even more beautiful lately. Maybe it was her smile or her bright eyes or the way her skin had a dewiness about it. He wasn’t sure, but it was noticeable.
Hallie smiled, her eyes doing that puppy thing where they seemed suddenly too big and wide. “That’s really sweet, Terror. Thank you.”
Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.
“You’re welcome.” He eyed her warily, just waiting for the water works to begin. Lately, everything made her emotional. Not that he would say that to her face! He didn’t have a death wish.
“I would stay and chat, but I’ve got an appointment.” She frowned down at her belly. “This better be the one where they decide it’s time to evict these two.”
“Good luck with that,” Terror replied lamely, not knowing what else to say.
“Oh! If you see my husband, tell him Naya has a shipment of pickled melon rind waiting for me. He needs to pick it up and bring it home.”
“Right,” Terror said, trying to imagine what a pickled melon rinds must look like. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
Hallie smiled and waddled along her way. He watched her for a moment, just to make sure she wasn’t about to fall over, and proceeded to the elevator. He checked his watch and grimaced. He hated being late for things, and he was already four minutes over the time he had promised to meet Brook.
Cipher’s mate had surprised him one afternoon in his hospital room. She had brought him an orange, and, shockingly, a worn copy of a sign language book similar to the one Cotton had given him. When he had asked her what the hell she planned to do with that, she had been her usual blunt self.
“Obviously, I’m going to learn how to speak sign language, Terror. How else am I supposed to be Maisie’s friend when she gets here?”
It was a simple enough statement. Her unyielding optimism had buoyed his failing hope that he would locate Maisie. At that time, not a single lead had been uncovered, and he had been stuck in his hospital bed, unable to dig into the evidence or possibilities. After that, she came every day at the same time, and they practiced until they were able to carry on full conversations without speaking a single word.
When he stepped off the elevator onto Brook’s floor, Torment was waiting. “Sorry,” he said apologetically, “but the admiral is waiting for us.”
Terror sighed. “I need to tell Brook.”
“Already did,” Torment said and pushed him back into the elevator. “Orion was adamant,” he explained. “Wants us as soon as possible.”
Terror huffed. He and Orion were on better terms, but the admiral was still an overbearing ass most days. As the elevator started moving, he asked, “Hey, did you notice anything strange about Brook?”
“Strange? How so?”
“Yesterday, I kept catching her smiling. Like she had a secret,” he added. “It was odd.”
“She’s odd in general,” Torment grumbled.
“That’s what makes her a perfect match for Cipher.”
Torment snorted in agreement. Then, after a moment’s thought, he suggested, “Maybe she’s pregnant.”
Terror made a face. “Another baby? Pregnancy is spreading across this ship like a virus.”
“That’s kind of what happens when a man and a woman engage in copious amounts of sex, Terror.”
Terror shot him annoyed glance. “I’m aware.”
“Just making sure you hadn’t skipped that biology lecture,” Torment replied. He rubbed his face with both hands, betraying his exhaustion. He had made a roundtrip flight to the colonies and back in less than twenty-four hours to follow up on intel.
“Anything useful come up on your trip?”
“The lead on Pierce was bullshit. It was a total waste of resources.”
“We aren’t going to find Pierce unless he’s ready to be found.” In the aftermath of the exposure of the Splinter infiltration, Pierce had disappeared. Terror had accepted Pierce was a double agent, but Torment had refused. He had taken it hard. The two men were best friends, and Torment had been destroyed by Pierce’s apparent betrayal.
“Yeah,” Torment said, his voice tired and low. “You read the morning brief about the purge?”
The removal of anyone connected to the exposed Splinter infiltrators was moving along at a swift pace now that the immediate threat had ended. Those first few days and weeks had been pure bloodshed and horror as the Alliance fought to regain mutinied ships and overrun bases. Five months into the purge, the newly formed war council was turning its attention to the civilian question.
“It’s grim business,” Terror remarked. “They’re casting a wide net, and they’re going