What seems like a second later, I can’t open my eyes, but I’m aware of a conversation.

“How did you find her?” Thomson asks.

“She called me,” Timour replies.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. But she wouldn’t have called in the middle of the night unless it was something important. I heard—it sounded like someone sharpening tools, so I headed to her room just to make sure she was okay, and in one of the hallways… I saw a hole in the wall… blood… then…” Timour doesn’t continue, changing the subject. “What attacked her?”

“An intribot. We use them to repair the ship, since they can fit into small spaces. That way, we don’t have to take the ship apart. They’re not meant to be weapons.”

“Are they remote controlled?”

“No. They’re AI. At first, I thought somebody had been messing around with an intribot, and its programmed defense mechanism kicked in. Now, my guess is some sicko trained it to narrow in on Ailee.”

“How did it get into her room?”

“Under her door? Maybe it followed her in, I’m not sure. Felix is checking the security feed. And once we identify the bastard, I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

Timour doesn’t reply.

Doctor River announces, “She’ll be awake soon.”

Another bout of silence, then Timour whispers, “Why would somebody target Ailee?”

I expect Thomson to answer, but a different voice flows through the vicinity, “That’s what I’d like to know.”

My eyes shoot wide open. I am suddenly very much awake.

“Afternoon, Gunner Bale, Mister Orlov,” Huxley acknowledges as he stops just inside the door. “How is our girl doing?”

Thomson glances at him, saying, “Hey, Boss.”

Timour ignores Huxley. Still sitting on my left, he reaches forward to brush his fingers against my cheek. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“Cold,” I reply, my throat sandpaper. No longer tied down, I raise one hand to my temple. “My head hurts.” I’ve never had a hangover, but this is what it would feel like. I don’t want to move. Ever again. “How long was I out?” It could have been one minute, it could have been one decade.

“A little over nine hours,” Doctor River answers, lifting a heated blanket off a nearby cart and placing it over me. Thomson and Timour help align it. “Your surgery ended two hours ago. You should be good as new, but I’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”

I pull up the sleeve of my hospital gown and inspect my arm. I expect there to be a scar. There isn’t. The skin is unblemished, and I wonder what kind of deal the doctor made with the Devil. I don’t even recall what surgical machines she used on me.

I’m about to take off the gown and check my stomach when I remember I’m not unattended. “You guys haven’t been here the whole time, right?” I ask Timour and Thomson, scanning the contents of the medium-sized emergency room. I’m lying on the only bed, surrounded by medical equipment. Other than the stiff chair Timour is occupying, there aren’t any other pieces of furniture.

“No,” Timour replies in a too-high voice.

Thomson scoffs, “Course not.”

Doctor River rolls her eyes, responding, “I made them leave while the nurses replaced your gown, but otherwise: Yes, they have.”

My eyes find the digital clock on the wall in front of me. It reads “13:04,” which means the men have been cooped up in this boring room since zero-four-hundred hours. “Get out,” I order. “Everyone leave.”

Four pairs of eyes widen.

“Sorry, that came out wrong… I immensely appreciate that you saved my life and stayed for… moral support,” I elaborate. “It means the world to me. But as you can see, I am alive. So please, go eat, sleep, paint—be anywhere but the hospital.”

Timour’s grip on my hand tightens, and Thomson opens his mouth to argue.

“I agree,” Huxley chimes in, staring at me. “I want to ask you a few questions in private.”

I stiffen. “I wasn’t excluding you.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he counters.

Nobody moves or speaks for an eternal ten seconds. I glare into Huxley’s sickeningly striking eyes. Please don’t leave me alone with him. Not now. Not when I’m weak, spent…

Afraid.

Someone tried to kill me.

My breaths shallow, and Doctor River suggests, “Perhaps tomorrow, Boss. She just came out of a coma and requires rest.”

“That’s a day wasted.” Huxley asserts, “If we want to find the weasels responsible for this, I need information now. Come on, Nalani, you know Nupan would do the same.”

The doctor scoffs, “Is that supposed to convince me? I don’t see eye to eye with my wife eighty percent of the time.”

Huxley shrugs. “It doesn’t matter to me whether or not you’re convinced. I need to speak with Ailee. In private. End of discussion.”

A hint of derision glints in Doctor River’s eyes, but she masks the emotion with a taciturn smile. “Of course. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

She’s almost out the door when Huxley demands, “An hour.”

