Page 33 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

“So what are you going to do about it?” Zara asks, the question gentle but direct.

I close the access panel, the shield modifications complete. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” Her certainty is unnerving. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

Before I can respond, my neural interface pings with an incoming message from the medbay. Cirdox’s vital signs are fluctuating dangerously. The bond-sickness is accelerating.

“He needs you,” Zara says, reading the alert that’s flashing across my enhanced vision. “Now.”

I rise, suddenly decisive despite the fear still coiling in my gut. “Come with me?”

She seems surprised by the request, but nods. “Of course.”

As we make our way through the ship’s corridors, I find myself grateful for her presence. Not because I need protection or guidance, but because for the first time in years, I don’t want to face something alone.

The medbay’s clinical efficiency hits my enhanced senses like a wall—antiseptic compounds at 147 percent above standard environmental levels, atmospheric scrubbers working at maximum capacity to maintain sterility. Cirdox occupies the primary diagnostic bed, wings draped limply over the sides, markings pulsing with an intensity that makes my implants stutter in their analysis. My enhanced vision automatically begins cataloging his condition, but I shut it down. I don’t need data to tell me what I can see with my own eyes—he’s getting worse.

“You look terrible,” I say, aiming for lightness but hearing the strain in my voice.

His crimson eyes open, focusing on me with an intensity that makes my pulse jump. “Your bedside manner needs work, little hacker.”

“Good thing I’m not a doctor then.” I move closer, fighting the urge to run when his wings twitch at my approach. Everystep feels like a choice between helping him and protecting him. From Kira. From me. From everything that’s coming. “Can you walk?”

He starts to sit up, his movements careful but determined. “I’m not an invalid. I'm just taking precautions for now.”

“No, you’re just burning up from the inside out because you’re too stubborn to admit you need real help.” The words come out sharper than intended, edged with the fear lodged in my chest.

His laugh is rough but genuine. “Says the female who’d rather face death than admit she needs anyone.”

The accuracy of that observation stings, especially now. While he sees it as simple stubbornness, I know it’s the only way to keep people safe. To keep him safe. But maybe pushing people away isn’t enough anymore. Maybe it never was.

“Come on, Captain. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable than this sterile hell.”

He doesn’t argue as I help him up, though I feel the slight tremor in his muscles. His wing brushes against my arm as we walk, the contact sending electricity through my nerves that has nothing to do with my implants and everything to do with the way my body responds to his proximity.

Zara follows at a discreet distance, her presence a silent support that I find myself unexpectedly grateful for. She catches my eye as we reach the corridor, giving me a small nod before turning to head toward the bridge. Leaving us alone. Trusting me with her captain. Her family.

The walk to his quarters feels endless, each step measured and careful. I’m acutely aware of his heat against my side, the way his breathing catches when the fever spikes. Part of me wants to tell him about Kira, about the threat looming over us both. But the words stick in my throat, tangled with the fear of making him a bigger target than he already is.

When we finally reach his quarters, he sinks onto the bed with barely concealed relief. I hover awkwardly by the door, caught between the instinct to run and the pull that keeps drawing me back to him.

“Stay,” he says softly, patting the space beside him. “Unless you have more urgent matters in engineering?”

I stiffen, wondering if he somehow senses my unease. But his expression is open, curious rather than accusatory.

“I should check the shield generators,” I hedge, though we both know it’s an excuse. “I’ve been modifying them to better withstand Eclipse weapons.”

“They can wait.” His voice roughens as another wave of fever hits, but his gaze remains steady on mine. “Tell me something about yourself, Neon. Something real.”

I should leave. Should focus on finding a way to stop Kira before she can follow through on her threats. Every survival instinct I’ve honed screams at me to run, to protect myself—to protect him—from this dangerous attachment forming between us. My enhanced vision automatically begins calculating escape routes, mapping the fastest path to the nearest airlock.

But as I watch him fight against the bond-sickness, something inside me fractures. The walls I’ve built so carefully begin to crack, letting in emotions my implants can’t quite categorize. Maybe I’ve been running so long I’ve forgotten how to stay.

“Don’t,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Don’t make me feel this. Don’t make me want to stay when I know how dangerous that is.”

His wings shift, creating patterns of shadow that remind me too much of how safe I felt wrapped in their shelter. “Then run,” he says softly, his voice rough with fever. “If that’s what you truly want, I won’t stop you. There are other Brotherhood ships still at the dock.”

The choice he offers—real freedom, not just the illusion of it—makes something in my chest crack open. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t want to run. Not from him. But staying means putting him at risk. God, I’m tired of running. Tired of letting the past dictate my future. But I’m terrified of what staying might mean.

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