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None of them deserved it, these planets full of bystanders who could only react to a carefully curated window into someone else's game.
They’d only ever wanted to help, to do what was right . . . Had they ever truly known what that was?
Maybe for a few minutes—just a few minutes—Niko could be the person they wanted others to see. Even if nobody would.
People spoke about the death of planets as if the rock itself would shatter, but the truth was never so dramatic. The entire sphere wasn’t in danger of ceasing to exist. All that mattered was the inner goings-on of that tiny strip of gauze, that onion skin of atmosphere clinging to the rocky surface like morning dew. The narrowest of margins on which everything depended.
Who deserved saving, and why? As if that were a question any of them could answer. As if any of them were gods.
