I stand there, panting.
Fists throbbing. Chest heaving.
My whole body hums like a charged weapon—primed, reckless, unstable.
I try to tell myself it’s just adrenaline.
Just a reaction.
Just—
Her.
That kiss wasn’t part of the mission.
None of this is.
She’s not supposed to matter like this.
Not supposed to get in my head, under my skin, into mybloodstream.
But stars help me, sheis.
And I’m losing focus.
The comm buzzes again.
Lazarus.
Of course.
I accept it with a grunt, still standing amid the wreckage of my makeshift gym.
“Rough night?” he says. “Or did a bag of feathers offend your honor?”
“She’s fine,” I growl.
A beat.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were going to.”
“I was,” he admits. “But you saved me the effort. Thanks.”
I scrub a hand down my face, already regretting answering.
Lazarus’s voice sharpens. “You’re growing attached.”
I bark a laugh that’s more teeth than humor. “She’sstubborn. Fragile. She trips over her own shoes.”
“And you gave her a tactical hairbrush.”
“She needed it.”
“You watched her train for an hour like a lovesick hovercam.”
“I was evaluating her agility.”