Doctor River’s steps falter, but she manages to throw back a “fine” before disappearing around the corner.

Focusing on the two other men in the room, Huxley raises an eyebrow as though he’s asking “what the hell are they still doing here?” Not wishing to disappoint his leader, Thomson stands up. But before moving away, he caresses my face and leans down to kiss my forehead. Lips stopping inches away, he realizes this might not be the brightest idea. Huxley’s scowl confirms Thomson’s thoughts.

He knows Huxley and I went on a date—I’m pretty sure the whole ship knows—I can read it in his guarded eyes as the russethead pats my shoulder and tells me, “I’ll be back soon.” Thomson’s nod to Huxley is rigid as he swiftly leaves the room.

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Crossing his arms, Huxley emits both tension and boredom as he faces Timour, who hasn’t spared him a glance since he arrived. “My patience is wearing thin, Liansan.”

My back straightens. Huxley says “Liansan” as if it’s a pejorative, with the same amount of contempt Duarte possesses when he calls Timour nish. If Huxley were Empirical or even Martian, I wouldn’t think twice. But he’s Cosmic, and Cosmics don’t discriminate when it comes to their hatred for Earth. Doesn’t matter which side of the planet you’re born on.

Maybe it’s personal. Huxley may treat me and Timour dissimilarly, but I contend he doesn’t respect me any more. Recalling the night in the garden, I shiver.

“It’s clear she doesn’t want you here,” Timour states, eyes on me.

Huxley tilts his head, donning a humorless smirk. “Come again?”

“Timour, it’s fine,” I murmur.

“No, it’s not fine,” Timour argues, his frown emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. I take in his disheveled appearance—uncombed hair, wrinkled steel gray shirt, unmatching socks. Thankfully, no part of him remains covered in my blood. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold,” I lie.

Clenching his jaw, he’s about to call me out on my bullshit when Huxley interjects, “I already want you off my ship. In fact, I really really want you off my ship, preferably without air. Don’t create any more validation for me to do so.” My heart rate doubles. “Now get out. I won’t ask nicely again.”

Timour stares at our entwined fingers, determined. “I’m staying,” he declares.

The only sign of anger from Huxley is a vein in his neck briefly popping out, then he leans against the nearest wall, at ease. “You know, Ailee, you’re stronger than you look.”

Startled, I meet his gaze. Okay…?

“You can handle yourself.”

Where is he going with this?

“I mean, most women only last three minutes when they’re with me, but you—” In less than half a second, Timour is across the room, his fist connecting with Huxley’s cheekbone and causing the Cosmic leader’s head to snap sideways. A muffled thump, nearing a low-pitched slap, reaches my ears, and Huxley groans but refuses to lift a hand to his now cut cheek. He teeters faintly then stabilizes himself, whipping his head back to snarl at the Liansan, “I wouldn’t do that again.”

Timour practically growls and swings at him once more, but Huxley catches his fist and shoves him back. Maneuvering my legs off the hospital bed, I intend to land on both feet but somehow end up sprawling on the freezing floor. I stand on unsteady legs and run toward Timour’s back, tripping and falling against him. I wrap my arms around his waist and attempt to pull him away from Huxley. Timour tenses but stays planted to the ground like a monolith.

“Timour, stop!” I plead.

His abdomen flexes, his hands remain fisted, and while Huxley is visibly irritated, the corners of his lips lift up in anticipation. The Cosmic searches for an excuse to dispose of the Liansan. He’s entertained by the prospect.

“Timour, please,” I beg, shifting around to his front, situating myself between the two men. They can’t hurt each other without hurting me. I try to push forward, but Timour is glued to the floor. For a moment, I believe he contemplates telling me to get lost. Then, his shoulders slump, he lowers his fists, and he retreats, tugging me with him. “You should go.”

His eyes snap to mine, and I flinch. I’ve never witnessed that much hatred in his expression. In fact, I’ve always seen Timour as shy, coolheaded, and predictable. Perhaps I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. “Is what he said true?” he questions, removing my arms from his waist but keeping a firm grip on my elbows.

I shake my head, confused. “What did he…?” Oh.

Oh.

