Page 43 of Sixth
“And me?”
“You are part of this,” he said. He looked down at her wrist where the faint glow had returned. “You were the moment we locked gazes and my mark appeared on you.”
He stood. The space tilted around his height. He stepped out from the pilot’s chair and came to her side. The small distance between them filled with heat. He reached over her shoulder to slide a scorched panel back into its housing. His knuckles brushed the curve of her collarbone. Electricity ran down her spine so clean it left her dizzy.
Her voice came out soft. “You saved me.”
“No,” he said. “When you forced the auxiliary thrusters online after the second strike, you saved us both. Without that, the blast would have torn us apart.”
The truth of that threaded the air between them, like a wire pulled tight. Her mouth went dry. She had the insane urge to rise on her toes and press her mouth to the clean blade of his jaw. She could smell metal and heat andhim.
He didn’t step away. He held very still as if he felt the same wire. His hand hovered a breath from her face. The Valenmark burned once under herskin.
“Rest,” he said, his voice lower now, roughened by everything he wasn’t saying. He reached out as if to touch her again, fingers stopping a breath from her skin. “You need your energy.” His gaze lingered, sliding over her mouth before he forced himself to stepback.
She let out a shaky laugh that was more exhale than humor. “That almost sounded kind.” Her voice trembled with the effort to keep things light, to breathe through the pulse hammering in her throat.
He studied her for a long second, then said quietly, “Don’t mistake restraint for disinterest.” The words came out low and rough, carrying the edge of something like heat held too long beneath the surface.
He moved down the short corridor toward the storage bay. She watched him go with her heart beating too fast. When he turned the corner she closed her eyes and pressed her palms to her face. Her skin still tingled where he had nearly touchedit.
The quiet that followed wasn’t empty, but like the inside of a held breath.
She pushed away from the console, her legs unsteady beneath her. The muscles in her thighs trembled as she took a few slow steps to steady herself. Lume stirred from her perch on the console and fluttered to Emmy’s shoulder, her glow soft and tired.
“Echo Light will heal,” the little creature said quietly, voice like a shimmer of bells. Slowly, but surely, her grasp of language improved.
Emmy smiled faintly. “Because you’ll help it.”
Lume’s wings fluttered once. “Maybe. But you and male carry its light now. You keep it safe.”
Emmy touched her fingertips to Lume’s tiny hand. “I’ll try.”
“Try strong,” Lume whispered, her tone both fierce and tender. “Stars listen to brave hearts.” Then she flitted back toward the console and curled into a beam of dim light, her colors fading torest.
Emmy crossed to the viewport and set her hands on the rim. The stars hung like ice. Echo Light shrank in the dark until thescorched crescent looked like a bite taken out of a jewel. Even so, light kept pushing out across the shadow. Stubborn. Beautiful.
She stayed there until the cabin air cooled the heat in her face. Then she pushed off the rim and moved down the narrow corridor toward the galley. The ship had a way of getting smaller when she was inside it alone. She touched bulkheads as she went. She told herself she was steadying herself. She knew she was making contact with something similar to his secondskin.
In the galley she ran water over a cloth and cleaned the cut on her arm. It stung as if offended that she had noticed it. She found a skin sealant in the med kit and smoothed a line over the scrape. The skin warmed and knit. Then, catching her reflection in the polished metal of the counter, she realized how filthy she was—the torn shift streaked with soot and blood, her hair tangled anddull.
She hesitated, then slipped into the small wash alcove. Steam filled the narrow space as she stripped off the ruined fabric and washed quickly but thoroughly, the water carrying away ash and fear alike. When she finished, she pulled on a soft, dark shirt and trousers from the storage locker—too big but clean, the fabric smelling faintly of him. The mark on her wrist pulsed again as if approving the change. She watched the little glow without breathing. It faded like an ember when the engine hum shifted, then returned to a faint steady throb.
She spoke to the air. “Core, how bad is the damage?”
“Hull compromise is minor. Stabilizers will require a full recalibration. Reactor output remains within safe thresholds. Fuel reserves are adequate for two system jumps at combat burn and three at standard burn. Heat signature is masked by orbital debris for four cycles at current drift.”
“So we are hidden, but only a little.”
“Affirmative.”
“What about the Councilor’s ship?”
“The Sovereign cruiser maintains high orbit. Weapon arrays are at low idle. Internal communications indicate satisfaction with results. Amemorial broadcast has been scheduled in three units to mark the passing of Lord Kael Vettar.”
The name hit her chest like a thrown stone. She leaned back against the counter. “They are going to celebrate killing him? That’s outrageous.”
Apex’s voice came from the corridor behind her. “Good. My death will distract them.”
She hadn’t heard him return. She turned, and the breath caught in her throat. He stood in the doorway, shadows cutting over his chest and shoulders, the dim cabin light catching in the silver threads of his hair. He looked larger than the room, carved from constraint and danger and beauty all atonce.
For a moment she forgot the wreckage, the fear, everything but him, especially the way his gaze caught and held hers, the air thickening until it hurt to breathe.
