"We go together," he said.
Harper didn't argue.
She ran for the door, Kirr right on her heels.
Harper slammed through the double doors of the medical sector at a dead run, Kirr a half-step ahead. The quiet sanctuary she'd visited earlier had transformed into controlled chaos—alarms bleating, healers with teal sashes shouting over the din, the smell of burnt circuitry thick enough to taste.
Kellat met them near the junction to the critical care unit, his jaw tight.
Kirr closed the last step of distance until Kellat had to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. "Tell me."
The healer thumbed the dataflex he held. "Cascading failure in sector power management. The backups kicked in, but something’s wrong with the switching algorithms. They keep cycling on and off. Engineering are working on the problem, but that’s not enough. The critical care beds need consistent power."
Harper gripped Kirr's arm. "Tell me Delilah’s stable."
Kellat's gaze held hers. "The beds require a constant, regulated flow to maintain the neural suppression that keeps her in the coma. If the power spikes or drops too low, she wakes up. And in her current state, waking up could cause a massive cerebral hemorrhage."
Her stomach dropped. "So, if she wakes… we lose her."
"We're triaging and transferring critical cases off-grid," Kellat said. "She and the other humans we have here are the top priority."
"Use the Ra'Tervas," Kirr said without hesitation, already inputting something into his wrist computer. "My medical bay is fully powered and prepped."
Kellat nodded. "I was hoping you’d say that, but I still need a clear route to docking and security on the corridor. One more power dip and we lose monitoring mid-transfer."
"You'll have it," Kirr said.
Harper pushed past them. She didn't think. She just needed to see. She scrambled around the corner into Delilah's room and stopped dead.
Three healers surrounded the bed. The calm blue light of the stasis field was gone, replaced by an angry, pulsing orange. They were disconnecting tubes, unhooking monitors. Delilah looked small and pale in the flurry of activity, her chest rising and falling in a jerky, uneven rhythm.
"Careful with the links!" one medic shouted.
"Power fluctuating," another warned. "We have twenty seconds before the backup cycles again."
"Delilah—" Harper lunged forward. She had no idea what she tought she would do to help, hold the wires together maybe? Breathe for her cousin? But she didn’t care. She just had to get to her. Her fingers brushed the edge of Delilah's blanket?—
A hand clamped around her upper arm. Hard. She was jerked back, her feet skidding on the smooth floor. She spun, ready to claw at whoever was stopping her, and slammed into Kirr's chest.
"Let me go!" She struggled, hitting his shoulder. "They're moving her! I have to?—"
"No! You have to stay out of the way," Kirr said. His voice wasn't gentle. It was iron. He held her easily, pinning her arms to her sides, trapping her against him. "Look at them, Harper. They are professionals. You are not. Move wrong and you cost her minutes." His hold tightened. "Minutes she doesn't have."
The words were a slap in the face. Brutal but true.
She went limp, a sob escaping her throat. She watched through a blur of tears as the medics transferred Delilah to a hovering transport gurney. They rushed her out the other door, toward the docking ring.
Gone. Just like that.
A chime sounded. Sharp, insistent, and demanding.
Kirr stiffened against her. His hold on her tightened for a heartbeat, then he released one arm to flip back the leather cover on his wrist. It flashed red, matching the emergency lights in the hall.
"M'Aab," he answered.
"Commander, we have sector-wide cascades," someone bellowed from the device. "Life support in residential is showing strain. We need authorization for sector lockdown and power rerouting. The engineers are chasing their tails up here. Comms are down, and we can’t raise the Station Commander. You’re the highest ranking warrior we can reach."
Kirr's jaw clenched. "I'm coming."
