“Sedate him,” I order.
“He refused,” the elder healer replies calmly.
I look at Kael.
“Refuse again,” I dare him quietly.
His mouth curves faintly despite the pallor. “You are enjoying this.”
“Immensely,” I say, leaning closer. “You are bleeding internally because you wanted to look invincible in front of rival clans.”
His breath hitches at the truth in that.
“I needed to stand,” he says.
“You needed to survive,” I counter.
The elder healer inclines his head slightly. “If the captain consents, we can administer partial sedation.”
Kael holds my gaze for a long second.
“Partial,” he says finally.
The relief that floods my chest is swift and sharp enough to hurt.
“Good,” I say. “Now move.”
The medics adjust their approach, inserting a controlled sedative that will dull the edge without stealing consciousness. I press both palms against Kael’s shoulders as they begin a deeper internal flush, and his muscles tense beneath my hands before slowly easing.
“Stay with me,” I murmur.
“I am not leaving,” he replies, though his voice softens.
Across the bay, a tactical display flickers with live updates from the outer fleet perimeter. I glance toward it while keeping one hand steady against his side.
“Pull the forward screen ships back two degrees,” I call out to the nearest officer. “We’re bleeding hull integrity we can’t afford.”
The officer hesitates. “That adjustment leaves a gap.”
“It leaves a calculated gap,” I reply sharply. “Alliance won’t cross contested space without Council sanction, not while they’re still triaging their own fracture.”
He nods and relays the order.
Kael watches me through half-lidded eyes. “You commandeer my ship with alarming ease.”
“I prefer competence to ceremony,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Try not to die while I do it.”
A faint huff of breath escapes him that might be a laugh.
The scanner beeps, signaling stabilized internal pressure. The bleeding slows beneath the bandage.
“Better,” the elder healer says grudgingly.
“Not good,” I reply. “Better.”
I straighten and wipe my hands clean of residual antiseptic.
A civilian news feed flares to life on one of the overhead monitors, automatically cycling through Alliance media commentary. The anchor’s voice is tight, layered with barely contained panic.
