Tinman, Chapter 14 Cass shifted on her bunk, a frown creased her brow as she pulled the virtual reality headset from her temples and set it aside. No sooner had the digital world faded than a pungent odor assaulted her senses. She grimaced, her voice a mixture of confusion and disgust. "What is that horrible smell?" With a swift motion, she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, her feet finding the cool metal floor. Cass drew back the privacy blanket, bracing herself against the wave of stench that intensified with the movement. Her green eyes narrowed in search of the source. Sam emerged from the bathroom, his posture weary, hands encased in rubber gloves that glistened with moisture. A forlorn bucket dangled from his grip, its contents unseen but easily imagined. "What happened?" Cass asked, her tone now laced with concern as she took in Sam's disheveled appearance. Cass stepped cautiously towards the source of the malodorous scent, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Sam's gesture drew her attention to the spare bunk where Draco lay, a bundle of misery curled tightly on the thin mattress. The boy’s skin, usually a vibrant shade, now held an unsettling pallor. "I'm afraid his tummy rebelled against the ham and eggs," Sam explained with a grimace, motioning to the disconsolate figure. "Twenty minutes after you left, the eggs he ate came back up." Cass let out an involuntary exhalation, her voice tinged with revulsion. "Oh, gross!" Her expression softened, however, at the sight of Draco's discomfort. There was no avoiding the biological realities of introducing a new entity to Earth-based sustenance, no matter how advanced or otherworldly their origin. Cass approached the spare bunk, her gaze lingering on Draco's hunched figure. The air hung heavy with a scent that spoke of regrettable culinary adventures. She watched as Sam, with practiced ease, disposed of the soiled bedding, his movements efficient despite the grim nature of the task. Draco's response was a mere shift in posture, a nonverbal whisper of appreciation for her empathy amidst his ailment. Cass stood there a moment longer, watching over him like a sentinel until duty called her elsewhere. "Maybe we should call that supply shuttle," Cass mused aloud, concern knitting her brow. She paced the small space, her hands clasping and unclasping as if they could somehow grasp a solution from the stale air. "To bring some soft food out for Draco until his stomach can handle solid food." Sam surveyed the aftermath with a clinical detachment, though his nostrils flared subtly at the acrid scent assaulting the air. "Yep, hindsight is 20-20," he remarked, pulling on a pair of heavy-duty gloves with a snap that echoed slightly in the compact quarters. "I'll do that after I clean this up." He gestured towards the bucket resting innocently beside Draco's bunk. "Grab that and wash it out." Cass approached the task with slight hesitation, her green eyes narrowing as she tentatively reached for the pail. The metal felt cool and indifferent to the turmoil it contained. Wrinkling her nose, she lifted it, the contents sloshing gently against the sides—a grim reminder of Draco's current state. "He only ate some eggs and ham," she murmured, more to herself than to Sam, the words floating like dandelion seeds seeking fertile ground for an explanation. "How'd he throw-up so much?" Her voice edged with both confusion and concern, betraying her stoic facade. As she carried the bucket away, Cass’ every step was measured, calculated to prevent any further spillage, each movement a testimony to her resolute will to shield Draco from any additional discomfort. "You've never seen a baby projectile vomit," Sam said. His back to her as he scrubbed at the floor with a diligence that spoke of his geological precision—every granule of dirt an uncharted landmass under his scrutiny. "You'd eat one jar of baby food and cover the walls." Cass cradled the bucket, its contents a tempest confined by metal walls. The simple task of cleansing suddenly seemed a Herculean trial. She moved toward the washbasin, steps deliberate, her mind grappling with the scale of mess a small body could produce—a maelstrom of biological processes gone awry. Cass completed the distasteful chore with a grimace, scrubbing Draco's bucket until it shone like new. Setting it beside him, she couldn't help but notice how small he seemed, a pale figure swaddled in the dimness of his bunk. His breaths were shallow, punctuating the quiet with whispers of discomfort. Cass turned away, her own fatigue clawing at her muscles and mind. She slunk to the sanctuary of her space, collapsing onto the bunk that cradled her weary body. The virtual reality realm, though enthralling, exacted its price on flesh and bone. A sleep debt mounted, demanding payment through rest in this tangible world. She surrendered to it, letting the darkness behind her eyelids envelop her consciousness. Time waned in the void of her slumber until a hand on her shoulder beckoned her back to wakefulness. Sam stood over her, a silent silhouette against the dim cabin lights. "Dinner," he said, his voice a soft intrusion into the silence. In the galley, plates clinked against each other as Cass accepted the simple offering—fish