Right. Real or not, the memory of his mouth against mine burns bright and vivid, soft and shockingly careful for a soldier built like a murder machine. My stomach does a somersault and I want to die from embarrassment.
I try to change the subject. “We need power. If that scrubber fails again, we’re screwed.”
He nods. “There’s a micro-reactor pod in the forward auxiliary. Could rig it.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’ve got a better plan?”
I don’t. So I suit up. He does too. We attach ourselves with an old tether cord—him in front, me behind. I try not to stare at the way his massive frame blocks everything ahead. He moves like a predator, each step calculated, smooth, deliberate. I’m not used to being the small one in the room. Next to him, I feel like a goddamn mouse.
The corridor is a jagged wound of torn hull plating and frozen blood. It groans with every shift, like the whole wreck might shudder apart. My heart hammers as I crawl through a half-collapsed section of wall, the tether pulling tight behind me.
“Careful,” he says.
“No shit,” I mutter.
We find the pod. It’s mostly intact, but one side is scorched, melted into slag. I check the readouts with numb fingers.
“Backup gen’s still good,” I say. “If we reroute the input?—”
“I carry. You patch,” he says, already yanking the thing loose from its moorings.
“God, you’re bossy.”
“And you’re mouthy,” he grunts. “Let’s go.”
The drag back is brutal. My muscles scream. My suit’s heat-regulator starts to flicker. Takhiss ends up taking most of the weight. By the time we collapse back into the sealed chamber, I’m dizzy and soaked in sweat, my undersuit clinging to every curve.
We sit on opposite sides of the generator while it hums to life, casting a faint yellow glow across the chamber. The heat returns slowly, and with it, silence.
Not the awkward kind. Not tension.
Anticipation.
I glance at him through the flickering shadows. His scales glisten faintly, cracked and burned in places. One arm bleeds sluggishly from a cut he didn’t mention. Probably didn’t even notice.
“Hold still,” I say, crawling toward him.
He watches me. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t argue. Just lets me kneel beside him and peel back the damaged edge of his armor. His skin beneath is rough, warm, and smells like metal and ash. I clean the wound, then slap a dermal patch over it. My fingers linger. His jaw tightens.
“You didn’t have to carry all that weight alone,” I whisper.
“You would’ve collapsed again.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“I know.”
His voice is rougher than usual. Lower. Almost… tender.
I meet his eyes. Red and burning and unreadable. The bond between us hums like a second heartbeat. I feel it deep in my bones, vibrating through the air between us.
“I remember the kiss,” I murmur.
He looks away. “You weren’t yourself.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
