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"Trent—" I begin, not sure what I'm going to say but feeling the urgent need to say something.

A sudden spike in my hearing interrupts the moment. Voices approaching from around the corner, not maintenance workers but security personnel, moving with the deliberate efficiency of a sweep operation.

"Security team," I whisper urgently. "Twenty seconds from intersection."

Trent processes this without questioning how I could possibly hear them at this distance. "Too late to avoid. We need a diversion."

Before I can suggest anything, he moves with sudden decisive action, backing me against the corridor wall. For a confused second I think he's trying to hide me, then his intentions become clear as his hands frame my face and his lips meet mine.

And my world explodes.

The kiss is for show—a distraction, a cover story, a plausible reason for two maintenance workers to be lingering in an isolated corridor. That's what I tell myself as his mouth claims mine with convincing passion.

Except it doesn't feel like pretending. Not when his lips press against mine with a hunger that steals my breath, not when his hands frame my face with a gentleness that contradicts the urgency of the moment. His fingers thread through my hair, cradling the back of my head as though I'm something precious rather than a tactical necessity.

My body responds before my mind can catch up, hands instinctively grasping the front of his uniform, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us. His heartbeat thunders against my palm, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. He tastes like Unity's standard-issue hydration supplement and something uniquely him.

Three years of carefully maintained professional distance evaporate in an instant. Every stolen glance, every almost-touch, every unspoken feeling crystallizes into this single point of contact. The kiss deepens as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking a question I answer by opening to him with a small sound that's half sigh, half moan.

What began as strategy transforms into something raw and real and desperate. My enhanced senses catalog every detail—the slight rasp of stubble against my skin, the heat radiating from his body, the subtle tremor in his hands thattells me he's as affected as I am. The corridor, the mission, Unity itself—everything fades to background noise compared to the overwhelming reality of Trent's mouth moving against mine, of boundaries finally breaking after years of resistance.

It's more than a kiss. It’s like a confession. A declaration more honest than any words we've dreamed of speaking.

I hear the security team round the corner, their footsteps faltering at the sight of two maintenance workers locked in a passionate embrace. One of them clears his throat loudly.

Trent breaks the kiss, looking appropriately startled and embarrassed as he turns toward the interruption. "Apologies," he says, the perfect picture of a worker caught stealing a private moment. "Environmental alert in section seven. We were just...heading there."

The security officer's expression shifts from suspicion to mild disapproval. "Maintain professional behavior during duty shifts," he reprimands, but there's no real heat in it. Just another minor protocol violation, not worth further investigation.

"Yes, sir," Trent responds contritely. "Won't happen again."

We hurry past the security team, maintaining our embarrassed body language until we're around the corner and out of sight. Only then does Trent glance at me, something unreadable in his eyes.

"Effective distraction," I say, aiming for levity despite the lingering sensation of his lips on mine, the heat that’s pooled in my core, wanting so much more of him.

"Seemed appropriate to our cover identities," he responds carefully.

But we both know it was more than that.

Just as we both know this isn't the time to acknowledge it.

We reach the environmental control station in section seven, where Trent makes a show of checking readings and adjusting settings for any watching eyes. While he works, he speaks quietly, his voice pitched for my ears alone.

"Made contact through maintenance alerts. Sympathizers are accelerating the transport. New extraction time: end of current shift."

Less than three hours from now. "What about Eden?"

"Already moved to the extraction point. They suspected a security sweep was imminent."

Smart. If Intelligence had found Eden during their sweep, the entire sympathizer network would have been compromised.

"What about the surveillance drones?" I ask. "They'll track our movement patterns."

"Scheduled maintenance blackout in thirty minutes," Trent explains. "Routine power cycling of lower sector monitoring systems. Creates a twelve-minute window where surveillance coverage will be reduced to emergency systems only."

Again, he's thought of everything. While I've been focused on controlling my symptoms and maintaining our cover, Trent has been meticulously arranging our escape.

"We'll need to move quickly during the blackout," he continues. "Collect essential supplies from our quarters, then proceed to extraction point through maintenance shaft Delta-9."