Adventure of Devin Halbolt 1

The Black Sheep swallows the GM III into its hangar, deck lights washing over damaged armor and scorched paint. Deck crew guide the machine onto the magnetic plates while the bay doors grind shut behind the haze.

Devin eases the canopy open. The carrier's hum replaces the ruin's echo, and for the first time in hours, nobody is shooting at him.

Harada descends from the adjacent recovery line, shoulders heavy with fatigue. Beyond him, medics wheel Toma and Rina toward the infirmary, both siblings wrapped in blankets and watched over by calm hands.

The deck crew latch Devin's harness free while a tech carts the salvaged case toward security. Ilyana remains by the landing zone, unreadable as ever, but she glances toward the infirmary corridor before looking back to Devin.

Devin falls in beside the stretchers as the medics roll them out of the hangar. The sealed bay thumps softly behind him, and the corridor lights wash everything in clean white.

Toma gives a tired, crooked smile, then looks away as the wheels squeak over the deck seam. Rina keeps one hand on the rail, her posture easing when she sees Devin still there.

The monitor pulse from the infirmary cart stays steady down the hall, a soft mechanical heartbeat under their footsteps. Rina glances toward it, then back to Devin, as if checking that he hears it too.

The corridor keeps rolling past in clean white panels, but the moment lands gently. Devin's blush is obvious enough to make the medics glance away, and the words settle between the stretchers without anyone rushing to break them.

Toma's tired smile turns real for the first time in a while. Rina loosens her grip on the rail and lets out a small breath, the kind that comes after a held tension finally slips free.

The monitor's steady pulse ticks on beside them, soft and patient. For a few steps, the three of them move as one unit toward the infirmary, with no one needing to be Silver Hawk at all.

Devin lowers into one of the guest chairs by the infirmary wall, careful with the stiff metal frame, and the motion earns a tiny squeak from the seat. The cost is small but real, his bruised shoulder complains as soon as he settles.

Toma's gaze stays on Devin instead of the floor, and the hollow tiredness in his face softens into something more human. The medical monitor keeps its steady pulse in the background, patient and bright.

Rina glances down and presses a hand briefly to her sleeve, where the faint memory of the underground pulse seems to linger in her posture. Toma notices, then looks back to Devin like he is offering him the story instead of the wound.

Toma lets out a quiet breath, and his shoulders ease as if the question gives him somewhere safe to place his thoughts. Rina tilts her head, listening close, while the monitor keeps its steady pulse beside them.

Toma glances toward the corridor window, then back to Devin, his expression turning thoughtful instead of hollow. Rina gives a small, uneasy laugh, and the sound sits softly in the room instead of breaking it.

Rina's fingers tense once, then relax against the blanket, and the faint memory of the underground pulse flickers in her posture again. Toma watches Devin as if he is weighing the question, then answers with a tired honesty that feels earned.

The words land gently in the quiet corridor. Toma's face softens with immediate recognition, and Rina turns fully toward Devin, interest replacing some of her guardedness.

Toma gives a tired, crooked smile, and the hollow edge in it does not vanish, but it eases. The medical monitor keeps its steady pulse beside them, and the room feels less like recovery and more like a shared bench in the middle of a long flight.

The ask hangs there for a beat, bashful and plain. Devin keeps his gaze a little off to the side, but not enough to hide where it lands.

Toma lets out a low breath that could be a laugh, and the stiffness in his shoulders finally unknots. Rina tips her head, studying Devin with bright approval, while the monitor keeps its steady pulse beside the cot.

Devin looks down, crestfallen, and the room seems to hold that weight with him.

Devin pushes upright, the chair legs whispering against the deck. Toma watches him go with tired relief, while Rina's hopeful smile lingers as the corridor light washes over the stretcher rails.

The infirmary door slides shut behind him, and the Black Sheep's sealed corridors carry him toward the crew quarters. The ship feels quieter than the hangar, but the steady pulse from the medical monitor still seems to follow him.

He changes fast, showering away smoke, salt, and cockpit sweat before pulling on clean off-duty clothes. The mirror gives him back a young pilot with tired eyes, and then nothing but the practical shape of the day ahead.

When Devin returns to the infirmary corridor, the new clothes sit loose and clean on him, and the mood has shifted from raw relief to something quieter, more fragile. Toma looks aside, hollow but calmer, while Rina's attention drops to the unseen rhythm on the monitor.

Devin pulls up a chair beside the stretchers and sits. The wheels scrape softly, then settle.

