“They’re fanning out.” He levered a locker open and emptied it out. Water bottles. Ration bars. Thermal blankets in vacuum-sealed pouches. “Akilov’s locking the platform down. They’ll check the lifeboats, eventually.”
He passed the water around.
Jen twisted the cap off hers and drank deeply. It wasn’t coffee, and it was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plastic, but it soothed the raw scrape in her throat. She drained half the bottle before lowering it.
Wyatt did the same. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, some of the tension had eased from his shoulders. He capped his bottle and glanced back toward the porthole. “We don’t stay long.”
He pulled out ration bars—military-style, brown packaging—and handed one to Caro first. Jen tore the wrapper with her teeth and bit into it. Cardboard was generous. It tasted like compressed nothing with a chemical aftertaste. She ate it anyway, her stomach cramping with sudden hunger now that her body realized it might actually survive.
Caro nibbled at hers in tiny bites, still shaking. Wyatt draped a thermal blanket around her shoulders, tucking it close with a care that made something twist in Jen’s chest.
“Thanks.” Caro gave him a wan smile. “I’m never complaining about boring shifts or paperwork again.”
A first-aid kit was clipped to the wall beside a red, waterproof case stamped PYROTECHNIC DISTRESS SIGNALS, the lettering stark against scuffed plastic. Jen grabbed the first aid kit and slid down beside Wyatt, bracing herself against the angled interior so she didn't slide.
The capsule was deeply uncomfortable, every surface tilted just enough to make rest impossible.
If they find us here, we’re trapped. Nowhere to run.
She shut the thought down before it could take root. “Let me see your leg, Wyatt.”
“It’s fine.”
She didn’t look up. “No, it’s not. That climb was brutal. Leg.Now.”
After a beat, he shifted and extended it. The industrial adhesive had held, but the wound was red and inflamed, skin puckered where the glue had sealed it shut. At least it wasn’t bleeding freely. She cleaned around it carefully, re-dressed it with fresh gauze, her hands steadier than she believed possible.
His thigh muscle was hard under her fingers, tension locked in. The lifeboat shuddered, metal ticking as the wind shifted outside.
Jen froze, her gaze locked on Wyatt. He lifted his handgun and aimed at the door. Somewhere outside, metal clanged. Then the wind sighed again.
Caro swore softly as Jen exhaled and Wyatt lowered his gun.
Akilov was closing in.
“Five minutes, maybe,” Wyatt said. “Then they start opening boats.”
She hissed air between her teeth.
Minutes, not hours.
“You were great in the vent.” She finished securing his bandage. “Where’ve you been hiding that soft side?”
He was silent long enough she thought he might ignore it.
“Not much call for it.”
“Coast Guard rescue operations?” She re-secured the last strip of tape and leaned back. “I’d think talking people through panic would be pretty central to that.”
That stubborn mouth of his twitched. “Fair.”
She studied him. This man who’d taken down terrorists in a mess hall without breaking a sweat, who’d free-climbed down an exterior ladder in a winter storm, who’d fired one-handed whilehanging from a vent shaft. And who had talked a terrified young woman through a panic attack by discussing cliffs and heather.
A warrior through and through, but gentle when it mattered.
“Thank you,” she said.
Something settled between them.