paired with rice, its aroma subtle yet appealing. Across from her, Draco pushed a slice of toast around his plate under Sam's watchful eye. The man's gaze, laden with concern, implored the boy to eat. Cass noted the tenderness in that silent exchange, and for a moment, her heart felt heavy for them both. Once the meal concluded and the last dish was tucked away, Cass retreated once more to her bunk. Sleep came swiftly, devoid of dreams, an empty expanse that held her until dawn's whisper nudged her awake. Cass emerged from her bunk, the scent of a new day mingling with the mechanical tang of the catamaran. On deck, shadows danced as Sam and Draco maneuvered crates stamped with blocky lettering from the shuttle's yawning cargo bay. She descended the stairs, hands finding purpose among cardboard and tin. "Careful with that one," Sam instructed, pointing to a box marked fragile. His voice rippled with an undercurrent of authority, yet it was not unkind. Cass watched Draco's slender arms strain beneath the weight, his movement’s eager but calculated as he shuffled toward the hatch leading below deck. "Got it," Draco said, a grin breaking through his concentration. He navigated the narrow passageway with surprising grace, disappearing into the belly of the boat where cool air awaited their perishable bounty. Cass lifted a crate, its contents shifting inside. With a steady gait, she followed Draco's path. The supplies found their homes in designated nooks—freeze-dried yogurt nestled next to freeze-dried cereal mix, applesauce aligned with precision, potato soup stacked with care. Each item was an essential piece in their floating world of survival and sustenance. A jar caught her eye, its label adorned with colorful caricatures meant to entice the most innocent of consumers. Cass furrowed her brow, tilting the jar toward the light filtering through a porthole. "Sam, who is supposed to eat this?" she asked, her voice echoing faintly in the storage area. The glass felt cold and alien in her grasp, the contents a puzzle begging for explanation. Sam's explanation unfurled with a clinical detachment, almost as if he were reciting data from one of his geology texts. "Draco's body is brand new, even if it appears to be 12-years old. I'll put him on the baby food for a week until his stomach can handle a more complex diet." Cass's face screwed up in disbelief. "You got to be kidding, there's no way—" Her protest crumbled into silence as she pivoted on her heel. Draco, perched precariously on the edge of his bunk like a bird ready to take flight, had unscrewed the lid of a jar. A dollop of mashed green goo clung to his finger, which he brought to his lips with an unashamed eagerness. "Draco!" Cass exclaimed, half amused and half appalled. The sight was so incongruent with his gangly limbs and sullen expression that for a moment, reality seemed to skew. Draco's eyes darted up to meet Cass's gaze, a glint of defiance mingling with the sheen of hunger in his stare. "What? I'm starving," he said, with a nonchalance that belied the desperation in his actions. Cass folded her arms, leaning against the cool metal frame of her bunk. The soft light from the cabin window played across her face, casting half her expression in shadow. "There's no guarantee you won't throw up on baby food also," she pointed out matter-of-factly, her voice carrying an edge of concern beneath the surface. "Babies do it all the time. It just takes a while to find what foods you're okay with." She watched as Draco paused, the jar hovering mid-air, a smear of the pureed contents still clinging to his finger. His brow furrowed, processing her words, yet his stomach growled louder than any counterargument he might have had. Draco scraped the remnants of the pureed fruit from the sides of the jar, his finger now a makeshift utensil in the absence of a proper spoon. Cass observed him with an analytical eye; the boy's determination to satisfy his hunger was almost admirable. "Dad says you still throw up," Draco said between mouthfuls, his voice echoing faintly in the small confines of the cabin. Cass raised an eyebrow at this. The title hung awkwardly in the air, like a poorly fitted garment. "He's 'dad' now?" she questioned, her tone laced with incredulity and a tinge of something else, something raw and unexplored. The boy surveyed the label on the empty baby food jar, avoiding eye contact. "Well, yeah." Draco's voice had taken on a note of casual acceptance, as if the word carried no weight. "He took care of me when I was sick." Cass turned away, her gaze settling on the horizon visible through the porthole. Her father—Sam—had indeed been there for both of them, yet the ease with which Draco adopted the term unsettled her. It was as though he had claimed a piece of something that wasn't entirely his to take. But then, what did that make her? The rightful owner of a title she seldom used? "Fine," she spat out, the word sharp and bitter, tasting of betrayal. Whirling around, she stormed through the narrow aisle between bunks, her footsteps resounding on the wooden floor with each step. The clatter of everyday life aboard the catamaran—soft murmurs, the clink of cutlery—faded into a muffled backdrop against the rush of blood in her ears. Cass pushed through the hatch