He held him there for a second longer. Then, with a sneer of disgust, released his grip.
The kid dropped to the deck, gasping and heaving for air. Scrambling backward with a look of horror on his face, he turned and fled.
Kirr didn't watch him go. He turned, his chest heaving, and stopped suddenly.
Harper stood behind him, her hands clapped over her mouth.
Her eyes were huge… wide and shocked. And she was staring at him.
Harper was being escorted. That was the word for it, not walked or accompanied—escorted, like a prisoner or a fragile piece of cargo that might break if jostled. Kirr's bulk blocked her view of every passing crew member, every shadow in the corridor. She should probably be annoyed about it, but after what happened on the gangway, she couldn't quite manage it.
The medical bay doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Kellat looked up from where he sat at a console, brow arching when he saw them.
"Harper." He rose, pulling out a chair as he shot a look at Kirr. "Please, sit. You look like you could use it."
She opened her mouth to argue—she was fine, dammit—but her knees chose that moment to wobble. Fine. She'd sit.
Kirr hadn't moved from the doorway. His gaze swept the medical bay like he expected someone to leap out of the shadows. When he looked at her, his jaw tightened.
"I have training." The words came out rough. "Kellat will watch over you until I return."
She sighed. "I'm not a child, Kirr. I don’t need a babysitter."
He just looked at her, his expression sour as if biting back about fifteen different responses…she’d bet money on it.
Instead of replying, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small device. Crossing the room in three strides, he pressed it into her palm. She looked down. It was small, about the size of her thumb and silver-purple in the light.
"It's a personal comm." His fingers lingered against hers, warm and rough. "If you need me for anything... I will be here."
His gaze speared hers, pinning her in place.
"Fine." Her fingers closed around it before she could stop herself. "But I'm not calling you because someone looked at me funny."
Relief flickered across his face. Or satisfaction. It was hard to tell with him. Then he gave Kellat a sharp nod, turned on his heel and disappeared through the doors.
She stared at the comm in her hand. Such a small thing to feel so heavy.
"He doesn't give those out often." Kellat didn't look up from the console he'd returned to. “In fact, you're the first person not under his command to carry one linked directly to his personal channel."
Great. Another thing to overthink.
She tucked the comm into her pocket and forced herself to focus. "How's Delilah?"
The healer’s attention shifted to a display showing vitals, brain scans, data streams she couldn't interpret, and a look of frustration crossed his face. Quickly, no more than a fraction of a second before he cleared his expression, but she caught it.
"She's stable. Her vitals are holding steady, which is encouraging. But there's unusual activity in her neural patterns that I'm still studying."
"Unusual how?"
"I'm not entirely certain yet." He frowned at the readouts. "It's not harmful, as far as I can determine. More like... heightened processing. As though her brain is working through something even in stasis."
Harper's stomach twisted. Delilah, trapped in her own head, fighting battles no one else could see. It sounded like hell. "But she's okay?” She pressed, unable to stop herself taking a step forward. “She's not in pain or anything?"
"There are no pain indicators." Kellat met her eyes, his expression frustratingly neutral. "I'm monitoring her constantly. If anything changes, you'll know as soon as I do."
She nodded, throat tight. It wasn't enough… it wouldn’t be enough, not until Delilah opened her eyes and told her to stop hovering. Or yattered on and on with gossip like she always did. But it was something, and it was all she had at the moment.
The healer gestured toward the observation window that looked into the adjacent room. "Would you like to sit with her for a while?"
