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The tension in his face eased. Dreven stepped closer and rested one hand lightly along her shoulder. His touch was careful, almost clinical, though there was nothing clinical about Kesta’s awareness of his fingers moving over her through the damp fabric. He checked the joint, then let his hand travel down the outside of her arm.

“Pain?”

“No.”

His other hand touched her ribs, barely enough pressure to feel whether she reacted. Kesta inhaled. Dreven's fingers stopped. Not because he had hurt her. They both knew that. The air between them changed.

The condenser’s heat pressed around them, heavy with mineral steam. Beneath the smell of metal and alkaline wash, Kesta caught the warmer scent she had begun associating with Dreven himself. His long hair had come loose again, several dark strands sticking to the side of his throat.

One horn passed within inches of her temple. Kesta wondered what it would feel like beneath her palm. The thought had become embarrassingly persistent. Dreven's pupils widened.

“You are doing that thing again,” he murmured.

“What thing?”

“Looking at my horns.”

Kesta's face warmed.

“I am a medical professional.”

His mouth curved. “Of course.”

“Are they sensitive?”

The smile disappeared. Something considerably hotter replaced it.

“Yes.”

Kesta swallowed.

“That was a professional question.”

“I am certain.”

Neither moved. Dreven’s fingertips still rested against her ribs. Kesta's hand rose almost without permission from her better judgment. Before she reached the dark curve of his horn, the auxiliary intake screamed. The entire platform jumped. Dreven pulled her against him on instinct as a vent above them burst open. Condensed water poured over both of them. Kesta gasped. Then laughed.

Dreven stood beneath the unexpected downpour with water running from his hair, over his horns, and down the severe planes of his face. The expression he wore was so profoundly offended that Kesta laughed harder. His arms were still around her. Neither of them seemed to care.

“You look insulted.”

“I have been struck by the condenser.”

“You've been rained on.”

“Inside a machine.”

“That does seem unnecessarily personal.”

His mouth twitched. Then he laughed too. The sound was deeper than Kesta expected and completely unguarded. For a few seconds they stood soaked beneath a leaking vent while a half-dead condenser rattled around them, laughing like people who had forgotten that nearly everything outside the chamber was trying to kill them.

Kesta couldn't remember the last time she had felt that light. The realization quieted her laughter before the feeling itself disappeared. Dreven looked down at her. His hands loosened, but he did not immediately take them away. Kesta did not step back. Then the pressure gauge beside them rose. Both turned.

The needle climbed past the failure range, hesitated, then settled into the lowest edge of functional pressure. Dreven looked toward the intake. A deeper vibration moved through the pipes. Not the dry cough they had been hearing for hours. The ordinary pulse Kesta remembered from her first mornings in Ash Camp. The machine was breathing again. Kesta leaned her forehead briefly against Dreven’s chest.

“We did it.”

His hand settled gently between her shoulder blades.