The USS Vallejo was a shadow of its former self. Its once-sleek hull, scarred by battle, limped through space, tethered to the starship towing it toward Deep Space 47 for repairs. The vessel, which had held its own against the Obsidian Order, now seemed fragile, and vulnerable. But for Ilias Amir, head of security, the real damage wasn’t to the ship. It was to the crew… the people he had sworn to protect.

Amir hadn’t been there during the battle. He’d been off the ship, on an away mission with Commander Mehta and Cadet Ryan. By the time they returned, the Vallejo was in tatters. Amir and Mehta had pulled off a daring rescue, saving most of the remaining crew members, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that things might have turned out differently if he had been on board from the start.

“Maybe if I’d been here, things wouldn’t have gone so sideways,” he muttered under his breath, his hands working through the diagnostic process with mechanical precision.

Across the room, Asha Kellan, the Vallejo’s chief science officer, was seated at her own console. She didn’t bother to look up from her work as she responded, her voice cool as ice. “Doubtful. Your boldness tends to make things worse, not better.”

Amir’s jaw clenched. He turned to face her, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nice to see you haven’t changed, Asha.”

Asha straightened, her posture regal and deliberate. She regarded him with a faintly superior expression, her sharp blue eyes unyielding. “I see you’re still under the impression that throwing yourself into danger is the best way to solve every problem, Lieutenant. Typical.”

Amir’s fingers tightened around the edge of the console. He fought the urge to snap at her, but something about the way she always made him feel… small, reckless like his instincts were just childish bravado, it set him on edge.

“You’re seriously going to start this again?” His voice was tight. “After everything that’s happened? After the crew was almost wiped out, you’re still acting like you’re better than everyone?”

Asha’s expression didn’t change. The coldness in her eyes, the same detachment that had drawn him in and frustrated him for years, was there, unrelenting. “I’m not acting, Lieutenant. I am better. At least, I think before I act.”

The air between them crackled with tension, the same electric tension that had existed since their days at the Academy. Amir had been drawn to Asha’s sharp mind, her fierce determination, but her arrogance had always grated on him. She was so controlled, so convinced of her own superiority, and it drove him mad.

His gaze lingered on her, a mixture of frustration and something else, something deeper that he didn’t want to acknowledge. His thoughts drifted back to a time when they had been more than professional rivals… when things had been personal, and volatile.

_____________________________________

The simulated nebula swirled around them, its deep hues of blue and violet casting eerie shadows across the holodeck. Asha Kellan stood at the head of the mission briefing, the light catching the angles of her face in a way that made her look almost ethereal. She was in command, confident, and poised, outlining the plan with the same precision that she always had.

It was their final year at the Academy, and this mission was one of their last tests before graduation. The instructors had paired them together, hoping their contrasting approaches, Asha’s calculated pragmatism and Amir’s bold decisiveness, would balance each other out. But over the past few months, that balance had begun to tip.

Their relationship, which had once been driven by mutual admiration and fiery attraction, was now riddled with tension. Asha’s cool detachment, the way she always seemed to put logic and safety above everything else, was driving a wedge between them. And yet, Amir couldn’t help but be captivated by her. The way she moved, the sharpness of her mind, something was intoxicating about it, something that made him want to prove himself to her, to break through the wall she kept between them.

“We’ll take the long route around the nebula,” Asha said, her voice calm and measured as she pointed to the holomap. “It’ll take more time, but we’ll avoid any hostile encounters and ensure the team’s safety.”

Amir leaned against the wall; arms crossed over his chest. His eyes followed the lines of her neck, the way her golden hair was pulled back in a tight knot. There was something about the way she held herself, something regal, almost untouchable. He hated it, but he wanted her.

But her plan… it was too cautious, too slow. He could feel it in his gut. The longer they took, the more vulnerable they’d be to enemy patrols. There was a faster way, a riskier way that could get them in and out before anyone noticed.

He waited for a pause in her briefing before speaking. “Or,” he said, his voice casual but with a hint of challenge, “we could cut through the nebula. It’s dangerous, sure, but we’ll get in and out before the enemy even knows we’re there. It’s worth the risk.”

