Shadows of Earth

chapter 7

chapter 7

Nella barely looked up when the doors slid open.

Two Marsian maids stepped into the room, their white uniforms crisp and identical, their arms full of garment bags and polished shoe boxes. Soft morning light filtered through the tall glass panels, reflecting off the silver accents in the walls. The television murmured in the background, some cheerful program playing that Nella wasn’t really watching.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, chin resting on her palm, eyes fixed on the screen but unfocused.

“Where can we put your clothes, miss?” one of the maids asked politely.

Nella didn’t turn. “Wherever your common sense deems fit.”

The words were calm, but edged. The maids exchanged a quick glance and hurried to the tall dresser along the far wall. Fabric rustled as they unzipped the bags, revealing elegant dresses in every shade imaginable. They moved quickly, hanging each piece with careful hands, as though afraid of doing something wrong.

“Your breakfast is ready,” the second maid said softly. “I will bring it for you now.”

No answer.

They finished, bowed their heads slightly, and slipped out of the room.

The second the door closed, Nella sprang off the bed.

All indifference vanished. She crossed the room in quick steps, fingers already reaching for the fabrics. Silks, satins, delicate weaves that shimmered under the light — clothes far finer than anything she’d ever owned. She slid hangers aside until she found a simple black dress. No glitter. No dramatic cuts. Just clean, elegant lines.

She held it against her body and turned toward the mirror.

For a moment, she just stared.

Then she smiled.

Not the polite smile she gave strangers. Not the forced one she used when she felt small. This one was quiet, satisfied. Like she was seeing someone she had always known was there, finally stepping into the light.

The doors opened again.

Nella dropped the dress.

A woman stood there, frozen mid-step, red hair cascading over one shoulder like liquid fire. She was beautiful in a sharp, deliberate way — every detail styled, every movement practiced. Her eyes, however, were wide with something that looked disturbingly close to shock.

“You look exactly like Nina,” the woman said. “Why are you here?”

Nella straightened slowly. “Who are you?”

The woman blinked, as if the question itself offended her. “Everyone in Omega knows who I am.”

Nella let out a short, humorless laugh and bent to pick the dress up again. “Well, congratulations. I don’t.”

The woman’s expression hardened. “I see you are just as gullible as your mother.” Her lips curled faintly. “I suppose I’ll just watch and see what kind of experimentation Ice has in mind this time.”

Nella’s fingers tightened around the fabric.

“I don’t care about whatever history you think you have with my mother,” she said, her voice steady now, low and controlled. “But you will not insult her in front of me.”

The woman tilted her head. “And what will you do?”

Something cold flickered behind Nella’s eyes. Not loud anger. Not shouting. Something far more dangerous.

“Don’t come for me,” she said quietly. “I will literally wipe your phony, needy self off the face of this planet.”

Silence filled the space between them.

For the first time, the red-haired woman had no clever reply. Her jaw tightened, pride wrestling with caution. Then she turned sharply and stormed out, the doors sliding shut behind her with a hiss.

Nella stood still for a long moment after she was gone, heart pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

Then she looked back at herself in the mirror.

And this time, she didn’t smile.

Doctor Sam didn’t bother knocking.

He pushed the door open and strode into Peter’s room with the brisk, controlled urgency of a man used to emergencies he wasn’t allowed to speak about. The curtains were half drawn, muting the daylight, and Peter lay sprawled across the bed, skin pale against the dark sheets, breaths shallow and uneven.

“Peter,” Sam said sharply, already at his side.

Peter’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t fully wake. Sam’s trained hands moved quickly—checking his pulse, lifting an eyelid, pressing lightly along his ribs. When his fingers reached Peter’s upper arm and brushed against the thick bandage hidden beneath his sleeve, Peter jerked with surprising force.

“Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to pull away.

Sam stilled but didn’t retreat. His eyes dropped to the bandage again, then lifted to Peter’s face. “What happened to you?”

Peter swallowed, throat dry. “I was shot.” His voice was barely more than air. “And I don’t want anyone knowing. Sam… you know what my work is.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. Of course he knew. He knew too much. “I understand. The president—”

The door opened before he could finish.

Alice stepped in, her movements quick, her expression already tense. Peter reacted instantly, dragging the blanket higher and tucking his injured arm beneath it as if the motion alone could erase the truth.

She crossed the room in a few strides. “What is wrong with you, Peter?”

Sam straightened, smoothly placing himself between her gaze and the bed for just a second too long. “He’s exhausted,” he said calmly. “I need to take some blood tests. I’ll also give him something for the pain.”

Alice’s eyes lingered on Peter, searching his face for answers he refused to give. Sam worked efficiently—needle, vial, quiet instructions Peter barely heard. Then he administered a painkiller through the IV line he’d set up and packed his things.

“Let him rest,” Sam said gently to Alice before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence settled over the room, heavy and watchful.

Alice moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. Up close, Peter could see the strain in her eyes, the tightness around her mouth. The palace alarms had stopped, but the fear hadn’t.

“You are weak,” she said softly, brushing a hand near his shoulder, careful not to touch where he was hurt, “and yet you have so much strength. How can you be lying here while we are under attack?”

Peter let out a slow breath through his nose. Weak. If only she knew how much effort it took just to stay conscious. “I remember that look on your face,” he murmured. “I reckon you’ve seen Nina’s offspring.”

Alice stiffened. “Why is she here?”

There it was—the real fear. Not the attack. Not the chaos. Her.

Peter’s eyes hardened despite the haze of medication. “Ask your lover,” he said coldly. “And don’t come into my chamber to offend me again.”

The words cost him more than he let show. Anger burned, but so did something closer to hurt.

Alice’s expression crumpled, the sharpness melting away. She reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t pull back. Her fingers wrapped around his, warm and trembling.

“Forgive me,” she whispered. “This day has turned out to be ghastly.”

Peter closed his eyes, not trusting himself to answer. Outside the room, the palace was still bracing for war. Inside, the battle felt just as personal.