“I—yeah,” I stammer, suddenly aware of everything—his heartbeat steady against my shoulder blades, the faint rasp of his breath near my ear. “I noticed.”
He doesn’t let go immediately. Just stays there, holding me steady, like he’s afraid if he moves, I’ll break.
“Got it,” I whisper. “I’m fine. Really.”
He releases me, slow and reluctant. My knees feel untrustworthy for a second. I force a laugh, mostly to fill the air. “So, uh… thanks for the save. Again. You’re kind of making a habit of this.”
He grunts. “You are fragile.”
“Rude, but fair.”
I crouch again, pretending to fiddle with the panel so he can’t see the heat rising in my face. “Anyway, if you’re done looming, I’m trying to?—”
A sudden flicker from the screen cuts me off. A distorted image bleeds across the monitor—Meyer’s face, grainy and smug.
“—Isolde,” his voice crackles through the static, cold and smooth. “I know you can hear this. That little rescue act of yours? Cute. But we’re coming. And your monster can’t hide you forever.”
Garokk stiffens behind me. The low hum in his chest becomes something darker, rougher.
I swallow hard. “Well,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “Guess that answers whether or not they’re leaving.”
He steps closer to the console, glaring at the flickering image. “He underestimates this place.”
“He underestimatesyou,” I say quietly.
Garokk doesn’t answer. He just stares at the dying feed until it fades to black, his claws flexing at his sides. The air feels heavy with static and unsaid things.
“Hey,” I say softly, breaking the tension. “Whatever happened to you out there—before this—it’s not who you are now. You saved me. That counts for something.”
He looks at me then, really looks, and for a heartbeat the walls of the Hulk seem to fade away.
“You should fix your toy,” he says finally, turning toward the corridor. “We will not have long.”
I smile faintly, more to myself than him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get right on it.”
He disappears into the dark.
Reflector hums beside me, one optic swiveling. “Isolde, your heart rate is?—”
“Don’t,” I warn.
He shuts up.
The lights flicker again, and somewhere deep in the Hulk, metal groans like it’s waking from a bad dream.
I reach for the panel, hands trembling—not from fear this time, but from something that feels dangerously like anticipation.
I crouch again, reaching into the panel to adjust the wiring, heart still rattling from Meyer’s little transmission. The conduit sparks under my fingers—nothing major, just a pop—but I flinch back too fast, losing my balance.
My boot catches on the grated floor. I pitch sideways with a yelp.
But I don’t hit the ground.
He’s there. Fast—impossiblyfast. One arm wraps around my waist, the other bracing my back, and I’m caught mid-fall like a feather snatched from the wind. I freeze, breath caught in my throat.
His grip is firm but careful, like I might break if he squeezes too hard. His scales are warm against my skin, rough with the faint rasp of old scars. He looks down at me, eyes narrowed—not with anger, but with something I can’t quite name.
“You are careless,” he mutters, voice low and close.
