Page 14 of Beast in the Badlands
“Don’t act like I’m some helpless child,” he snaps back, voice taut with barely restrained power. “You think I care about what they’ll do to me?”
“It’s not about that!” My frustration bubbles over as I step back, putting distance between us—a barrier against the tension crackling in the air. “It’s about survival! They’re not going to hesitate to pull a trigger if they think you’re a threat.”
Renn’s gaze hardens, but beneath it lurks something else—fear? Maybe even respect? It flickers in his red eyes like embers struggling to ignite.
“You want to protect me?” His tone shifts slightly; there’s curiosity there now.
“I want to protect everyone,” I reply sharply. “Including you.”
His brow furrows at my admission; it hangs between us like a weight.
“Look,” I soften again, trying for understanding rather than confrontation. “I appreciate your instincts to guard me, but right now? I can’t afford any distractions.”
That hits. I see it in the way Renn's shoulders tense, the subtle tightening that speaks louder than words. He doesn’t argue, but I can feel the storm brewing beneath his skin. His breathing deepens, not from pain—but from restraint, as if he's fighting against some primal instinct to lunge after me.
We lock eyes, our stares hardening into a silent challenge. The air thickens between us, charged with an unspoken understanding and something more—a spark of connection that makes my heart race in ways I can’t afford to explore.
Finally, I break the stare, pushing aside whatever thoughts are crowding my mind. I sling my pack over my shoulder, feeling its familiar weight settle against my back like armor.
“I’ll come back.” I walk toward the door, refusing to look back at him. It’s easier this way—no distractions, no temptation to waver in my resolve. “Don’t burn the place down.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath as I step through the threshold. A part of me wants to linger, to gauge his reaction, but I keep moving forward, knowing that every moment spent here is a moment lost in a world still desperate for help.
Renn doesn’t respond. Just watches me disappear through the door, his hands curled into fists at his sides. I imagine him wrestling with his instincts—what it means for him to be here and how he feels about what we’ve started. But that’s not my concern right now.
CHAPTER 11
RENN
The med bay feels emptier without Emry. I sit on the edge of the makeshift cot, legs stretched out but useless, a gnawing tension clawing at my gut. She’s out there, and I’m stuck here—damaged, sidelined. The quiet settles around me like a heavy blanket, suffocating.
I push off the cot, forcing my body to move despite the protests from my legs. A dull throb radiates through my muscles, but I can’t sit still. Not now. I need to feel in control again, even if it’s just an illusion.
I scan the dimly lit room, eyes landing on the broken drones piled in a corner. They’re relics from before—their metal casings dented and charred, like remnants of a forgotten war. Probably the same pile she scrapped that silly dead drone from. With each step toward them, I shake off thoughts of Emry's determined face as she walked away from me.
I start tearing into one of the drones with a pair of old pliers. The casing gives way easily enough, revealing tangled wires and circuits inside—a mess of potential. If I can cobble together something functional, maybe I can reach out to Kairon or someone else in orbit.
“Nothing like a good challenge,” I mutter to myself as I work. My fingers fumble with the wires at first; they slip and slide against one another like eels refusing to be caught. “Odds are against you, Renn,” I say under my breath while ripping more parts free from their housing.
Halfway through dissecting another drone, I spot an old transmitter hidden beneath layers of dust and grime along the wall paneling. It looks worse for wear—cracked casing and faded labels—but it might be salvageable. Hope flares inside me; it’s a long shot, but so is everything else right now.
I set down my tools and approach the panel slowly, gingerly peeling back its edges until it snaps free with a brittle crackle. “Don’t let this be a waste,” I whisper to no one as I unearth the transmitter.
Sitting back on my haunches beside it, I assess what remains of its wiring—burnt connections and loose ends jutting out like crooked teeth from an open mouth. Damn thing is barely held together by wishful thinking and desperation.
With deliberate focus, I begin rewiring it piece by piece. Each connection requires concentration; any misstep could mean more than just wasted effort—it could mean getting nothing out there when Emry returns. “You’ve faced worse odds,” I remind myself between breaths as sweat beads on my brow.
As I work through connecting the wires—one positive lead here, another negative there—I find myself talking again. “Just think of it as fixing your legs,” I joke dryly under my breath. “It’ll take time… patience.” The act of creating something fills the void her absence has carved in me.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as frustration threatens to bubble over each time a connection sparks rather than stabilizes properly. My mind drifts back to Emry—the way she stood her ground when we clashed earlier; fierce and unwavering despite her size compared to mine.
“Damn stubborn human,” I grumble as sparks dance dangerously close to my fingers during yet another failed attempt at stabilizing the signal output.
The echo of her voice—assertive yet somehow softens my heartache—lingers in the corners of my mind as her laughter floats past me like whispers on wind: “I want to protect everyone. Including you.”
My heart races again at the memory—an ember igniting fury within me not just for her safety but for what she represents: resilience amid chaos.
Determination settles heavily in my chest; suddenly that empty feeling shifts into something more purposeful—a need for clarity amidst uncertainty—and pushes me forward once more into action.
