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Zoya discards her ruined, bloody pants to the floor, yanking a fresh pair out of the bag Omera had sewn her back on Sorgan. Birds with feathers sketched out of flame still brush across her throat and lips, lingering reminders of Din's touch. The line his mouth drew across her neck stains her skin with mottled magenta and crimson, stitched and hewn into the shapes of all the constellations and celestial beings littering the galaxy.
A supernova dyes the hollow of her throat with blistering cerulean and violet and electric threads of gold as it combusts. Asteroids sweep in smoky arcs through her hair, marking the path his fingers had drawn. A quasar engulfs her chest, pulling her heart through its hazy orange atmosphere into the pit of devouring onyx at its center.
Memories mist before Zoya's eyes until she blinks rapidly to clear them away, pulling on a fresh pair of fitted black pants and another shirt, one that cuts off slightly below her elbows, exposing the prison tattoo on her forearm.
Her throat bobs as she traces her fingers across the six digits, remembering the day they had been marked permanently into her skin. The reminder burns as it passes through her mind. Zoya shakes it off, raking her hair away from her face as she slips out the doorway and into the passageway outside, bangs tumbling back onto her forehead.
Zoya hesitates, glancing towards the cockpit for a beat, almost shifting to go the opposite way, to hide somewhere within the Razor Crest and avoid Din, avoid having to talk with him after what they've done. Unbidden, the memory of their kiss surges, warming her cheeks and unfurling strokes of scarlet across her face, and Zoya feels as if there's a star burning in her chest, on the brink of exploding and shooting gold-tinted ivory light flooding throughout her body.
Taking a breath and pulling steel into her weakening confidence and composure, Zoya turns for the cockpit, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other until she's reached the doorway, the soft white lights of the galaxy shimmering across the chamber.
The child looks over at her as soon as she enters, eyes brightening and a soft gurgle coming from his mouth. Though the creature's greeting could've alerted Din to her presence, he'd already heard her approach, hands stiffening where they grip the yoke of the Razor Crest. His skin burns beneath his armor, and he can no longer focus on anything but the tempting memory of how she'd felt in his arms, against his mouth.
"Hi," she says, like an idiot. She steps towards the child's seat, reaching out so he can clutch onto her fingers.
Din presses a few buttons on the control panel. "Hey," he replies, but it feels inadequate for everything that burns on the tip of his tongue.
