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The scent of his breath as he spoke carried unfamiliar notes—alien, but no longer strange to me. His lifelines remained steady, not betraying increased heart rate or stress. This wasn’t bravado; it was simply his reality.

The ventilation fan above us cycled to a higher setting, creating a brief surge of cooler air that raised goosebumps along my arms. The silver markings were visible against my skin in the chill. I willed my emotions to subside, conscious of the risk of detection.

Somehow, in the span of days, this alien warrior had shifted from enemy to ally to something far more complex. The first time we’d been thrown into the same cell, we’d eyed each other with mutual hostility and suspicion. When had that changed?

Was it during the endless interrogation sessions where neither of us betrayed the other despite Hammond’s efforts? Or during the quiet nights when we’d shared stories of our former lives in whispered conversation? Or perhaps during those moments when our markings and lifelines had connected in unexpected harmony?

The thought of him sacrificing himself tore at me in ways I wasn’t prepared to examine. My logical mind understood the tactical necessity; my heart—something I’d thought safely walled off since the crash—rebelled against it.

“I’ll find another way,” I insisted, leaning forward, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my bruised ribs—a souvenir from yesterday’s “interrogation” session. The metalgrating beneath me dug into my knees, but I barely noticed. “There has to be another option.”

Ravik leaned forward as well, his massive frame filling the small space. A lock of his copper-colored hair fell forward, catching the dim light.

He smelled of alien spices and something deeper, muskier—a scent I’d come to associate with his determination. “There is no other way, Zara.” My name in his deep voice sent an electric current down my spine, my skin warming in response. “This is my duty. I am Shadow Canyon, sworn to protect Arenix from Hammond’s exploitation.”

His proximity intensified the strange resonance between us, the air itself seeming to vibrate where our energy fields overlapped. The sensation had evolved from painful to merely uncomfortable to something altogether different—a connection that defied explanation.

“Duty?” I nearly spat the word, the taste bitter on my tongue. The emotion surprised me—I’d prided myself on cool rationality before the crash. Engineer’s detachment. Problem-solver’s objectivity. When had I started caring so intensely about an alien warrior’s survival? “You’re throwing your life away for duty?”

His tail uncurled from its position against the wall, moving to rest lightly against my leg—a gesture of reassurance I’d never have expected weeks earlier. The weight and warmth of it offered strange comfort, even through the fabric of my worn pants. The scales were smooth, almost silky against my skin.

The touch seemed to create a circuit between us, a subtle resonance where his tail contacted my leg. “We each have our part to play,” he said, his voice softening slightly, losing some of its warrior’s edge. His pupils had dilated in the dim light, making his golden eyes seem larger, more expressive.

“Your markings give you the ability to interface with the terminal and send warning to your people about the Nexus coordinates Hammond has uncovered. My skills are better used creating the opportunity for that to happen.”

A small tremor ran through the ventilation shaft—another side effect of Hammond’s drilling. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, catching in the blue emergency lighting like miniature stars. The ruins were becoming increasingly unstable; time was running out.

“And if you die in the process?” The question came out as barely a whisper, hanging in the stale air between us. I could hear my own heartbeat accelerating, feel a responding tension across my skin.

Ravik considered, the silence stretching between us. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant mechanical hum of Hammond’s operation.

I studied his alien features in the dim light—the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the subtle ridges above his brow, the intricate patterns of darker blue that marked his skin. Different, yet increasingly familiar. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and placed his large hand on my shoulder.

His palm was warmer than a human’s would be, the texture of his skin slightly different—smoother, with subtle ridges where his lifelines ran beneath the surface. The warmth of his touch seeped through my thin shirt, somehow both alien and familiar.

“Then I die as I lived,” he said simply. “A protector of Arenix.”

The resolve in his eyes told me further argument was pointless. His pupils had widened in the dim light, making the gold of his irises more pronounced. Something tightened in my chest—fear, yes, but also admiration and a fierce need to protect that surprised me.

My body responded with a steady warmth that matched the rhythm where our bodies connected. I’d lost so much already—my position on The Seraphyne, my friends in the crash, my sense of self when the markings first appeared. The thought of losing him too created an ache I couldn’t articulate.

I should have seen this coming. Back on The Seraphyne, I’d noticed Hammond’s obsession with control, his disregard for ethical protocols when dealing with alien specimens. I’d kept my head down, focused on my own work, told myself it wasn’t my department. Now his knowledge of the Nexus coordinates threatened the entire planet, and Ravik was willing to die to stop him.

My guilt must have shown on my face, because Ravik’s expression softened slightly. “What troubles you beyond our current danger?”

“I worked under Hammond before the crash,” I admitted, the confession painful but necessary. “I saw warning signs—his fixation on weapons testing, his treatment of alien specimens, his disdain for safety protocols. I told myself it wasn’t my responsibility to report him.”

Ravik considered this, his golden eyes studying my face. “The past cannot be changed. But you stand against him now. That is what matters.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said finally, the words inadequate for the tangle of emotions beneath them. My hand moved of its own accord, covering his where it rested on my shoulder. His skin was hot beneath my palm, his lifelines firm beneath my fingertips.

“I make no promises I cannot guarantee.” His honesty cut deep but somehow steadied me. His scent shifted subtly—something I was beginning to recognize as determination. “But I will try to complete my task and return.”

Our eyes held for a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between us. Then he withdrew his hand, the absence of his touch leaving an unexpected chill.

Reluctantly, I nodded, turning my attention back to the map. The fabric was warm where his fingers had touched it moments earlier. “Then let’s make sure this plan is perfect. If you’re going to risk your life creating this distraction, I’m going to make it count.”

We bent over the map again, refining the details of our desperate plan. The emergency lighting cast our shadows against the metal walls, human and alien profiles merged into a single silhouette.