"Krilly," Bebo says. "Your heart rate is one hundred thirty-eight beats per minute. This is not a medical emergency, but I want you to know I'm judging you."
"Bebo."
"He told you he plans to take his time and your cardiovascular system responded as though you'd sprinted three kilometres."
"I'maware."
"Twelve hours of this will be medically significant."
"I'm aware."
The perimeter scout is an exercise in mutual suffering that we're both pretending is tactical necessity.
Horgox leads through the canyon passages, all professional vigilance and predator-focus, except that every time he steadies me over rough terrain, his hand lingers. On my hip. On the small of my back. On my wrist, thumb pressing against my pulse point where he can feel exactly how fast my heart is going andthe slight curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth says he knows why.
Snowball appears twenty minutes in, falling into step behind us with the easy authority of a self-appointed bodyguard. Her bioluminescent veins pulse stronger than yesterday, silver-blue lines rippling through matted fur that's starting to look less neglected. Freedom agrees with her. The infection site where the collar sat is healing, new pink skin visible beneath the white.
"She's looking better," I observe.
"Resilient species. Now that the collar's not actively poisoning her system, her biology is compensating." Horgox pauses to check claw marks on the canyon wall. Fresh. "Pudding's been through here too. The territorial markers are coordinated; they're establishing a shared boundary."
"They're building a territory together."
"They're building a home." Something in his voice catches on the word, and he doesn't look at me when he says it.
We round a corner, and I spot the hot spring. Steam curling from crystal-clear water, tucked into a natural alcove where the canyon walls provide shelter from above. The kind of place that would be on a travel brochure if the planet weren't actively trying to kill everything on it.
"Oh," I breathe. "That's—"
"A geothermal spring. Mineral-filtered, safe temperature. I've used it." He's already scanning the area for threats, which gives me a view of his profile that does nothing for my composure. "We have time. If you want."
"If I want to take a hot bath for the first time in days on a planet where the rain is acidic?" I'm already unfastening my jumpsuit. "Horgox, I would fight Pudding for this."
The jumpsuit comes off, leaving me in undershirt and shorts. Not revealing by any standard, but Horgox's gaze tracks the movement the way his eyes track threats: total focus, instantassessment, and a visible effort to redirect attention elsewhere that fails completely.
"You coming?" I step into the water, and the heat is immediate and perfect, sinking into muscles that have been running on adrenaline and moss bedding for days. A sound escapes me that I don't plan and can't retract, pure physical relief.
His jaw tightens. "That sound."
"What about it?"
"You made the same sound last night when you pressed against my chest and said I was warm enough." His voice has dropped into registers that make my toes curl against the spring's stone bottom. "I'm going to be hearing both versions for the rest of my life."
"Is that a complaint?"
"It's a promise." He's stripping off his outer layers now, and watching Horgox undress is an experience I was not adequately prepared for by any OOPS training module. The catches and straps come away with efficient movements that reveal emerald skin in sections: the scarred landscape of his chest where the harness used to sit, the jade markings warming in the steam, the blue traceries running along muscle that flexes with each motion. The scars I freed from the chest plate, healed now into pale lines that map where pain used to live and doesn't anymore. Because I took it out. My hands. My tools. My choice.
He enters the water with a fluidity that shouldn't be possible for seven feet of gladiator, and the spring is deep enough for privacy but small enough that maintaining distance requires active effort. His markings brighten beneath the water's surface, the heat intensifying their luminescence, and the jade patterns turn his body into something that looks like living art.
"Stop staring," he says.
"Make me."
His eyes flash. "Don't tempt me."
"I have been actively tempting you for days. You're very resistant." I lean back against the stone, letting the heat work through my shoulders. "Twelve hours. Minus two for scouting. Ten to go."
"You're counting."
