The morning sun, a rare, unblemished gold, settled over the worn timber of the terrace. It warmed Jax’s skin, a sensation alien after years spent under the bruised, polluted skies of Titan, or the sterile, echoing chill of the Arctic. He breathed in the scent of damp earth and distant pine, a raw, honest fragrance that cleansed the memory of recycled air. Across the expansive, manicured lawn, Dahlia’s laughter tinkled, bright and clear as glass. Serena was with her, bent low, patiently guiding Dahlia’s small hands over a garden bed, teaching her the quiet miracle of growth.
"Are you truly content, Jax?" Juri’s voice, a familiar hum from the discreet neural link, was a whisper in his ear, a ghost in the idyll.
Jax watched the two figures, his heart a raw, unprotected thing. "Content is a
