Becauseshe’sright.
And that scares me more than anything.
The battle hits us like a scream.
They ambush from both flanks—Molteks, the flame-junkies, fueled up and grinning like devils. The air smells like burning skin and rusted dreams.
I charge the left flank, twin blades out, howling like the monster they think I am. Behind me, I hear Jaela screaming orders. Not to retreat. To push. To flank. Toendthem.
I hear a detonator click.
Too late.
The sand beneath me explodes, tosses me into the air like a rag. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked out. My vision swims.
Gunfire.
Then her voice.
“KYD!”
I blink—she’s there, over me, dragging my ass back behind cover, blood smeared across her temple. She's shooting adrenaline into my leg like she's patching up a war beast. Her hands shake. But not her voice.
“Getup, you big scaled bastard.”
I do.
Not because the shot helped. But because she’shere.
We win.
Barely.
The Molteks scatter into the canyon like roaches with their shells cracked open. We torch what’s left of their fuel stores. Their base burns blue.
I stand in the ashes, gasping, blood in my mouth, and look at her.
She’s bleeding from her shoulder. Dust-caked. One eye swollen.
And still fucking radiant.
She looks at me like she’s about to yell. Or cry.
I don’t let her do either.
I grab her face and kiss her like the war’s still raging. She doesn’t resist. She grips my vest and pulls me closer like she needs it to breathe.
Around us, my crew whoops and howls. They don’t care. They’re half-mad on victory and smoke.
But I do.
I scoop her up and carry her into my quarters, kicking the door shut behind us.
This time’s different.
Not quick. Not frantic.
Slower. Deeper.
