And then—movement.

A shadow shifts under the drag chute. Someone stands, one hand raised to shield their eyes from the sun’s glare. Relief floods through me so intensely that I nearly collapse. I slow my pace, waving my arms frantically above my head.

“Hey!” I shout. “Over here! It’s Justine!”

The figure freezes for a moment, then I see them turn and speak urgently to someone else. Another figure rises, then a third. They’re moving now, scrambling toward the transport as if for protection. I watch as one of them disappears inside, only to emerge moments later with something in her hands.

As I draw closer, I can finally make out their features. Mikaela stands at the front, her dark braids pulled back in a tight ponytail, a high-heeled shoe clutched in one hand like a weapon. Next to her is Pam, the happy one, holding what appears to be a bag filled with sand, ready to swing it. Their faces are gaunt, skin reddened from sun exposure, but they’re alive.

They’re alive.

“Justine?” Mikaela calls out, uncertainty and hope warring in her voice. “Is that really you?”

“Yes!” I shout back, waving both arms now. “It’s me! I’m here!”

I hear Mikaela’s voice, pitched high with emotion, calling back into the transport. “Erika! Come quick! It’s Justine! She’s alive!”

Women begin emerging from the transport—first Erika, then Tina (the one who’d read through the manual), then Alex (the nurse), Mira (the med student) and others, faces I recognize but don’t remember their names. They stand in a loose cluster, expressions ranging from disbelief to joy to caution as they watch my approach.

When I’m within twenty feet, Mikaela breaks rank and runs toward me. We collide in a fierce hug, her arms wrapping around me so tightly it knocks the breath from my lungs.

“We thought you were dead,” she sobs against my shoulder, her body trembling. “We thought you were gone forever.”

“I almost was,” I manage, my own tears flowing freely now. “But I’m here. I made it back.”

More women approach, surrounding us in a circle of embraces and tearful exclamations. Hands reach out to touch me, as if confirming I’m real and not a mirage born of heat and desperation. I’m passed from one embrace to another, each woman offering some variation of relieved disbelief.

“How are you alive?” one of them asks.

“What happened to you?” asks another.

Their voices overlap, creating a cacophony of emotion that washes over me after days of the calm, measured mindspeak of the Drakav. It’s overwhelming and beautiful all at once.

“You look…different,” Alex says, stepping back to examine me. Her keen eyes take in my sun-darkened skin and probably the fact I don’t look dehydrated or dying.

“I feel different,” I admit, wiping at my tears.

It’s then that I notice the hush falling over the group. One by one, the women’s expressions shift from joy to uncertainty, their eyes fixing on something behind me. I feel a familiar tug in my chest, a presence in my mind that has become as natural as breathing.

I turn slowly to find Rok and his clan standing several yards away, maintaining a respectful distance. They’ve arranged themselves in a loose semicircle, with Rok standing just a few feet before them, his golden eyes fixed solely on me. The contrast between them and the human women couldn’t be more stark—their tall, powerful frames, their alien features, the way they hold themselves completely still except for the slight tilt of their heads as they observe us.

“Holy shit,” Mikaela breathes, her hand finding my arm in a tight grip. “What the actual fuck are those?”

“Who.” I correct automatically, turning back to face the women. “Not what. Who.”

“Fine,” Erika says, her voice tight with fear and suspicion. “Who the fuck are those…people?”

I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain everything that’s happened—the connection I’ve formed with Rok, the clan’s willingness to help us, the complex society they’ve built in this harsh environment. It all seems too much to convey in simple words.

“They’re called the Drakav,” I begin, keeping my voice calm. “They’re native to this planet, and they’ve come to help us.”

“Oh, thank God,” Pam beams. “Thank God!”

But the others don’t react the same.

“Help us?” Mikaela repeats. “They look like they want to eat us.”

I glance over my shoulder to see several of the gathered Drakav snarling, fangs visible as they brace against the constant chatter that comes from my people. And I realise it must be like when I got overwhelmed by their mindspeak back in their cave. I give them a pleading look, hoping they’ll understand.

“No.” I shake my head. “They don’t eat…I mean, they hunt, but not… Look, they’re here to help. They saved my life. He saved my life.”

I turn toward Rok, extending my hand in invitation. “It’s okay,” I project to him. “Come closer. Slowly. No sudden movements.”

Rok hesitates, his gaze flicking between me and the cluster of women. I can feel his caution, his awareness of the fear radiating from the humans. But after a moment, he steps forward, his approach measured and non-threatening.

As he comes to stand beside me, I hear the collective intake of breath from the women. He towers over all of us, his golden eyes bright, his powerful frame casting a shadow over us.

“This is Rok,” I say, reaching out to take his hand in mine. The gesture feels both natural and significant. “He found me in the desert after I left to find help. He kept me alive. Protected me.”

I pause, suddenly aware that I’ve reached a moment of definition. What is Rok to me? What word can possibly encompass what we’ve become to each other in this short, intense time?

“He’s my…” I pause. The word forms in my mind before I’ve fully acknowledged it. But it’s…it’s true. “He’s my boyfr—.” The word seems oddly wrong. As if it’s lessening the gravity of our connection. “He’s my mate.”

The declaration sends a visible shock wave through the group of women. Mikaela’s jaw drops open, and Erika takes an involuntary step backward.

“Your what?” Tina asks, eyes wide as they blink behind her glasses.

“Mate,” I repeat, more firmly this time, squeezing Rok’s hand. “We…bonded. Out there.” I gesture vaguely toward the vast expanse of desert. Oh god, what am I saying? I can hear how it sounds. But it’s the truth. And I’m not ashamed of it.

“You’ve been gone for like three weeks, Justine,” Mikaela says slowly, as if explaining something to a child. “And you’ve…mated…with an alien?”

When she puts it that way, it does sound insane. But nothing about my experience has been normal or expected. How can I explain the intensity of survival, the depth of connection that forms when someone saves your life, learns your mind, accepts you completely?

“It’s complicated,” I say finally. “But he and his clan are here to help us. They know this planet. They can help us survive.”

Rok’s thoughts brush against mine. “Tell them we mean no harm. We will protect them as I have protected you.”

I relay his message, watching as the women’s expressions shift between disbelief, fear, and cautious hope.

“The others,” I project to Rok. “They can come closer, too. Slowly.”

Rok turns, making a gesture to the waiting clan members. One by one, they begin to approach. Kol comes first, his face impassive but curious. Tharn follows, his gaze darting between the human women with barely contained fascination.

As they draw nearer, I notice something in the women’s reactions—beyond the fear and uncertainty, there’s a flicker of something else. A kind of stunned appreciation. For all their alienness, the Drakav are impressive—powerful, graceful, their eyes intelligent and observant.

“There are more of us inside,” Erika says, her practical nature reasserting itself. “Some are too weak to come out. We’ve been surviving on emergency rations and some of us figured out how to harvest water from the ship’s condensers. Mikaela even found some…uh…insects in the sand. We’ve been uh…” She swallows hard. “It’s been hard. Between the headaches and fevers and nightmares, we thought…we never thought this day would come.”