Renn looks at me like I’m dangerous. He’s not wrong.
Lonari’s gaze turns to me. “You did that.”
“I started it,” I whisper. “The spread does the rest.”
Renn clears his throat. “Boss, there’s another thing.”
Lonari’s eyes narrow. “Spit it out.”
Renn’s voice goes even tighter. “We picked up a faint ping. Aces High. Clint’s ship. It’s alive. He’s not answering on open channels, but Mira says she can probably handshake if Jordan?—”
“Give me a transmitter,” I say immediately.
Lonari’s hand tightens briefly on my shoulder. “Jordan?—”
“I need to know he’s okay,” I snap, then soften slightly because the painkillers are making me honest and I hate that too. “Please.”
Lonari holds my gaze for a long second.
Then he nods once, curt. “Mira.”
Renn taps his comm and steps back out.
I exhale, shaky. “Thank you.”
Lonari’s eyes stay hard, but his thumb rubs once against my shoulder, small and unconscious. “Don’t make me regret it.”
I meet his gaze. “I won’t.”
A beat.
Then I add, because I can’t help myself, “Also, if Morazin ‘accidentally’ dies, I will personally haunt you.”
Lonari’s mouth curves. “Good. I hate being bored.”
I almost laugh again and stop myself. “Stop being funny. I’m injured.”
Lonari leans in slightly. “You’re always injured.”
“Rude,” I whisper.
His eyes drop briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and the room tilts in that dangerous way it does when intimacy tries to sneak in through the cracks.
I swallow hard, not trusting my voice.
Then an alarm chirps softly—internal only. Not danger. Just a status update.
The ship shifts, turning.
Somewhere beyond the medbay walls, the Nun’s Tooth adjusts course like a predator choosing its next angle.
Lonari stands, straightening like the moment never happened.
“Rest,” he says.
I glare. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He tilts his head. “Rest is tactical.”