that led to the front of the boat, her movements brisk and jagged, like the rough edges of an uncut gem. The pilot’s chair awaited, its faux-leather surface warmed from exposure to the sun. She flung herself into it, the momentum causing the chair to spin slowly, a lazy pirouette that mocked her inner turmoil. She stared out at the vast expanse before her, the water reflecting the early light in shards of silver and gold. Her heart pounded in a rhythm discordant with the serene view, anger and hurt swirling within her like a tempestuous current. Sam had been there for her, yes. But he had also erected a wall of silence around the one truth she yearned for most. Who was her real father? The question haunted her dreams, crept into her quiet moments, and now it gnawed at her with renewed vigor. Could he have kidnapped her? No, that sliver of suspicion was absurd, a figment born from desperation. Yet the refusal to dismiss it entirely spoke volumes of the chasm that had formed between her trust and the secrets kept just out of reach. Cass leaned forward in the chair, her hands gripping the armrests as if they could anchor her to this reality. She wanted answers, craved them more than the stale air she breathed in this confined space. Just once, she wished for the veil of mystery to lift and reveal the face of the man who had given her life. But for now, she remained adrift, caught between the man who raised her and the ghost of one who remained just beyond the horizon. Cass's fingers tightened around the armrests of the pilot's chair, her knuckles whitening with the grip. The stillness of the cabin surrounded her—a stark contrast to the maelstrom of emotions churning inside. Her breath came in shallow drafts, each one a silent plea for solitude and understanding. "Leave me alone," she murmured, not bothering to turn toward the approaching steps. She recognized the cadence of those footsteps; they held a hesitance that could only belong to one person aboard the catamaran. For a brief moment, there was silence, except for the gentle lap of water against the hull. Then, Draco's voice broke through the quiet, tentative yet resolute. "I wanted what you had," he said softly. His words hung in the air, delicate as the morning mist outside. He paused, and Cass could almost picture him standing there, struggling with the weight of his own revelations. "I wanted to be like you." The admission hovered between them, raw and unadorned. In that instant, Cass felt the sharp edges of her anger dull, giving way to something else—an unexpected flicker of kinship. Despite it all, here was someone who saw in her a life worth emulating, even if she herself was grappling with unseen shadows. Draco's confession, simple as it was, bridged the distance of their shared experiences, each marked by struggles uniquely their own but converging in a single point of understanding. Silence reclaimed its throne in the cabin, leaving Cass with a choice—to wallow in her own turmoil or to consider the bond forming out of mutual yearning for connection and identity. "Draco, it's fine," she murmured, the words almost lost in the quiet hum of the boat's engine. Her gaze remained fixed on a scratch in the plastic casing, a small imperfection in an otherwise orderly cockpit. "But I don’t want to talk." In the corner of her eye, she saw Draco move, his shadow stretching across the floor as he approached. He settled into the seat next to hers, his presence an unspoken question lingering in the space between them. His voice was hesitant when he finally spoke, each syllable carrying the weight of unshed emotions. "I know Sam isn’t your real father, and I know he isn’t into gaming," Draco began, his eyes not meeting hers. The boat swayed gently beneath them, a silent dance with the ebb and flow of the water outside. "But I saw him come to every one of your tournaments and cheer louder than everyone else in the stands." He paused, stealing a glance at Cass, who sat motionless, her resolve unbroken. "I remember him dropping you off for practice every day, and I remember him waiting to pick you up every night, no matter how late it was." Draco's voice softened, a note of longing threading through his words. "I was jealous of you. I wanted someone to care about me that much." Cass felt something stir within her—a blend of annoyance and empathy. She kept her eyes ahead, her vision blurring slightly as she fought against the tide of conflicting emotions. Draco's admission hung in the air, a mirror reflecting back her own unacknowledged desires for answers, for truth. "Draco," Cass started, her voice steady despite the turmoil within, "you don’t understand. He knows who my real father is, but he won’t tell me." Her words were like stones thrown into the still morning air, each one sinking heavily into the silence that followed. Draco shifted in his seat, his posture conveying the empathy he felt. "Maybe there’s a good reason for it," he ventured, his tone suggesting not only hope but also a depth of understanding beyond his years. Cass clenched her jaw, the muscles visible beneath her tanned skin. Her fists balled at her sides as if she could grasp the truth in her hands and wrench it from the void. "I've heard that before, it's bull. I have a right to know," she