CHAPTER 11
Torian awoke to an empty ship.
She stepped out of the sleeping room, rubbing one eye, and took a moment to orient herself. It had only been a few days—it was odd not to wake up in Amelia’s crew room, or on her old bed in the family apartment. She was nowhere near either of those now, and a part of her was relieved for it.
The rest of her remembered the broken engine, and she swallowed a groan.
The kettle still had water, and she absently set it over the heating element, then peeked down the engine hatch. She didn’t hear anyone, so she asked, “Moss? How’re we doing?”
“It is repaired,” Moss said. “He left.”
“Did… ah, did everything go okay?”Did he convince you to kick me out?was what she wanted to ask, although she didn’t dare voice that concern.
Moss sounded smugly pleased. “I did not forgive him.”
Torian winced. Sometimes, people didn’t deserve forgiveness. But bitterness could eat someone—er, someplant—from the inside out, and Torian wanted to at least have that discussion before things festered too long.
Moss moved on seamlessly, oblivious to her concerns. “But he did give me control of the auto-navigation and engine systems. I now have access to everything inside theDestitute, and can ensure we are never rerouted again.” A pause, and then Moss sounded hesitant. “Is that amenable to you? I told Dutch it would be.”
Torian blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “You can controleverything on the ship now?” A part of her wondered if she should be concerned about that—her ship seizing control of itself and flying off without her. But the rest of her knew this wasMoss, and even though their friendship was new… she trusted it.
“Yes. I am prepared to offer you an override, if you feel it is necessary for your safety.” Then, more disgruntled: “Considering your existing safety standard, it would be hypocritical at best, but I will do it.”
Torian crossed her arms. “Excuse you. I worked in security. I have very high safety standards.”
“Records indicate you shot a draic with a jelly bullet yesterday.”
Torian gasped. “That wasonetime.”
“Statistical probability based on your immediate response time suggests you would act that way in most similar situations.” Moss paused, then added, “This is detrimental to your continuing survival. Do you prefer the override or not?”
The topic change from their argument was so swift that Torian’s head spun. She flapped a hand, refocusing on adding a scoop of ravla to her mug. Her coffee grounds sat unused, and she didn’t regret it, mixing the ravla and taking a deep swig.
Delicious.
“The fact that you’re offering an override tells me I don’t need it.” Torian offered a smile to one of the nearby cameras. “I’m glad you won’t be stranded again, Moss. I wouldn’t let that happen, but if something ever happens to me… it’s nice to know.”
Moss didn’t reply for a long time, long enough that Torian thought they were done with the conversation, and was about to move on. But as she opened her mouth, Moss replied, “Thank you for understanding, Torian. You are my best friend.”
Warmth spread through Torian’s chest, and she hugged the mug closer, letting this moment settle. The cinnamon and cocoa notes of the ravla. The low, comfortable lighting. Moss’s moss carpeting every feasible surface, surrounding her like a hug. And the knowledge that she’d made a new friend—a best friend—without even realizing it.
“I’ll always be here for you, Moss. You deserve that.” Torian’s fingers reached for a particularly verdant section of moss—but withdrew at the last second. No touching. She hoped it still knew she wanted to comfort it somehow.
Then Moss shattered the moment by replying, “Statistical probability implies you mightnotalways be here. As your best friend and life support system, I require you to be less stupid around threats.”
Less stupid. Torian snort-laughed mid-sip, and ravla splattered over her nose and shirt. As she frantically tried to dry the spill before it stained, she said, “Is that a technical term?”
“Yes,” Moss replied stoically.
“I’ll be less stupid,” she promised—even as an intense feeling of déjà vu overtook her, dragging her back to that night six months ago:
That was fucking stupid.Yet again, Torian remembered Amelia’s red-rimmed eyes, the frustration and fury in her voice. For a moment, it had looked like Amelia might cry, right there in that dark, empty corridor of her starship. But when Torian didn’t immediately reply—because maybe it had been fucking stupid, lunging in front of Amelia when their client raised a gun, but wasn’t that herjobas Amelia’s security?—Amelia’s gaze hardened.Don’t ever do that again.
Torian would have done it again and again and again, if it meant Amelia got home safely. And that, frankly, scared her. Torian kept her teammates safe—often with questionable baiting tactics—but she’d never put herself in a position to be killed on sight. She couldn’t risk that kind of threat.Celisecouldn’t risk it.
But a week before, Amelia had traced Torian’s cheek and lowered a kiss to her lips—and their contact made everything inside Torian feel gooey and warm.
Then, Amelia brought her as security to a job that went very, very wrong. And in one singular moment, Torian was faced with a choice: save Celise eventually, or save Amelia now. For the first time in her life, she chose someone else.
