I open my mouth.
A wail splits the night. Caelix.
I shoot to my feet. “I got him,” I say, too fast, already hurrying to the bedroom.
He cries for a few minutes—restless, not panicked. I soothe him with a hum and a touch to his cheek, then tuck him in again. By the time I get back to the living room, Troka’s standing.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I lie.
He looks at me like he knows it’s bullshit.
But he doesn’t push.
Instead, he nods. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.”
My chest twists. “Troka?—”
He doesn’t turn around.
“See you tomorrow,” he says softly, and leaves.
When the door hisses shut, I sink onto the couch like my bones liquified.
CHAPTER 16
TROKA
“You sure this thing ain't harborin' a black hole in the back?” I grunt, heaving the busted hoverfridge onto its side with a metallicwhunk.
Alaina, sweat dripping from her brow, snorts. “If it is, at least it'll finally suck the smell outta your boots.”
“You wound me.”
“Good. Means the sarcasm’s working.”
The damn machine groans as I shove my shoulder under it, propping it up so she can jam the fusion socket back into its housing. Her knuckles brush mine and my skin goes electric—hot, aware,tooaware.
“I think it’s in,” she says, fiddling with the connector. “Try turning it on.”
I hit the wall panel. The fridge hums to life with a low, even pulse.
“Like new,” I say.
“Like slightly-less-busted,” she mutters, wiping her hands on a rag and leaning back against the counter.
We’re close now. The kitchen smells like citrus cleaner, burnt plasma coils, and something else—her. That warm, sharp-sweet scent that’s branded in my memory like battle ink.
She looks up at me.
I look back.
The moment stretches—taut, trembling.