said, her voice steely and resolute. The determination in her tone left no room for argument—an undeniable force that even the river's gentle flow could not erode. Draco turned his gaze outward, where the river, indifferent to human concerns, meandered past the boat. Its surface caught the light of the morning sun, casting dancing reflections that contrasted sharply with the weight of Cass's frustration. As if drawing inspiration from the water's constant movement toward an unseen destination, Draco spoke without facing her, his voice tinged with quiet thoughtfulness. "Is there a way to find out on your own?" The question lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of the river and the earthy aroma of damp wood. Cass's eyes narrowed, a spark of intrigue igniting within them. She had always navigated her way through challenges with the precision of a seasoned geologist identifying minerals—scrutinizing, analyzing, and categorizing until the path forward revealed itself. Cass unfurled her arms and stood to pace the edge of the deck, each step a metronome to her thoughts. The river beside them whispered secrets as it rushed along, indifferent to the tension that gripped her. She halted, gaze fixed on the horizon where sky merged with water in a seamless blue. Her birthday loomed just beyond that line, a marker of time and a barrier to the truth she sought so fervently. "I turn thirteen in a few months, then I could get my birth certificate on my own," Cass stated, the frustration evident in the slight tremble of her voice. "But that won't help, I can't exactly get to Mars, can I?" She watched a lone bird slice through the sky, its freedom mocking her own earthbound limitations. Draco joined her at the catamaran's railing, his eyes following the same avian arc. The sun painted highlights in his hair, a halo around the head of someone who had once only existed in bits and bytes. He turned his attention back to Cass, his face the picture of earnest concern. "Does Sam have a copy of your birth certificate?" he asked, the words simple yet laden with possibilities she hadn't considered. The question anchored Cass back from the expanse of her thoughts. She chewed on her lower lip, considering the likelihood that Sam, meticulous and thorough, would have safeguarded such a document. The idea took root, growing into a plan that spread its tendrils through her mind, seeking purchase. "If he does," she began, her voice betraying a mix of resignation and hope, "it's in that safe box he always keeps locked." "Where's the box?" Draco's question pierced the quiet that had settled between them. "In our storage on Mars," she said, the words spilling out with a sense of finality. "We couldn't afford to bring all our stuff, so we stored everything." The weight of what was left behind—memories encapsulated in objects too cumbersome for their nomadic existence—pressed against her chest. "Where on Mars?" Draco pressed further, his voice steady, betraying neither frustration nor impatience, only an earnest need to understand, to delve deeper into the mystery that held Cass in its grasp. "Vallis Marineris Colony," she replied, the name conjuring images of red dust and domes etched against a stark sky, a place she once called home. "The colony where I grew up. Are you planning to go to Mars to get the box?" Her voice danced between jest and challenge, the words painting a fantastical picture against the canvas of reality. Draco's response came not in words but in the form of a look, a gaze that held no commitment to the jest nor outright dismissal of its possibility. His eyes, twin pools reflecting the last vestiges of twilight, met hers with a quiet intensity that straddled the line between earnestness and inscrutability. The idea was absurd, yet, in that moment, the world shifted beneath Cass's feet. Draco's form shimmered, transient as the reflection on water, and then—nothing. He disappeared without sound, without spectacle, leaving nothing in his wake but the taste of surprise on Cass's tongue. Her heart skipped, faltering in its rhythm as her eyes scanned the empty space where Draco had stood. A shiver danced down her spine, not from the cool breeze that skimmed the surface of the river nearby. Her mind raced, turning over the implications of such an impossible act. She would have to tell Sam, yet the thought twisted in her stomach like a knot of serpents. How would she explain the unexplainable? How could she articulate the vanishing of a boy who was both more and less than human? A sigh escaped her lips, a misty ghost fading into the air—a silent witness to the extraordinary secret she now harbored. With each step toward the stern of the boat, where she knew Sam would be lost in a world of gears and grease, her resolve wavered. The scene replayed in her mind—a boy there one moment, gone the next, as if he were a figment of a dream. The boat's interior was familiar, every creak and groan a testament to the adventures it had weathered. Cass navigated the narrow walkway with ease, sidestepping the scattered tools that betrayed Sam's presence below deck. Her hand grazed the wooden surface of the center table, a makeshift family hearth where they shared sparse meals and scarce laughter. Abruptly, her forward motion halted, nearly