He waited until she ate one before biting into his. Stale and soft, but the sugar hit was welcome.
“So,” Caro said. “What happens now?”
“Now we lock down the missiles.” Jen brushed crumbs off her leg. “Make them impossible to move, even if they breach the bay.”
“Can we do that from here?” Caro asked.
“Yes.” Jen got to her feet . She limped toward the missile control panel. The night was catching up with her. It was visible in every step.
“The manual override’s here.” She leaned on the console with both arms. “I can disable the clamp release mechanism completely. Render the missiles immovable.”
The console dominated the bay, a crescent of reinforced steel and glass set into the deck. Multiple displays glowed in low light.Status lights pulsed green—sixteen missiles, sixteen decisions waiting to be locked down.
“How long?” Wyatt asked.
“Half an hour. Maybe less.”
Wyatt checked his watch. The cargo vessel was inbound. Time was bleeding away. But they were inside the missile bay. Jen was at the controls. Caro was safe. For the first time all night, they were ahead of the threat instead of chasing it.
Wyatt pushed himself up, testing his leg. The pain was insistent but manageable. He shifted his weight, found the balance point where he could move without favoring it too much. Muscle memory from older wounds.
He hobbled to where Jen stood at the terminal, her profile lit by the glow of the screen.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, picking up the M4 where she’d propped it against the console. “For coming back for me.”
She didn’t stop typing. “You already said that.”
“Saying it again.”
Her hands stilled. She looked at him, something gentler in her eyes. “You would’ve done the same.”
“Yeah. But I’m trained for it. You’re not.”
“Maybe,” she said evenly, “I’m tired of letting training decide who gets to be brave.”
A corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it. “You're saying I don’t have a monopoly on courage?”
“I’m saying,” she replied, fingers returning to the keys, “you’re not the only stubborn one here.”
Now he chuckled. “Noted.”
Behind him, Caro was organizing supplies, trying to look busy. Giving them space, maybe. Or just nervous energy. It was hard to tell. The terminal chimed. Status lights shifted from amber to green. “First lockdown sequence complete,” Jen said. “Clamps one through four disabled.”
One down. Fifteen to go.
14
Jen executedthe lockdown sequence for clamps two and three. The screen pulsed green as each one engaged.
She tapped her fingers lightly against the counter. Slow—but progress.
Her headache had settled into a constant, low burn she ignored. Her hands were steadier than they’d been an hour ago, though dried blood still rimmed her fingernails. Wyatt’s blood—dark and rust-colored under the harsh bay lighting.
She could still feel the heat of his thighs braced either side of her as she’d worked on his wound. The way he’d held perfectly still for her despite the pain. The way his breath had caught when she’d pressed harder than she meant to.
She’d glued him back together with adhesive and basic medical training. Now he stood a few feet away, talking quietly with Caro about ammunition counts. He’d rolled his sleeves up while she wasn’t looking. The bandage on his forearm was stark white against tanned skin, her neat wrapping stretched tight over muscle that shifted every time he moved his hands.
Jen noticed. More than she should have.
