my Helianthus. My sunflower. My Sunny Sparklebutt."
I groaned. "Please don't call me that while you're cooking."
"No promises."
He tugged me along again, determined, dramatic, absolutely convinced he was about to impress me with culinary prowess he may or may not actually possess.
And despite myself—despite the embarrassment, the teasing, the chaos of the day—I followed him.
Curious. Hungry.
And maybe a little touched.
Because Daryll didn't need to eat.
Didn't need food at all.
But he wanted to cook for me anyway.
He plopped me onto the couch like I weighed nothing, a bowl of caramel popcorn landing in my lap before I could protest. The sweetness hit my nose immediately—warm sugar, toasted corn—and my stomach answered with another loud complaint.
Daryll didn't even look back. He was already in the kitchenette, sleeves rolled up, moving with a confidence I absolutely did not expect from someone who didn't need food to survive.
The smells started almost instantly.
Rich, savory meatloaf.
Creamy mashed potatoes whipped to perfection.
Sweet peas steaming in a small pot.
And corn on the cob, butter sizzling as it melted over the kernels.
My mouth flooded. I sat down with a vigorous thump, popcorn forgotten.
Daryll opened a can of soda with a crisp pshhht, poured it into an iced glass like he was serving royalty, and handed it to me with a flourish.
"Ooh, fancy," I muttered.
He didn't miss a beat—he laid a napkin across my lap with the kind of ceremony usually reserved for five‑star restaurants.
"My lady must dine properly," he said, voice warm and teasing.
I stared at him, baffled and delighted all at once. "You're really doing all this?"
It made my chest warm.
He plated the food with surprising skill—meatloaf sliced neatly, potatoes swirled like clouds, peas arranged in a perfect little mound, corn glistening with butter.
Then he carried the plate over, set it gently in front of me, and leaned down with a soft smile.
"Eat, Sunny," he said. "You've had a long day."
And for once, I didn't argue.
I just picked up the fork, heart full, stomach rumbling, and let myself be cared for.
The meal earned him exactly what he'd been angling for all evening—a kiss pressed to his cheek and a long, warm cuddle that melted every last bit of tension out of my spine. He didn't gloat. He didn't tease. He just let out a soft, contented sigh, the kind that said he'd been waiting for that moment all day.
And he noticed something I hadn't.
The senior cadets, the mech suits, the flirting, the attention—every bit of it had vanished from my mind the second the smell of meatloaf hit the air. Food had eclipsed everything else, and he knew it.
"Good?" he murmured, voice low and warm.
I nodded, too full to speak.
"Sleepy?"
Another nod. My stomach was pleasantly heavy, my limbs warm, my eyelids drooping. The bed felt impossibly soft, and the room's gentle hum wrapped around me like a blanket.
He slipped in beside me, careful and quiet, like a living bed‑warmer sliding into place. His arms wrapped around my waist, steady and protective, but not possessive. Just… present. His shadow curled lazily along the mattress, settling like a second blanket.
I didn't have the energy to complain, or tease, or even think. My body was too full, too warm, too safe. My eyes grew heavy.
His breath brushed the back of my neck. And the last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was the gentle squeeze of his arms.