“Seventeen minutes, tops.”
She crosses the space in three steps, dropping the datapad onto a seat with a heavy thunk. “Then we need to move.”
I should be confirming the rest of the route. Checking the junction. Scanning for interference. But all I can do is watch her.
The curve of her neck. The gleam of sweat on her collarbone. The way she moves like her body still remembers being under mine.
She brushes past me to reach the secondary access panel.
Her shoulder grazes my chest.
I stop breathing.
She doesn’t notice. Or maybe she does. She doesn’t comment either way.
But my skin is burning under the armor. Not from heat.
From restraint.
I should step back. I don’t.
My hand hovers at my side like it might betray me with want.
She kneels by the access conduit, starts rerouting power.
“You okay?” she asks, not looking.
I don’t answer.
Because no.
I’m not.
My pulse is wrong. My judgment’s frayed. I’m calculating threat vectors with only half my brain because the other half is still in her bed, in her hands, in the echo of her voice whispering my name like it’s a secret she wants to keep and a weapon she’s ready to use.
She glances up. Sees my face. Frowns.
“Tatek.”
“I’m fine.”
“Try again, this time without the liar tone.”
“I said I’m?—”
“I know what you said,” she snaps. “But you’re not fine. You’re looking at me like I’m about to break. Or like you are.”
I turn away.
“I can’t afford this,” I say quietly.
She stands.
“What? This?” She gestures between us. “Because guess what—I didn’t ask for it either. I didn’t come to this station looking to fall into the arms of a warborn protector with trauma in his eyes and fire in his blood.”
Her voice cracks.
“But I did.”
