"That was different."
"How?"
"I didn't have someone waiting for me to come back."
Her breath caught. Her hand squeezed mine once, hard, before she released it and returned to equipment prep with renewed focus.
I forced myself back to coordination duties, checking personnel assignments and reviewing surgical protocols. But part of my attention remained on Bea, watching her move through preparations with the kind of competence that came from years of emergency medicine experience.
She was ready for this. I had to believe that.
Even as fear whispered that I was about to watch her break all over again, and this time I might not be able to put the pieces back together.
"All teams report ready," Dr. K'shav announced from the coordination station. "Awaiting deployment authorization."
I checked the chrono. Ninety minutes until intercept. Time to brief the teams on what we knew and what we were walking into.
"All medical personnel, gather for a mission briefing," I called out. The controlled chaos stilled as staff assembled, their expressions ranging from excited to apprehensive to grimly determined.
I pulled up the tactical display showing theVeritaxisand began explaining the situation.
And tried not to notice how Bea stood at the front of the group, her gray eyes fixed on the damaged ship with an intensity that spoke of both determination and carefully controlled terror.
This was going to change everything.
I just didn't know yet whether that change would heal us or destroy us.
But we were about to find out.
Chapter
Nine
BEA
The bulkhead slammed shut with a sound like a guillotine.
I spun toward the noise, the medical scanner still in my hand, and felt my stomach drop into free fall. The emergency seal had activated with an automatic response to catastrophic hull breach. Which meant the section we'd just left was gone. Vented into space or collapsed entirely.
Which meant we were cut off from the rest of the team.
"Zorn?"
He was already at the sealed bulkhead, running his scanner across its surface. The green glow reflected off his forest-green skin, highlighting the tension in his jaw. "Structural integrity compromised. This section is separating from the main hull."
Around us, the refugee ship groaned, a deep, metallic sound that vibrated through the deck plating and up through my bones. Not the normal sounds of a functioning vessel. Thiswas the sound of something dying. Something coming apart at the seams.
I forced myself to breathe. To think. To assess.
We were in what had been the refugee ship's secondary medical bay—now a disaster zone of overturned equipment, flickering lights, and the acrid smell of burned wiring. The patients we'd stabilized were gone, evacuated with the rest of the medical team before that final raider strike. Before the structure had started its catastrophic failure.
Just us. Trapped.
Life support indicators on the wall panel flickered amber. Not critical yet, but heading that direction. The air already tasted stale, recycled too many times through failing systems.
"Communications?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
Zorn pulled out his comm unit, tried the emergency frequency. Static answered him as harsh and unforgiving. He tried again. Same result.
