Page 51 of Third

She curled against him, her breathing steady, her touch strong and sure. Her hand skimmed over his chest, not seeking reassurance but offering it—asilent vow that she would be his mainstay as much as he was hers. Strength, fierce and unshakable, radiated from her slender frame.

Only then—with her pressed firmly against his side, the bond pulsing low and steady, the echo of danger still thick in the cold air—did Tor’Vek allow himself to think about what had to be donenext.

He could not lose himself. Not yet. They were still vulnerable. Still trapped.

Reluctantly, Tor’Vek forced himself to ease away from her, every fiber screaming in protest. Anya pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the strong hammer of his heart beneath her palm. She smiled faintly—asmile full of courage, tenderness, and the kind of strength he could lean into without shame. Their bond shimmered, fierce and imperfect, but unbreakable.

She tilted her chin up, her voice steady and low. “We fix the ship. Together.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face and forced himself to return to the emergency systems, even as every fiber of him bellowed to rip her away from the workstation and take her again and again.

Another siren blared.

Another flashing red warning.

“Hull breach imminent.”

He cursed savagely, tearing open another access panel, working like a man possessed.

His hands moved fast, reckless, sealing emergency bulkheads, diverting power—but it was like bailing water from a sinking ship with bare hands.

Anya stumbled to him without hesitation, reaching forhim.

The moment her hand slid across his back, he lost the battle again.

He spun, grabbing her, dragging her to the floor with him, pinning her under his weight. Anya didn’t flinch or shy away. Instead, she pushed up against him, her nails scratching urgently down his back, pulling him closer with fierce, steady strength. She met his need with her own, drinking in his scent and warmth with every frantic breath. Not moving. Not taking.

Justbreathing.

Her hands framed his face, her palms steady and warm, supporting him in a way nothing else could. She pulled him closer, their breath mingling, her strength a lifeline against the chaos raging insidehim.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

The bond throbbed. Wild. Beautiful. Broken.

Tor’Vek dropped his forehead against hers, his body trembling with the brutal force of hisneed.

He would destroy himself forher.

Tor’Vek gathered her close once more, losing himself in her steady strength. Together, with her pressed against him, they moved back to the console. She remained at his side, her hand stroking his every few heartbeats, her quiet presence an unspoken vow of endurance.

He worked with brutal focus, bypassing damaged systems, locking down critical functions—and every time the bond snarled through him, every time rage threatened to surge, she was there, reassuring him with a touch, aglance, awhisper of faith.

Piece by piece, he stabilized the battered ship as much as he could. But the missing stabilizer loomed over them, asilent reminder that survival—and the fragile bond stitching them together—hung in the balance, their future teetering on the edge of collapse.

Tor’Vek finished sealing the final bulkhead, the emergency system flickering weakly to life. For a moment, there was only the rasp of their breathing and the low, fractured hum of recovering machinery.

Then the lights shifted.

A cold, silver shimmer sparked in the center of the restored bridge.

An image flickered into being—distorted, crackling—but unmistakable.

Selyr.

The hologram resolved into the tall, gaunt figure of the Vettian scientist. His pale skin gleamed under the harsh emergency lighting, and his yellow eyes burned with malevolent satisfaction.

“Well, well,” Selyr drawled, his voice slithering through the damaged comms. “Still alive. Remarkable.”

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