I slam my hand on the dead panel and rest my forehead against it.
“Shit.”
“I could give you my armor battery,” Takhiss says, voice low, almost hesitant. He’s leaning against a bulkhead, arms crossed,eyes glowing in the near-dark. “Internal core holds a few kilojoules. Enough for a surge.”
I spin on him. “That could kill your suit. Isn’t it integrated into your environmental controls?”
“It is,” he says. “But I’m warm-blooded. I’ll survive.”
“Still a bad idea.”
“Better than freezing.”
He walks toward me, massive and quiet andso frustratingly calmdespite the fact we’re basically orbiting death with a ‘Welcome’ sign hung around our necks.
“I’ll rig the bypass,” I say.
“I trust you.”
Those two words do something weird to my chest. They crawl under my ribs and settle there like they belong.
I don’t look at him. Can’t. Not when his voice goes that gentle.
He kneels beside me while I strip his armor of its core. It hisses as I detach it, hot to the touch, pulsing faint blue between my palms. I feel like I’m holding something alive.
“This’ll overload the relay if I’m not careful,” I mutter, sweat trickling down my temple. “I’ll run it through a step-down filter and pray it doesn’t cook the capacitor.”
Takhiss nods. “I’ll be here.”
Of course he will.
He always is.
I push the leads into the power socket and flip the switch.
There’s a second of absolute silence.
Then light floods the room in a blaze of gold.
It’sbeautiful—clean, bright,warm.I let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh and collapse back against the floor, staring at the ceiling like it just gave me its blessing.
Takhiss doesn’t say anything. He just watches me, red eyes flickering in the glow, and it hits me.
He’stoo quiet.
“Okay,” I say, squinting at him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He shifts, just slightly. His tail flicks once—twitchy, sharp. A tell.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The don’t-get-too-close thing. The I’m-holding-myself-back thing.”