Asha’s sharp gaze flicked to him, her expression tightening. “That’s reckless, Ilias.” She rarely used his first name anymore, and when she did, it always came with a bite. “The nebula’s gravitational anomalies could tear the ship apart. We’re not gambling with people’s lives just because you want to take the fast way out.”

Amir felt the familiar surge of frustration, but there was also something else… a pull. Her dismissiveness and arrogance infuriated him, but they also drew him in. He wanted to argue with her, to challenge her. Part of him wondered if it was just to get her attention, to see if he could crack that cold exterior.

“It’s not about the fast way out, Asha,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lower. “It’s about getting the job done. You can’t always play it safe. Sometimes you have to take a risk.”

She turned fully to face him, her icy blue eyes locking onto his with a force that sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, the air between them felt thick, charged with the tension that had been building for months. He could feel the heat of her frustration, but there was something else there, too, something she wasn’t saying.

“That’s what separates you and me, Ilias,” she said quietly, her voice steady, but there was a tremor beneath it, a flicker of emotion she wouldn’t let him see. “I don’t take unnecessary risks. I think things through. You …” she paused, her voice sharpening like a blade “act like you’re invincible. But people like you get others killed.”

The words hit harder than she probably intended, but Amir wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing that. His gaze hardened, fists clenching at his sides.

And yet, even in that moment of anger, the pull between them was undeniable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to pull her close and prove that she was wrong, that he wasn’t just some reckless fool. But he knew she would never see it that way. To her, he was just a risk-taker, someone who didn’t measure up to her cold, calculated standards.

The simulation began, and Asha’s plan unfolded exactly as she had outlined it, slow, cautious, and safe. But as they moved through the nebula, Amir’s frustration grew. They were too slow. Too predictable. He could feel the danger closing in, the enemy patrols tightening their grip. His instincts screamed at him to act.

And then, just as he’d feared, they were detected.

The team was cornered, and there was no clear way out. Desperation kicked in, and Amir made a snap decision. He diverted from the plan, taking control of the situation and initiating a bold maneuver to escape. For a moment, it seemed like it might work.

But then, a miscalculation. The ship shuddered, alarms blaring as the gravitational anomalies tore through the hull. The simulation ended with simulated casualties and a failed mission… pinned squarely on Amir’s decision to abandon Asha’s plan.

_____________________________________

The memory of that day, of the failure, burned in Amir’s mind. He had acted out of instinct, out of necessity, but Asha had never seen it that way. To her, it had been a betrayal… of her plan, of their trust.

His eyes lingered on her now, as she worked silently at the console, her expression cold and detached. She was the same as she had been at the Academy; calculated, dismissive, convinced that her way was always the right way.

“You think I don’t remember that mission at the Academy?” Amir said, his voice low but tense. “You think I don’t know that’s what this is all about? You couldn’t stand that I went against you, could you?”

Asha paused, her fingers hovering over the console, but she didn’t look at him. “That was years ago,” she said, her voice cold. “You failed because you couldn’t follow orders.”

“And you failed because you refused to take a risk,” Amir shot back, his frustration boiling over. “That’s always been your problem, Asha. You think playing it safe makes you superior. But sometimes, the only way to survive is by taking a chance.”

She turned to face him, her eyes sharp, cutting. “And sometimes, recklessness gets people killed.”

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent standoff, the weight of their unresolved past hanging between them. Neither was willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, they were both at fault.

Amir clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax. He wasn’t going to win this argument. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“You know what?” he said, voice tight. “Forget it. We don’t need to rehash the past. But don’t act like you’re better than me. Not now. Not after everything.”

Kellan’s expression remained cold, but something flickered behind her eyes… something she would never let him see. “I don’t need to act, Amir. I’ve always been better.”

With that, she turned back to her work, dismissing him entirely. Amir stood there for a moment longer, the weight of their unresolved history hanging between them like a storm waiting to break. But this wasn’t the time or place for resolution.

Without another word, Amir turned and left the lab, leaving Asha behind.