sending her tumbling as Draco materialized from thin air. In his grasp, he clutched the elusive safe box, its metal surface gleaming with secrets. Cass blinked, twice, ensuring her senses hadn't betrayed her. “What the heck? That was quick,” she blurted out, surprise etching her features into a tableau of bewilderment. Draco's head tilted, an owl pondering the night. "I've been gone for a week. I had to break into six storage facilities before I found yours. Did you know they don’t keep digital records on Mars?" Cass stared at him, her mind struggling to reconcile his claim with the relentless march of seconds she had just observed. "No, you left less than a minute ago," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of incredulity. "Relativity, Cass," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if explaining the simplest of concepts to a child. Her mouth agape, Cass stared at him, her brain stumbling through the implications. For relativity to come into play, for time to warp so drastically around this boy, he would have had to traverse the cosmos at velocities that laughed in the face of FTL. "Relativity?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, disbelief lacing every syllable. Her eyes searched his, looking for the jest, but found none. Instead, there was a steadfast certainty—a quiet assurance that what he spoke was truth. Draco merely nodded, unfazed by the monumental feat he'd seemingly accomplished. He stood there, a young enigma, his presence bending the very fabric of space-time as easily as one might fold a sheet of paper. Around them, the boat gently swayed on the river, indifferent to the cosmic anomaly it hosted. Cass felt the world tilt, her understanding of reality upended. The vastness of the universe and its arcane mysteries pressed against the edges of her mind, demanding entry. In that moment, Cass understood that the impossible was merely a challenge yet to be surmounted, and the boy before her—Draco—was the living embodiment of that tenet. Draco, with a deftness that belied the weight of the object, set the steel box on the table. The metal made a soft clink as it met the wood, resonating momentarily in the quiet of the cabin. Cass leaned forward, her green eyes reflecting the curiosity that clenched her chest. "It's locked," she declared, noting the sturdy padlock that guarded the contents like a silent sentinel. Her fingers traced the cold, hard edges of the box, feeling the secrets it held just beyond reach. With a casual gesture, Draco summoned the lock to release its hold with an audible snap. He turned, his attention shifting to the languid river that slipped by outside, indifferent to the revelations unfolding within the cabin walls. Cass watched him for a moment, his silhouette framed against the dawn's early light, then turned her focus back to the box. Her breath caught as she slowly raised the lid, the hinges protesting softly. The contents were not the neatly ordered documents she anticipated but rather a scattered collection of personal artifacts. A disarray of letters, their edges worn from time, lay atop faded photographs capturing the innocence of her infant self. Among these memories lay an antiquated pack of cigarettes and a bar of soap, its surface etched with a delicate panorama that seemed out of place amidst the detritus. Cass reached into the jumble with hesitation, fingers brushing paper and history alike until they settled upon an envelope heavier with significance than its weight suggested. She drew it out, the texture of the paper familiar in a way that tugged at the corners of her consciousness. Her gaze traced the lines of ink: "John Capperton, Prisoner number 9327543, East Block, c/o Mars Penitentiary." The return address, penned with equal firmness, claimed its origin from "Sam Ryan, 4122 Vallis Marineris Colony Dome." Cass held the envelope as if it were a fragile relic, her mind grappling with the implications of its existence. This was a tether to a past she had yet to fully understand, one that connected her, Sam, and a man named John Capperton—a name now resonant with newfound meaning. Cass' fingers trembled as they delved once more into the box, retrieving envelope after envelope. Each bore the same unbroken seal, a testament to messages never received, to words left unread. She extracted another, its corner peeking out defiantly from beneath the stack. With a gentle tug, it came free, revealing a bulge within that hinted at more than mere paper within. She slid her finger under the flap, prying it open with minimal effort. As the seal gave way, a cascade of photographs spilled onto her lap. There she was, frozen in time: a younger version of herself grinning outside their Martian home, another with friends at the Ceres Dome, her face alight with laughter. Her heart ached at the sight of herself in pigtails, clutching a certificate on stage during her graduation from the Red Knight training game. The images were a stark reminder of the life she'd led, each snapshot a portal to memories both cherished and forgotten. Cass sifted through them, her fingertips brushing against glossy surfaces, each touch stirring ripples in the pond of her past. Her actions grew feverish as she ripped open more envelopes, compelled by a force beyond