Page 48 of Stars in Umbra
As for the other Riders, while she respected them, sure, but didn’t know them well enough to ask for help like this.
She only had one option.
With reluctance, Rina found Mo’s contact details, her thumb hovering over the call button for a beat.
She tapped on it with an inhale.
It connected almost at once.
His face flickered into view on the holo screen, his sculpted jaw shadowed with a late-day stubble.
Behind him, the muted thrum of the conference lobby filled the air, but his focus was all on her.
‘Rina?’ His brow furrowed, his timbre threaded with concern, the moment he caught sight of her.
She managed a faint smile, weak and lopsided. ‘Hi, Mo. Sorry to bother you while you’re working.’
Her utterance was strained, thinner than usual.
His eyes narrowed, scanning her face, taking in the pallor of her skin, the tight lines of pain etched at the corners of her eyes.
His voice softened into a concerned rumble. ‘What’s wrong?’
She exhaled, pressing a shaking palm to her temple. ‘Would you happen to know where I can find a late-night pharmacy near the conference? Within walking distance? I need migraine meds. I can’t make it far, nor take a flyer.’
For a second, silence fell.
When he spoke, his timbre dropped into a deep, rough rasp, curt and unquestioning.
‘I’m clued to your location, Colonel. Don’t move. I’ll be pulling on you in a few.’
The command in his tone left no space for argument.
She blinked, caught off guard by his immediate, no-nonsense response, and the fact that he was aware of her exact position.
Before she had a chance to protest, another wave of pain sliced through her skull.
His line cut.
Leaving her staring at the empty air, heart thudding against her ribs, wondering when exactly she’d become someone Mo would drop everything for.
Minutes later, a terse knock sounded at her office suite door.
She used her code pad on the table to let him in.
He prowled through, in a tailored black suit, an ebony shirt, and boots, lethal asfokk, his expression dark and focused.
‘Let’s roll,’ he rasped.
He helped her pack her things and put on her coat.
With a hand bandaged around her waist, she was guided through the corridor, into an elevator, and outdoors, where a sleek Sable flyer sat.
He assisted her in strapping in and then took the helm, flying them across town through the quiet, late-night sky lanes, the city below alive with distant neon hum.
He didn’t ask questions; he just guided her to the pharmacy, waited while she fumbled through her prescription, and paid.
All without a word.
