my voice is nowhere near enough to snap him out of the raw animal panic that has him in its talons.
Whatever’s got him so worked up, we can’t afford it. No one can ask questions about why he’s so high-strung. He tries to rip free from my grasp, and I fight back, wrenching his arm against my chest as I loop my other arm around him and pin him.
He kicks and flails for a few seconds before his brain seems to register why he’s being held down. I roll on top of him for good measure, and he lets out a hoarse, helpless croak.
“Hey. You’re okay. You’re fine. Deep breaths.”
As he takes them, I key into three rhythms all at once. The first is my own heart, rattled from the sudden shock of waking. The second is Gal’s, fluttering underneath me like a trapped bird.
The third is the low, sonorous rudiments of skin drums outside. It wasn’t a bad dream that sent Gal into a panic. It was the nightmare of his reality. “They’re just the wake-up call,” I mutter into his ear.
His nose hitches against my collarbone, and his breathing starts to steady against our chests. “Sounded like Seely.”
My heart aches, and the terror of that moment comes rushing back to me. Of course—the last time he heard an Archon rhythm, it was the one our classmates were pounding into their Viper dashboards as he fled from their fire. To wake to that—and to have no context to distinguish between a rallying beat and a simple wake-up call—must have been the worst possible way to greet a new day on Henrietta Base.
Gal makes a low noise beneath me that shudders through my entire body. Only then do I grasp that I’ve wrapped myself around him, he can feel almost every part of me, and yep, it’s the morning.
How bad would it be? a terrible part of me croons. Because for two people who’ve resolved not to do this, we’re really bad at not doing this.
Then I remember that I didn’t shower or change last night, and I hate myself for letting that be the reason I peel off him, shuffle over to the edge of the bed, and let the chill of my feet on the floor shock some sense into my system. “You good?” I ask, and nearly double over laughing at how falsely casual those two words can sound.
“Ettian.”
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
He doesn’t press the issue.
When I get back, we slip into our old academy routine, staggering around each other and getting dressed, communicating mostly in grunts and shrugs as the gray dawn outside fades into a clear, bright morning. Gal’s datapad chimes with an alert as the base system delivers our itineraries. “Breakfast in ten, meeting in an hour,” he says, tilting the pad so I can see.
I tap Wen’s name on the schedule, seamlessly inserted alongside our own, and Gal grimaces. “I didn’t tell her it was you.”
His eyes dart away guiltily. Maybe he thought he’d dodged this topic after the turn our conversation took last night.
“She deserves an apology.”
“And a reason to gut me with that freaky umbrella?” Gal massages his temples with both hands, then tugs nervously at the jacket he’s shrugged on. “No. I know she deserves an apology, but—”
I shake my head, crossing to the door. “Even if you don’t tell her you were the one who sent her back, I think it’s fair to say you’re sorry for letting it happen.” I pause with my hand on the handle. “It only gets worse if you let it fester. Sooner you talk to her, sooner she puts it out of mind. Tell her now.”
You’re one to talk. I bite down hard on a grimace.
Gal rolls his eyes, stalking past me as I open the door for him. “Fine, Gold One,” he scoffs.
I step out into the hall and find myself greeted by a disconcertingly happy-looking face. “Morning!” the soldier chirps, pushing himself off the wall across from the door as he fumbles with his earpiece. He’s