curiosity. More photographs tumbled forth, a visual diary penned by the lens of a camera. The faces of classmates, the curve of the domes against the Martian sky, the vibrant hues of gaming lights—all captured with meticulous care. Amidst the flurry of pictures, one envelope stood apart. Its seal already broken, it lay like an old friend among strangers. Cass recognized it immediately—the delivery date marked plainly, only one day succeeding her birth anniversary. Inside, nestled between folds of paper, was the photo she knew by heart. She lifted it to the light, the image as clear as if it were taken yesterday: her infant self cradled in a nurse's arms, minutes into life's journey. That same photograph had its twin residing on Sam's desk, a silent guardian watching over his days of research and contemplation. As Cass held the picture close, tracing the lines of her baby face, she felt the tightness in her chest ease. This connection, this affirmation of her existence, was what she had yearned for all along—a tangible link to a past shrouded in secrecy, now laid bare before her in poignant clarity. Cass's fingers trembled as she unfolded the envelope, its edges worn from the passage of time. The paper felt fragile in her hands, a whisper from the past begging to be heard. Within the creases lay words heavy with sorrow and love—a message unspoken yet screaming into the void of years lost. "John, I'm sorry, Catherine passed away during childbirth, but the baby survived, a girl. I've named her Cassiterite. She is the most beautiful little girl in the whole universe." The name, her name, echoed within the confines of her mind, reverberating against the walls she had built around her heart. She was Cassiterite—named by a man that was not her father. A single tear escaped, carving a path down her cheek, as if it too sought the truths buried deep within this trove of correspondence. The praise for her infant self held a weight that pressed upon her chest, a compliment that sailed across the expanse of space and time from a father she could not remember. "I’ve enclosed a photo of her. Legally, I am the step-father and have full custody, and her last name will be Ryan, unless you would prefer I register her as Capperton. I am willing to do that for you. I know you have a life-sentence, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be in her life. Let me know what your wishes are. Sam Ryan." Her eyes lingered on the choices given, the options laid out before a man behind bars, words spoken to a silence unyielding. 'Ryan' or 'Capperton'? The decision seemed monumental, a fork in the road of her very identity, now exposed in the faded handwriting of the only father she had ever known. She exhaled slowly, a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Sam Ryan. The name stood like a bastion in the stormy sea of her emotions, the signature of a man who had been there through scraped knees and science fair victories, through nights filled with stars and days laden with dust. Cass folded the letter with care, placing it back in the envelope as if tucking in a child after a bedtime story. The revelation wrapped itself around her, a cloak woven from threads of grief and understanding. A man imprisoned, a mother lost to the stars, and a step-father whose love had crafted the tapestry of her life without ever pulling at the frayed edges of her origins. For a moment, time stood suspended, and Cass existed in the eye of the storm—her emotions swirling around her, yet she remained untouched, pondering the truth that had always been a shadow at the edge of her consciousness. Now, bathed in light, it demanded recognition, and she obliged, her soul acknowledging the lineage and the love that had shaped her existence. With the letters as her witnesses, Cass embraced the legacy of her namesake, Cassiterite, a mineral enduring, lustrous and unyielding, much like herself. Cass placed the heartfelt letter from Sam to John Capperton carefully aside, her fingers trembling slightly as she did so. Tears coursed down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within her. Frantically, she searched through the box for a reply, some acknowledgment from the man who shared her blood. But she found none. The letters sent by Sam, filled with updates and moments of her life, lay there unopened, their seals undisturbed. They stood in silent accusation, a history of effort met with silence. Cass's breath hitched as she realized that her biological father had never once reached out, never once sought to bridge the chasm that lay between them. The letters continued faithfully for six years, then without warning, they ceased. An official-looking envelope caught her eye amidst the chaos of paper and memories. Her hands, now steady with a resolve born of sorrow, retrieved the missive addressed to Dr. Samuel Ryan. The prison's seal gave it an air of finality, its contents a likely epilogue to the unanswered questions that haunted her. "Dr. Samuel Ryan," she read aloud, her voice cracking despite her efforts to keep it even. "You are listed as John Capperton’s next of kin." Those words echoed in the small space, carrying with them the weight of unchosen responsibilities and unwanted connections. The letter detailed the stark reality of John