He chuckles, low and rumbling.
“You think we’re gonna make it?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
I nod.
And we lie there.
And for the first time since this nightmare started, I let myself feel it—that ache. That strange, terrible pull toward someone I’m not supposed to care about.
And I think, I already do.
CHAPTER 10
TAKHISS
She’s too pale.
Her lips—usually chapped and flushed with breath—are colorless. Her hands tremble as she works the last of the plasma routing into place, but she won’t stop. Won’t even pause. I’ve watched her push herself for the past thirty-six hours, crawling through ducts, breaking her knuckles open on twisted panels, wiring repairs with burnt fingertips. Stubborn. Brilliant. Fragile.
She’s not like us. She doesn’t regenerate. Doesn’t store nutrition in subdermal sacs. Doesn’t metabolize muscle when blood sugar fails. She just breaks.
I offer her my ration gel again. She glares up at me from under the console like I just asked her to strip naked. “No.”
“It’s not a request.” My voice is too low. Rougher than I intend.
Ella wipes sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, smearing grime across her temple. Her eyes—brown, defiant, and shaking—narrow. “It’s yours. You’re bigger. You need it more.”
I crouch beside her. The air between us is too warm from the heat coil we wired into the overhead bulkhead. It smells likeburned insulation and her skin. “I’ve gone without food longer than this.”
“And I’ve gone without anyone trying to play damn savior, so back off.”
She says it like she’s ready to throw down, but her knees buckle when she stands—the bad leg giving out first. The word she manages is some variation of my name—soft, dizzy, broken—but then she folds.
I catch her before she hits the floor. Her weight in my arms is disorienting. Not because she’s heavy—she’s not—but because she fits. She’s hot through her jumpsuit, fevered and breathing fast. Her skin smells like metal and ozone and something sweeter—like singed sugar. My arms tighten without permission.
I lay her out across the bench, torn cushions exposed beneath her, and tear open the ration pack with my teeth.
She stirs. Her lashes flutter. “What are you doing?”
“Feeding you.”
“Don’t you dare—” She tries to sit up. Fails.
I break a chunk off with my claws, warm it between my palms, and bring it to her mouth. She turns her face away like I’ve insulted her soul.
I grip her chin gently but firmly. “Ella. Open.”
She hesitates. “If you ever tell anyone about this…”
“Eat. Threaten me later.”
Her glare could ignite an engine. But she opens her mouth, and I feed her. Slowly. Carefully. The first bite she chews like it’s made of gravel. But the second she swallows, color creeps back into her cheeks. She finishes half the pack before swatting my hand away.
“Enough. I’ll puke if I take more.”
I sit beside her on the floor. Close. Close enough our legs touch.
