Harper forced herself through the morning routine on autopilot. The guest bathroom had basic supplies—toothbrush, soap, the kind of impersonal necessities that came with emergency housing. She stared at her reflection while brushing her teeth. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair tangled from restless sleep. The borrowed sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder.
She looked like hell.
Good. Maybe feeling like hell on the outside would distract from the mess on the inside.
The LMP had sent over actual clothes—plain shirt, practical pants, underwear that fit well enough. Everything was basic gray, the kind of generic clothing that screamed "charity case," but it was clean and it wasn't bloodstained. Harper pulled it on with movements that felt mechanical, her thoughts already jumping ahead to Delilah.
What if she'd gotten worse overnight? What if the machines had failed? What if?—
She bit down on her lower lip and forced herself to breathe. Delilah was alive. Kellat had said so yesterday. Alive meant time.
Time to fix this. Time to make it right. Time to figure out how to survive this mess without drowning.
When she emerged from the guest room, Kirr was waiting by the door. He'd changed into what looked like his work uniform—dark pants, fitted shirt that stretched across his shoulders, boots that added another inch to his already impossible height. His orange hair was styled into that high quiff again, and in the morning light streaming through the viewport, she noticed the way it caught fire-colored highlights.
Professional. He looked professional. Not like the half-naked warrior who'd stepped out of the bathroom with water everywhere and warmth rolling off him in waves.
Stop it.
"Ready?" His amber eyes found hers, and she saw no acknowledgment of last night's encounter. No teasing about her staring. Just that same calm.
"Yeah." She grabbed his jacket from where she'd left it draped over the couch. It still smelled like him—that spice and warmth she couldn't name. "Should I give this back?"
"Keep it." He moved toward the door. "You'll need it. Station corridors run cold."
They didn't, actually. The temperature was perfectly regulated. But she pulled the jacket on anyway because arguing felt like more effort than she managed, and having his scent wrapped around her shoulders made something in her chest ease.
The walk to medical bay was quiet. Harper counted her steps—forty-three from his quarters to the lift, another seventy-eight through the main corridor. Latharians moved around them, some in uniform, others in civilian clothes. A few glanced at her with curiosity, but most paid no attention.
She studied them while they walked. The height was universal—six and a half feet seemed standard, with some even taller. Their skin tones varied just like humans, from pale to deep brown. But their eyes gave them away. Gold, amber, green with that intense, non-human quality. And their hair?—
Most of them wore it long, she realized. Braided with beads woven through. Intricate patterns that looked like they took hours to create.
Kirr's hair was different. Short. Styled. Nothing like the others.
The medical bay doors slid open and the antiseptic smell hit her first, followed by that herbal undertone she'd noticed yesterday. Kellat stood at a console near the back, his scarred hands moving over a display. He looked up when they entered and nodded.
"War-Commander. Ms. Sawyer." His Terran was smooth, the translation matrix in her ear doing its job. "Your cousin's condition is unchanged."
Harper's knees went weak with relief. She gripped the edge of the nearest surface—a counter or desk, she didn't care which—and just breathed.
Unchanged. Still holding on.
Kellat gestured toward the transparent panels where Delilah lay. "Brain activity is good. The swelling has decreased. Injuries are healing as expected."
"When will she wake up?" The question came out too fast, too desperate.
"Unknown." Kellat's expression was kind but honest. "We're keeping her in the medically induced coma to allow her body to heal without stress. When the time is right, we'll begin the waking process. But I can't give you a timeline yet."
Harper nodded. Swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "But she's going to be okay?"
"The prognosis is significantly better than it was immediately after the crash." Kellat moved to stand beside her, his attention on the monitors. "She's strong. Her body is responding to treatment. I'm optimistic."
Optimistic. Not certain, but optimistic.
It would have to be enough.
Kirr's hand settled on her shoulder, warm through his jacket. "Can she sit with her?"
