This isn’t over.
The engine room is colder than the bunk, but the tension between us is hot enough to weld metal.
Rynn is already at the primary console, back in his jacket, back in his armor. He’s working with efficient, brutal precision, checking the matrix stability. He hasn’t looked at me since we left the cabin.
“Matrix is stable,” I say, sliding out from under the manifold. “We’re green for FTL.”
“Good.” He doesn’t look up. “We have fifteen minutes before they triangulate our position.”
I wipe grease from my hands, watching him. The silence is heavy, filled with everything we almost did.
“Rynn,” I say.
He stiffens. “Focus on the ship, Captain.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”
He finally turns. His eyes are hard, gold flint. “Nothing happened. We survived the cold. We woke up. Now we have a job to do.”
“You almost kissed me senseless. You threatened to claim me.”
“And it was a mistake.” He steps closer, looming over me, using his height like a weapon. “A tactical error. One I will not repeat.”
“Because you’re scared?”
“Because you are a liability when I am distracted!” The shout echoes in the small room. He takes a breath, reigning it in. “If they catch us... if they board this ship...”
He reaches out, grabbing my upper arms. His grip is tight, desperate.
“If they board us,” he says, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper, “you surrender me.”
I blink. “What?”
“You tell them I forced you. That I hijacked the vessel. You give me up, and you walk away.”
I stare at him. The heat in my blood turns to ice. “Are you insane?”
“It is the only logical outcome. I am the target. They will trade your life for mine without hesitation. You are irrelevant to them. If you fight, you die. If you surrender me, you live.”
“The target?” My laugh is harsh, disbelief warring with the cold knot in my stomach. “Why? You’re a diplomat, Rynn. Why are they hunting you like you’re the crown jewels?”
“It does not matter why! It only matters that they will kill you to get to me.”
“I’m not giving you up.”
“Polly—”
“No!” I shove at his chest, breaking his grip. “We just spent eight hours tangled together, you had your hands all over me, and now you think you can order me to hand you over to the people who want to capture you?” I poke him hard in the chest. “I don’t know how things work in your fancy diplomatic circles, Lord Broody, or what kind of trouble you’re actually in, but on this ship, the Captain decides who leaves. And nobody leaves unless I say so.”
He looks at me, frustration and awe warring in his expression.
“You are impossibly stubborn,” he growls.
“And you’re impossibly noble. Makes us a terrible team.” I glare at him, eyes stinging. “Now move. I have an FTL drive to engage.”
He steps aside, but he catches my hand as I pass. Just for a second. His thumb brushes my knuckles—an apology, or a promise, I don’t know.
“FTL DRIVE ONLINE,” Zip announces. “READY FOR DEPARTURE. ALSO, THE SENSOR GHOST HAS RESOLVED INTO THREE DISTINCT SIGNALS. INTERCEPT VECTOR CALCULATED.”