I’m a little embarrassed Timour caught on so quickly whereas it’s taken me a solid minute to figure out what Huxley insinuated, but mostly I feel nauseous. God, I loathe Huxley. “We’ll talk later,” I promise Timour, “but you need to go. Now.”

Years pass until Timour finally releases me. “I wouldn’t talk about her like that again,” he threatens, pitching Huxley’s words back in his face as he stalks out the entrance.

A shuddering breath evacuates my lungs. I turn toward Huxley, who looks ready to track down Timour and further antagonize him. “He didn’t—”

Huxley cuts me off with a calculated smirk, “He didn’t what, Ailee? He didn’t mean it?” He touches the cut on his cheek and analyzes the blood dripping down his fingers. “It sure felt like he meant it.”

“You deserved it.”

“He’s a walking paragon of domestic abuse.”

“Timour would never hurt me.” Unlike you. “We all have our limits.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, Huxley states, “If I kill him, it’ll make things easier for you.”

“He saved my life.”

“True, but he’s so annoying.”

I widen my eyes. “Please.”

He tilts his head back and rolls his eyes, groaning, “Alright, stop looking at me like that. I won’t kill him… yet. Let’s get this over with. I came here to ask you some questions.”

“Wait, we should clean your wound first,” I advise, heading to the first aid cabinet.

He seizes my wrist. “Ailee, I’m fine. Get on the bed.”

Shaking his arm off, I ignore the way he said that and sit on the edge of the hospital bed. He lowers himself onto the chair Timour recently vacated and leans forward, elbows resting on his lower thighs.

The first thing he asks me to do is relay the events, adding clarification questions when he’s not following. After I relive my trauma, he queries, “Have you seen anyone suspicious around you lately?”

“Everyone around me is suspicious,” I answer. “No one in particular stands out. Could the… attackers have left the ship?”

“It’s possible, but I’m aware of every single person who comes and goes. I’ll check the IDs of any who don’t return.”

“I overheard someone say that Felix is inspecting the surveillance system.”

Huxley nods. “Yeah, he was. But whoever planned the attack had access to the security feed. The cameras weren’t recording this morning.”

Felix was, not is. “Do you know where he’s at currently?”

“He’s probably interrogating the security team.” Huxley gives me a strange look. “Were you expecting him?”

Feigning indifference, I shake my head. “No, I was just wondering.” I suppose Felix is still angry with me, but truthfully, I’m saddened he didn’t come see me on my deathbed.

I’ve lost track of time when Huxley pulls out a gun and hands it to me, simultaneously giving me arrhythmia. “I recovered this for you.” The gun I left on the couch. “I would’ve brought the toy I got you, but let’s just say it needs to be… dry-cleaned.”

Taking the weapon from him, I playfully smile. “Your plan to murder me failed.”

He smirks. “It’s no fun when it’s too easy to catch your prey. Maybe I’m trying to scare you first.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve definitely accomplished that.”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, expression indecipherable as he stares at my hands fiddling with the gun’s magazine. I’m fixated on the bleeding cut marring his otherwise perfect face when he says, “Stay with me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to give me more context.”

“Your room is destroyed, and it’ll be some time before it’s fixed up. Even then, I’m sure you don’t want to sleep there anymore.”

He’s right. I don’t.

“So, stay with me,” he continues. “My room’s big, and I can bring in an extra bed if—”

“No, you’ve got to have another empty room.”

He sighs. “Ailee, it’s for your protection. They have access to the security feed, the intribots, and until we catch them, it’s safer for you to be by my side.”

I almost laugh, masking the sound with a scoff. In no parallel dimension would I ever sleep in his room, that close to him. Absolutely no way am I—

“Just until we catch the people responsible,” he emphasizes, eyes pleading with mine.

“No,” I declare, voice louder and stronger. “Huxley, I said ‘no.’”

Leaning back, frustrated, he glowers at me. The lines on his forehead smooth as he stands, relenting, “Fine. I’ll message you another place you can stay.” He starts toward the door, but swivels around to add, “On one condition.”

I tilt my head curiously.

“You like coffee?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement.

Two hundred percent serious, I state, “I would do anything for coffee.”

He grins crookedly. “Great. Meet me at Soma. Saturday. Ten-hundred hours. Don’t be late.” And before I can protest, he disappears, shutting the door behind him.

Ten-hundred hours? On a weekend? That coffee better taste like ambrosia, or someone’s getting a twin black eye.