I don’t answer.
She takes another step forward. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror across the locker wall.
“You lost control.”
Still I don’t speak.
She glances at the towel clenched in my hands. “Your biometric feedback surged. Spike followed by collapse. That’s not just fatigue.”
“Were you watching?” I ask, voice raw.
“I’m monitoringeveryone.”
I finally look at her. Really look.
Her jacket’s zipped too high again. Hair tied too tight. Lips pale.
“I remember what it felt like to trust you,” I say, voice quiet. “And I remember what it felt like to bedestroyedby that trust.”
She flinches. Just slightly.
“That wasn’t my choice,” she says, barely audible.
“Then whose was it?”
Her mouth tightens. “You don’t want the answer.”
“Yes, Rynn,” I growl, standing, stepping close. “Ido.”
She’s breathing fast. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t back down.
We’re inches apart. Heat between us like an open flame.
“I can’t give it to you,” she whispers.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
I stare. Long and hard.
And in that silence, something breaks.
Not between us.
Inus.
CHAPTER 11
RYNN
Drel’s office always smells like steam and old wiring.
He insists it’s because of the sterilization unit under his desk, but I think it’s just him. Alzhons run hot—something in their exothermic metabolism—and his cramped little corner of the med-bay never cools down, no matter how many fans he rigs to the venting system.
He’s hunched over a diagnostic panel when I step in, pale green skin slick with sweat, upper arms tucked tight against his ribs in a way that only happens when he’s anxious.
I shut the door behind me. Quiet. Deliberate.
