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"Morgan," I said, louder now that the danger had passed. "Morgan, wake up."

Terror gripped me as I waited for her response. I'd lost operatives before and lost friends and colleagues to the dangers of our work, but the thought of losing this brilliant, perceptive woman sent panic clawing up my throat.

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. Confusion clouded her expression as she glanced around at the alien swamp, then back to me.

"Why am I on the ground?" she asked, her voice slightly slurred.

A choked laugh escaped me, half relief and half lingering fear. "You lost consciousness."

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink as she rubbed her forehead. "I locked my knees," she admitted. "Didn't want to sway and give us away." She gave a weak laugh. "I should have known better. I was a bridesmaid once where the girl next to me did the same thing and face-planted right in front of the altar."

I wasn't entirely sure what a bridesmaid was, but her embarrassment was endearingly human. More importantly, she was alive, talking, and seemingly unharmed. The tightness in my chest eased slightly.

Part of me was relieved that her fainting had interrupted the dangerous intimacy we'd shared. Yet another part ached for that connection again, for that moment when the universe had narrowed down to just the two of us.

I helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed slightly. "The Kronock must have multiple patrols out," I said, retreating to the safety of mission talk. "At least we know our suits work."

Morgan touched her own arm, which was nearly invisible against the murky backdrop of the swamp. "Drexian technology continues to impress me."

"We should keep moving," I said, turning to resume our journey.

Her hand on my arm stopped me, the touch gentle but impossible to ignore. When I turned back, she was looking at me with a seriousness that made my breath catch.

"Thank you," she said simply. "For keeping me calm. For catching me when I fell."

My throat tightened as I stared into her eyes, remembering how it felt to hold her, to have her so close. I wanted to tell her that Iwould always catch her and that I would do anything to keep her safe, but the words stuck in my throat.

"Of course," I managed gruffly, the inadequacy of the response burning in my chest.

As we trudged onward through the marsh, I found myself touching the spot on my arm where her hand had rested, the sensation lingering. I forced my mind back to the mission, to the friends we needed to rescue, and to my brother languishing in a Kronock prison.

I couldn't afford to be distracted again, not even by the glimpse of a future I desperately desired but couldn't have. Not when lives depended on my focus, my training, and my discipline. Not when Morgan depended on me.

Chapter

Eleven

Kann

Volten sat in the cockpit going over the final pre-flight checks as I stood behind him. Everything about his movements was focused and efficient, and I knew it was hiding his worry for Ariana. My friend had never been as impulsive as me, but I could tell he was fighting the urge to blast off without another wasted moment.

Turning from the cockpit, I spotted Fiona and Jess standing in front of the supply closet and conducting a final inventory check, their voices drifting toward me.

"These ration packs taste like they were manufactured in the same factory as the academy's cleaning supplies," Fiona complained, holding up a silver packet with obvious distaste.

Jess snorted. "Bold of you to assume they weren't. At least they packed the spicy ones. The plain ones taste like cardboard soaked in water."

“You’ve eaten cardboard?”

I recognized the teasing as a way to lighten the mood and distract themselves from the reality of our mission. Laughter was better than panic.

Britta's fingers threaded through mine as she sidled up to me, her touch instantly grounding. She looked up, her silver hair catching the ship's ambient lighting.

"You're lucky I'm letting you leave the academy after your injury," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

My first instinct was to bristle at the suggestion that I needed permission or that I wasn't fully capable to undertake the mission. But the memory of waking in the medical bay, my body weak from blood loss, and Britta's face drawn with exhaustion and worry, stopped me. How close had I come to dying in that holographic dungeon? How close had she come to losing me before we'd barely begun?

I pulled her against me, inhaling the subtle floral scent of her hair. "I'm fully healed," I assured her. "Besides, it's just a backup mission. We'll rendezvous with the others, provide additional support for the extraction, and be home before you know it."