My mouth goes dry as I stare at the sealed wall. I stare at the sealed wall, then the alcove, then Rakkh’s profile—sharp, furious, absolutely willing to die fighting a ship if it means keeping me alive. And that thought—die—hits like a spearhead.
Because the ship isn’t sealing us in to protect us from the monsters outside. It’s sealing us in to protect me from—my gaze snaps to Rakkh. To Travnyk. To Tomas.
To the three of them standing in the violet light, like silhouettes in a story that ends badly.
The ship hums again, deeper. This time, the sound has a rhythm I can’t ignore. It’s scanning us.
The grooves in the wall brighten in a slow sweep, traveling from the floor to chest height, then across the chamber like a band of light measuring everything it touches.
It passes over Tomas first. He freezes, eyes wide. Nothing happens.
It passes over Travnyk. Travnyk’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. Nothing happens.
Then it reaches Rakkh. The moment the band of light touches his scales, the ship’s hum spikes—sharp, alarmed, wrong. The grooves flare blue-white.
Rakkh’s eyes flash to mine, and I see it—he feels it, too. The instant it shifts from “unknown” to “target.”
The air changes—thickens. The pressure increases. A thin seam in the wall behind him splits open. It’s not a door, it’s a vent. Something inside it warms, a dry heat building fast, as if the ship is drawing breath to expel it.
“Rakkh—!” Tomas calls, scrambling backward, nearly tripping over himself.
Rakkh doesn’t retreat. He turns slightly, putting himself between me and the seam, wings flaring to cover me, a shield.
“I told you,” he says, voice low and vicious. “Nothing touches you.”
The seam behind Rakkh widens. Heat rolls out. Not flame. Not lightning. Something more controlled. A hiss of pressurized air.
“Warrior—” Travnyk steps forward, lifting one hand—not toward the ship, but toward Rakkh.
Rakkh doesn’t look away from the vent.
“Stay back,” he growls.
The words aren’t a request. They’re a command born from the kind of fear he never lets anyone see. My chest tightens so hard it hurts. The ship isn’t waking to welcome me. It’s waking to defend me. From them. From him. From the one male who hasput his body between me and every danger since the moment he assigned himself to my side.
The vent behind Rakkh widens. The heat intensifies. I move before I can think. I dart forward and grab Rakkh’s forearm with both hands. His scales are slick with leftover ichor, slick beneath my palms as I yank hard.
“Rakkh—move!” I hiss.
He glances down at me—just a flicker—and in that flicker I see how much he hates that I’m afraid of this.
“I will not leave you,” he growls.
“I’m not asking you to,” I snap, voice shaking. “I’m asking you to stop it from killing you.”
His eyes widen a fraction. The ship hum grows higher and more insistent. The vent’s hiss rises, building toward release. My throat burns.
I pivot, half-reaching for the alcove panel again—for the grooves, for anything that might be an interface.
“Stop,” I whisper.
Nothing. The ship doesn’t even acknowledge the word. It’s not listening for language. It’s listening for something else entirely. Markers. Permission. Authority. A memory.
My hands shake as I press my palm to the wall—flat against the glowing grooves.
Instantly, the violet warms beneath my skin, reacting like it recognizes me. The hum changes—shifting away from the alarm frequency into something lower.
The vent behind Rakkh hesitates. It doesn’t close, but it… pauses. As if awaiting a command it can understand.
