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Then a calm automated voice announced in Zunatorian:

BIOLOGICAL CUSTODY BREACH DETECTED.

Every door in the hub locked.

Including ours.

For one horrible second, I thought I had trapped us.

Then the panel changed.

AUTHORIZED MEDICAL PERSONNEL ONLY.

CASUALTY ROUTING AVAILABLE.

Yes.

That was what I needed.

I looked back at Veyr.

He had dropped to one knee. His blaster hung from his hand like it weighed too much to lift, and his breathing came in short, ragged pulls through his teeth. Blood ran off his armor and pooled dark on the deck plating where his knee rested.

He pressed his free hand flat against his side, fingers splayed over the wound, and light moved under them—silver-white lines crowding the torn flesh, pulsing hard beneath blood-soaked skin. The light flared bright, dimmed, bright again. Each pulse took longer than the last. Fresh blood welled up between his fingers every time the light faded.

I knew Zunatorians healed. I had seen it—skin drawing together under light, blood slowing, tissue rebuilding. This was different. The ŭre was doing everything it was supposed to do, flaring and working, and every second it lost ground. The wound opened faster than the circuits could close it.

“Veyr!”

He looked up. His pupils had gone wide and slow, and it took him a beat to find my face in the flashing red light of the alarms. Still conscious. Barely.

I ran to him.

He grabbed my forearm. His fingers came away red. He looked at them, then at me.

“Door.”

“You are bleeding out.”

“Not yet.”

“Great distinction.”

I pressed both hands to his side. Heat came off him in a steady wave. Blood welled between my fingers no matter how hard I pushed. His ŭre pulsed beneath my palms—a hot, uneven rhythm, like something trapped and beating against the inside of his skin.

“Why isn’t it closing?”

“It is.”

“Not fast enough.”

He looked at me. Then he didn’t. He studied the far barrier instead, where another blast had landed, and wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Veyr.”

Nothing.

“Since when?”