I lie down near the bulkhead, pretending to sleep. I can feel him even with my eyes closed—the weight of him in space, the soft mechanical hum of his armor, the faint rattle of his breath.
I tell myself I’m not afraid.
But the truth is… I’mtoo tiredto be afraid.
When I drift, I see flashes behind my eyes. My crew. The explosion. His eyes. Always his eyes.
I wake once—sometime later—to find him still there, unmoving, staring at the coil of light between us. The glow catches the edges of his scales and turns them to liquid fire.
He doesn’t look at me, but his voice breaks the quiet, low and rumbling. “You shouldn’t be alive.”
“Neither should you.”
He smiles then. Barely. Just a curl of lips sharp enough to glint. “Maybe that means something.”
“Maybe it means we’re lucky.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Luck doesn’t bind souls.”
I don’t know what that means, and I don’t ask. I just turn my face toward the warmth, close my eyes again, and pretend, for one fragile moment, that the war outside these walls doesn’t exist.
That the monster in the corner isn’t one at all.
And that maybe neither of us were supposed to die tonight.
CHAPTER 8
TAKHISS
She’s brilliant.
And she’s driving me absolutely insane.
“This isn’t going to work,” I growl, tail lashing against the floor plating as she balances on a sparking conduit like she’s part of the circuitry. “We’re bleeding oxygen. Youcan’treroute from this sector—it’s barely holding together.”
“Maybe not toyourstandards,” Ella shoots back, half-crouched in the crawlspace, elbow-deep in what used to be a navigation relay. Her hair’s wild, her cheeks streaked with soot, and there’s a cut on her lip she hasn’t even noticed. “But unless you’ve got another solution, reptile, maybe shut up and hand me the red wire.”
I hold the wire out—reluctantly.
She snatches it, then flashes a smirk like she’swon something.And maybe she has.
She ties the wire with her teeth. Herteeth.Who the hell does that?
“You're gonna electrocute yourself,” I mutter, folding my arms and glaring down at her from my full height. “And I’m not in the mood to peel you off the wall again.”
“Then maybe stop standing there like a judgmental space gargoyle and help,” she says, twisting the wire into the socket like she’s done it a thousand times.
The console lights flicker once—then stabilize. Low hum. Green indicators. Life support node online.
I blink.
She leans back on her heels, breathing hard, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Told you,” she mutters. But her voice is softer now. Tired. “Every second matters. You want us to live or not?”
I do. Stars, I do.
I'd tear out my own heart to keep hers beating. And that terrifies me.
Because she doesn’t know that.
