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Nevarro looms ahead of the Razor Crest, a sphere of blueish gray, white clouds swirling in oblique patterns across its surface. Its sapphire aura blooms luminously against the black galaxy, glittering stars framing the planet like a spill of diamonds across onyx fabric, twinkling and sparkling with an ivory glow.
The ship's engines roar as Din pilots them towards Nevarro, heartbeat thudding dully in his ears. "Approaching the atmosphere," he says, both to Zoya, curled up behind him in her seat, and over the comms, warning Cara and Kuiil before the ship jolts slightly.
Premonition slides thickly down Zoya's spine, and nerves play out an unrhythmic tempo across her vertebrae. "I don't have a good feeling about this," she says aloud. "It feels like we're walking into a trap. What if he's waiting down there with a fuck-ton of guns? And soldiers? What if—"
"Zoya," Din interrupts, turning in his chair to look at her. "It's okay."
"You don't know that." She won't meet his gaze.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is soft, gentle, reminiscent of the time he'd spoken to her without the helmet. "Look at me. Please."
Her jaw is set into a hard line, abrupt and severely contrasting against the soft curve of her neck. Her hazel eyes are hooded, more russet than green in this light, and the strands of her bangs flutter as they catch in her eyelashes. And when she looks at him, Din could almost swear that the whole world stops, just for a moment.
"We'll be okay," he tells her.
A line forms between her brows. "Are you sure?" Zoya asks, and he hesitates, as he's not used to seeing her so uncertain, so vulnerable, so almost-afraid.
"As sure as I can be," Din replies finally. "We'll make it turn out okay, no matter what happens. Deal?"
Zoya's lips twist wryly, though a part of her still remains dark and worried and everything she wants to brush away with a flick of her fingers. But for him, for Din, she forces herself to smile. "Deal."
｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ
Gears within the ship grind as the landing gear engages, autopilot directing the Razor Crest to land upon Nevarro's surface. Zoya curls her fingers into fists around her mount's reins, picturing the small group she had seen waiting through the front window before going down with Din to climb onto their Blurrgs, praying to whatever gods that might be listening that everything will play out the way she hopes.
