“Any progress?” His voice was rough. He’d been dealing with growing unrest the last two sun-cycles as people realized someone among them was actively trying to destroy their home.
“Some.” I turned to face him, and my breath caught despite my best efforts. He looked as tired as I felt. His long hair had come loose from its tie, falling around his face in a way that made him look younger. More vulnerable. Just looking at him made my stomach flip every damn time.
“We’ve identified most of the damaged points,” I continued, forcing myself to focus on the technical problem instead of the way his eyes tracked over me with concern. “But fixing them without triggering more failures is like trying to defuse a bomb while someone keeps adding wires.”
Venith gathered her tools. “I should return to my family. My bondmate will worry if I’m gone too long.” She glancedbetween Rezor and me with an expression that suggested she knew exactly what kind of tension filled the space between us. “I’ll return at first light, Cleo.”
“Thanks, Venith. You’ve been amazing.” I managed a tired smile as she left, her footsteps fading up the stone stairs.
Which left me alone with Rezor in a chamber lit only by the soft glow of ancient devices and the soft bioluminescence of the lights.
He moved closer, and I forced myself to stay focused on the power distribution panel instead of watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his tunic. Professional. Ineededto stay professional. Even if we were alone in an underground chamber and I hadn’t slept properly in a couple days and his gaze tracked my every movement with a hunger that I felt low in my belly. He was more attractive every fucking time I saw him.
“You should rest,” he said. “You’ve been down here for three nights straight.”
“Nah, We’re almost there.” I gestured at the complex array of crystalline relays and tubes that pulsed with faint light. “Besides, sleep is overrated.”
“Cleo.” He stepped into my line of sight, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were that deep fuchsia color that made rational thought difficult, and his expression was concerned. “You’re exhausted. You won’t solve anything if you collapse.”
“I’ve worked longer shifts than this.” It came out more defensive than I’d intended. “Back on Earth, I once stayed awake for fifty-two hours straight troubleshooting a critical infrastructure failure on Luna Station. This is nothing.”
“Why do you do that?” The question caught me off guard.
“Do what?”
“Push yourself to the breaking point.” He moved closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You don’t have to prove anything, Cleo. Everyone can see how skilled you are.”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. “Yeah, well. Skill isn’t always enough.”
“It is, here.”
Ah, how I wished I could believe that. “How, with Vax actively trying to take me and my friends down?” The question came out raw, stripped of all the defenses I usually kept in place. “How do I know you won’t decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth? That keeping me here isn’t worth the risk to your people?”
“Because I can’t,” he said simply. “I’ve tried, Cleo. I’ve tried to see you as just another problem to solve. A variable to manage. But every time I’m near you, my marks burn. Every time I imagine you in danger, all I can think about is keeping you safe.”
His hand came up, hovering near my face but not quite touching. Giving me space to pull away.
I didn’t pull away.
“I’m terrified of being wrong about you,” he continued. “Of making a choice that puts my people at risk. But I’m more terrified of pushing you away because of that fear.” His eyes held mine, intense and unwavering.
“You think I’m not terrified?” My voice shook. “You could end me with one word.”
His hand finally made contact, his fingers brushing along my jaw. I shivered despite the heat radiating from his touch. “If you thought I’d actually do that, you would not be standing here with me, letting me touch you.”
He wasn’t wrong. I leaned into his touch before I could stop myself. I was just running out of excuses to keep fighting this. Of pretending I didn’t feel the pull between us, didn’t notice the way his marks blazed every time we were close, didn’t lie awake at night thinking about what it would feel like to stop resisting and just let myself fall.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to trust someone who has so much power over me.”
“Then don’t trust me all at once.” His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, and I felt the answering heat low in my belly. “Trust me in small moments. Trust that I’ll keep working to earn it. Trust that when I say you’re brave and brilliant and stronger than you give yourself credit for, I mean every word.”
“Rezor…” I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if I was going to argue or agree or just stand here drowning in the way he looked at me, like I was something precious instead of a mistake he’d likely regret.
“I can’t afford to be wrong about you,” he said, echoing words I’d heard him say before. “Too many people depend on me. But I can’t afford to be wrong aboutthiseither. About us.”
“What if there is no ‘us’?” I asked. “What if your marks are just reacting to something strange and unfamiliar? What if I’m just a curiosity?”
“Do you feel like a curiosity?” His other hand came up to cup my other cheek, tilting my face up toward his. “Becausewhen I touch you, it doesn’t feel strange. It feels like coming home.”
