“Relax,” Hrask’s voice cuts in, low and close, his grip tightening just enough to redirect me without forcing it.
He pulls me sideways into a maintenance alcove barely large enough to fit us both, then steps in front of me, blocking the opening with his body. The shift is immediate and total. The corridor disappears, replaced by a confined pocket of heat and shadow where the air feels thicker, closer, saturated with the scent of metal, dust, and him.
“What are you—” I start, but he shakes his head slightly, his gaze flicking past me toward the corridor.
“Listen,” he murmurs.
Boots pass by just outside, the sound heavy and deliberate, voices overlapping in short, controlled bursts that suggest more than a routine check.
“Nothing here.”
“Keep moving.”
The noise recedes, but not enough to risk movement.
The space forces us to stand close. Really close, and there is no way to ignore it. My back presses lightly against the wall, the metal warm from the systems running behind it, and he stands close enough that every breath I take brushes against him. My traitorous nipples harden at the incidental contact. The heat between us builds quickly in the enclosed space, thick and unavoidable. Our eyes meet, and my heart thuds harder in my chest. Yet, I don’t look away.
“You’ve got terrible timing,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that I feel the vibration of it more than I hear it.
“You dragged me in here,” I reply, keeping my voice just as low, though it comes out tighter than I intend.
“You were about to walk straight into them.”
“I had it handled.”
“Yeah,” he says, a faint edge of dry amusement slipping in. “Looked that way.”
I glare up at him, but the angle is wrong, the distance too close, and the tension between us deepens instead of settling.
“You don’t get to—” I begin sharply.
His hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me.
“Shh,” he says.
I shush, all right. Not that I have any choice. The power in just one of his hands is more than I have in my entire body. Suddenly I can’t stop thinking about those hands all over my body.
The voices pass again, nearer this time, and instinct overrides everything else. I still completely, my body aligning with his without thinking, my attention snapping outward while the rest of me remains acutely aware of how close he is.
Too close.
The corridor quiets again, but neither of us moves.
The air thickens, the heat building in layers that have nothing to do with the environment anymore.
“You’re tense,” he says.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are,” he replies, shifting slightly.
The movement is small, barely noticeable, but it changes everything. The contact between us becomes more defined, more intentional, and I feel it in a way that pulls my focus away from the corridor and straight back to him.
“Maybe because I’m stuck in a box with you,” I say.
“That’s not why.”
I tilt my head slightly, narrowing my eyes.