Rina's mouth curves, small but real, while Toma's shoulders loosen under the blanket. The medical monitor keeps its steady pulse in the background, and the sealed corridor stays quiet around them.

Devin straightens beside the corridor chair, already half turning toward the hatch as the offer lands. The medical monitor keeps its calm pulse in the background, stubbornly steady.

In the silence after, the three of them sit with the same small, fragile truth, they are safe enough to want ordinary things again, and that makes the day feel heavier rather than lighter.

Devin’s route is set. The hatch to the corridor waits open ahead, and the steady monitor pulse, the encrypted drives, and Toma’s empty, overworked face all remain behind him as he heads for the mess.

Devin reaches the mess hall and starts working the counter like a supply line. He stacks two trays with the fastest stable combination he can find, extra protein, warm starches, fruit packs, and sealed drinks, then adds a third plate when the lid hisses open on another hot pan.

A galley attendant spots the load and wordlessly slides a larger carrier bin into Devin’s path. He takes it, and the overflow problem disappears.

He keeps building, a second helping for each tray, then a stack of dessert cups balanced in the bin’s side rail. By the time he turns, the food looks enough for a full recovery watch instead of two tired pilots.

At the serving line monitor, a narrow maintenance pane flickers once and then resolves into a crisp route to the side pantry, already unlocked for him. Someone has quietly cleared the path.

Devin lifts the loaded carrier and heads back out, the trays steady in his hands. Behind him, the mess hall keeps humming, but the open pantry route and the full load in his grip change the errand into something more useful than a snack run.

Devin cuts through the pantry route, the loaded bin steady against his chest as he snags a fresh fruit pack from the shelf without breaking stride.

The medical wing doors part for him, and the corridor beyond is quiet except for the soft ping of monitors and the muted press of ship systems.

He brings the food to the siblings’ bedside table, setting the trays down in one clean motion. Relief flickers across the room at the sight of real food.

A medical monitor keeps its steady beat beside them, and the sealed drives sit in the corner case like a reminder that the mission is not finished yet.

Devin gives a small nod, sets the tray stack in order, and points the side pantry route toward the shower rooms. The simple plan lands in the room like a warm light.

The locked case of drives sits under the monitor glow while the brothers, sorry, the siblings, relax by degrees. Toma’s shoulders ease as the first real meal waits within reach.

Devin is out the door in a blur, cutting through the Black Sheep's quiet corridor while the ship hums around him.

He reaches his room, snatches a clean change of clothes from the locker, and folds it tight against his chest.

The hallways stay empty, but the medical wing's pulse seems to follow him back, steady and thin.

Devin returns to the infirmary with Toma's clothes in hand just as Ilyana comes back from the opposite corridor with an identical bundle.

The siblings look up from the trays, and for the first time their relief slips under the weight of what comes next.

On the monitor, the pulse keeps beating beside the sealed case of drives, calm and stubborn, while the room goes very still.

Devin sets the clothes in Toma's lap, the folded bundle settling against the meal tray with a soft rustle. The monitor keeps pulsing beside the sealed drives, steady as a heartbeat.

Ilyana pauses at the bedside, her own bundle tucked under one arm, watching the siblings measure the offer against the fear still in their faces.

Toma takes the clothes with careful hands, his hollow expression easing only a fraction as the red shorts and blue shirt unfold across the blanket. Rina watches him, then the monitor, then Devin, as if waiting to see whether the words survive the room.

Ilyana Reese straightens at the bedside, the folded clothes still under her arm, and gives Devin a small, ready nod.

Toma looks down at the bundle in his lap, then back up, the tension in his shoulders easing into something tired and grateful.

Ilyana shifts the weight of the clothing bundle and glances toward the sealed drives, her expression tightening with professional concern before softening again.

The monitor keeps pulsing in the quiet, and for a moment the room holds steady around the four of them, more family than crew, more fragile than any of them want to admit.

Devin takes the clothing bundle from Ilyana and sets it carefully across the edge of Rina's stretcher. The fabric slips a little on the tray, and he catches it before it falls, the motion small but precise.

Rina folds her hands around the bundle, and Toma lets out a slow breath that shakes out of him more than he seems to expect. The monitor keeps its steady pulse beside the sealed drives, a thin line of light in the quiet.

Ilyana pauses at the doorway, then adds one more glance back at the trio, her hand tightening once on the folded clothes. In the hush, Toma looks down at the bundle in his lap, the old hollowness still there, but edged now with something like guarded hope.

Devin eases into the guest chair beside the bed, letting the room's quiet take over for a moment. The siblings keep eating, the monitor's steady pulse ticking on under the soft hum of the ship.