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“It wasn’t a tool.”

He straightened a little. “It wasn’t?”

“No.” She sat back against the medical bed, moving carefully. “It was a lock strap off a packing crate. They always get underfoot, so I shove them in the back of my waistband until I’m near a recycler.”

He blinked. “Not a tool?”

She shook her head, that little not quite a smile flirting with her lips. “No.”

His gaze dropped to his boots. “So you lied to me.”

B half turned on the bed so he could see her face properly. Her dark eyes were flat now, all the tiny hint of amusement gone. “When did I lie to you?”

His jaw worked. Draanth. He could hear the trap closing around his own words.

“You said it was a tool and asked me what it was.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I asked you if you recognized it. If you knew anything about engineering, you would have known it wasn’t a tool.”

He just stared at her.

Over the other side of the small room, Layla made a suspicious choking noise, then turned away far too fast. Stevie pressed her lips together, her blue eyes bright with the effort not to laugh.

Rann groaned and let his head thunk softly against the bulkhead. She was right. His ignorance had condemned him.

Stevie and Layla turned back toward them, both wearing that annoying expression females got when they’d already made a decision and were about to tell everyone else how it was going to be.

“Medically, B is fine,” Layla said, putting the scanner down. “Bruising, a small concussion, nothing broken.”

“See? Fine.” B snorted and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll make a start on the repairs.”

Stevie stepped into her path before she could get more than one foot on the deck.

“No.”

B blinked at her. “No?”

“No repairs. No crawlspaces. No hanging upside down inside a junction panel because it makes you happy.” Stevie folded her arms. “You and Rann are off duty for eighteen hours minimum. Incident regulations.”

Rann opened his mouth, then shut it again. He’d been about to point out that he had a ship to pilot. Except the ship was on course, the engines were stable, and he’d just spent the last hour trying very hard not to think about B floating unconscious in open space.

Eighteen hours suddenly sounded reasonable. Very reasonable. Perhaps he could petition Ryke for something similar on the Dream… From a safe distance of course. Like outside the ship in a shuttle.

B’s mouth flattened. “Stevie⁠—”

“The others are getting the survey drones out. They’ll check the hull for anything else that shouldn’t be there, and we’ll let you know what they find.”

“And if they find something?”

“Then we deal with it.” Stevie’s voice softened, but only a fraction. “After you’ve rested.”

B looked ready to argue. Rann could see it in the tight line of her shoulders, and the way her fingers flexed at her sides. She was a warrior, this one. Just not the kind he’d grown up with. Her weapons were spanners and bad temper, but the instincts were all there.

As if she’d heard him thinking, Stevie whirled around and pointed at him. “And you. Keep her occupied. Do not let her work.”

He raised a brow. “That sounds dangerously like an order, boss.”

“It is.” Stevie gave B a look. Harder than the one she’d given him. Like B was the greater threat. For a moment his pride prickled at that. “Both of you. Rest.”