Page 64 of Third

He looked back at her leg. The bleeding had stopped. But when he checked the bracelet interface still linked to his rij, the display joltedhim.

Thirty-two solar units.

Down from nearly forty.

His breath caught.

The countdown had dropped again—severely. The numbers weren’t just data. They were a death sentence ticking louder now, closer. He stared at them, the sharp jolt in his chest not from the readout but from what it meant. Not enough time. Not enough protection. And she was bleeding in his arms. He wasn’t just afraid of failing the mission. He was afraid of failingher.

She was watching him. “Thetime?”

He met her gaze. “We have lost nearly eight more solar units. Sixteen total.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she only nodded. “Then we have tomove.”

He touched her cheek.

“You willlive.”

She smiled faintly. “Good. One of us hasto.”

The words hung between them like a shadow. Tor’Vek didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched in something not quite a smile. He felt it—the weight of her joke meant to distract him from the fear. Meant to keep them both standing.

He let the silence stretch just a second longer before shifting closer, fingers sweeping the back of her hand. Areminder. Avow.

His hand moved to her wrist, where the bracelet still pulsed against her skin. The bond between them vibrated softly now, the craving dimmed by adrenaline, fear, and something else he didn’t want toname.

He leaned in, resting his forehead againsthers.

“You cannotdie.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” she whispered.

He breathed herin.

For now, she was stillhere.

But she could notwalk.

Tor’Vek saw the pain flash across her face the moment she shifted her weight. She tried to mask it—of course she did—but the bond betrayed her. The flare of discomfort lanced through him as clearly as if it were hisown.

She took two steps. Stumbled on the third.

Without a word, he moved.

His arms swept beneath her again, lifting her. She gasped, more from surprise than pain, her arms instinctively wrapping around hisneck.

“Ican walk,” she protested softly.

“You should not,” he replied, his voice low but implacable.

She didn’t argue again.

The heat pressed down on them as they moved, the jagged terrain rising ahead in an endless ripple of blackened stone. But her body in his arms was the only weight he cared about. And she—for once—let herselfrest.

He held her tighter.

Because no matter how many times he told himself to remain logical, analytical, precise—this was not a variable he would allow the universe to take. He adjusted his grip around her, one hand cradling her thigh, the other steady at her back. Her temple grazed his jaw. The contact was subtle, but it supported him in a way no algorithm everhad.

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