Capperton's fate, his life extinguished during a confrontation with another prisoner confined within the Martian penitentiary's walls. Cass felt a numbness spread through her, the information too raw, too new to fully take root in her understanding. "If you come to the prison within the next 14 days," she continued, her eyes scanning the text as if detached from the person reading it, "you will be able to sign for his personal effects." The Warden of Mars Penitentiary had penned these words with a formality that offered no comfort, only the cold closure of a chapter written in shadow and loss. Cass lowered the letter, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the table before her. Her heart wrestled with conflicting emotions, grappling with the reality of a man she'd never known, yet whose absence had shaped her very existence. She was the daughter of a convict, orphaned twice over—once by death and once by indifference. In the quiet of the cabin, surrounded by the relics of a life she’d never shared, Cass acknowledged the truth that Sam, her step-father, was the only parent she'd ever truly had. He had been the constant presence, the guiding hand, the unwavering supporter. And in that moment of painful clarity, she understood the depth of his love, as enduring as the red Martian dust that coated everything it touched. The parchment drifted from Cass's grasp, settling onto the floor like a fallen leaf in autumn's quiet surrender. Tears streamed down her cheeks, rivers of sorrow carving through the dust of Mars that clung to her skin. Her breath hitched, each inhale a labor, each exhale a release of pent-up anguish. "Draco, we're going to have a long talk about boundaries." Sam's voice, a gentle intrusion in the storm of Cass's grief, wrapped around her like a blanket, warm yet suffused with a sternness that reverberated silently between them. Draco shifted uncomfortably, his presence an anchor in the room, heavy with the weight of unspoken apologies. Cass raised her gaze, meeting Sam's eyes—pools of hazel filled with a concern that transcended the boundaries of their makeshift family. The hard lines of his face softened as he took a step closer, his shadow merging with hers on the cabin floor. Cass bolted from the table, her legs carrying her faster than her thoughts could race. She collided with Sam's sturdy frame, her small arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate embrace. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed into the fabric of his shirt, the rough material brushing against her damp cheeks. Sam, taken aback by the ferocity of her grief, hesitated before encircling Cass in his own arms. The cabin air, thick with tension and sorrow, seemed to hold its breath. "My real dad was in front of me the whole time, but I was being stupid," Cass blurted out between sobs, her voice muffled but emphatic against his chest. "You tried to make sure he knew me, but he never replied to your letters, never even opened them, he didn’t care about me." Each word struck Sam like a meteorite impacting the Martian surface—cratering deep into his heart. His hazel eyes glistened, a world of unsaid emotions swirling within. "Cass, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice barely louder than the whispering wind outside their boat. "I don’t know what John was thinking, or why he wouldn’t reply, but I’m certain somewhere down deep, he cared." His fingers traced circles on her back, a silent symphony of comfort. "Maybe he thought it best for you to not know." The simple words, spoken with such softness, soothed the raw edges of Cass's pain. As she clung to Sam, the man who stood as a sentinel in her life, the currents of anger and confusion receded, leaving behind the shores of acceptance. Cass's arms tightened further, her embrace a fortress against the cold truth that had washed over her. She lifted her tear-streaked face from the refuge of Sam's chest, her green eyes clear despite the sorrow they held. "You're my dad, and you always have been," she admitted, her voice steadier now, yet still tinged with the raw edge of regret. "I'm sorry I was being so stupid." Sam, his own eyes not immune to the sting of tears, gazed down at the daughter who had come into his life like a comet—unexpected and brilliant. He brushed the sandy blonde hair from her forehead in a tender gesture, his touch conveying more than words could express. "No, Cass," he insisted gently, the timbre of his voice carrying the weight of years spent in silent observation of the Martian skies. "It's natural you wanted to know your real father." With a deep breath, as if drawing strength from the memory of red dust and endless horizons, he offered softly, "I can tell you about him if you like. We all grew up together in the same schools on Mars." Cass looked up at Sam, considering the man whose quiet presence had been as constant as the polar ice caps of their home planet. In his offer, she sensed the opening of a vault, long sealed, that held the mysteries of her origins. A nod was her only reply, but it bridged the chasm that uncertainty had carved between them. As the sun rose, painting the sky with hues of warmth, they remained there, locked in an embrace that spoke volumes of forgiveness and newfound understanding.