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She was a scientist, and she would approach this with science.

He was in distress. She could ease that distress by having sex with him.

It wasn’t a simple case of him wanting in her pants.

It was a biological function. Or something.

Her brief research into the subject revealed that even the Molzaed were confused about how rhun ultimately worked.

The logic was simple.

So why did he look like she’d kicked his puppy?

“What’s the matter?” All the blood drained from her face. “Oh stars. I stink, don’t I? Or you don’t find me attractive? Why would rhun pair people who weren’t attracted to each other? That makes no sense.”

“Razili.”

She halted the stream of words flowing out of her. “Yes?”

“You do not stink, and I am wildly, desperately attracted to you. My hesitation is that I never wanted to force you.”

She breathed out through her teeth like air escaping a balloon. “Pssh. You aren’t forcing me. I came to the most logical conclusion. We should have sex. Rhun will be fulfilled and you’ll feel better.”

Razili watched Calyx’s expression shift from unreadable to… something else. Silence stretched between them.

“Razili,” he said, his tone modulated like he was speaking to an unstable explosive. “I do not want you to agree to this simply because it is the most efficient solution.”

Her brows pulled together. “Why else would I?”

The muscles in his jaw flexed.

Something new entered his gaze. It wasn’t irritation, or frustration, or even the restraint he always had. This was something deeper.

“You are my rhun .” His voice was quiet. “Not an obligation. Not an equation to be solved.”

She opened her mouth to fire back, but he stepped closer—so close she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze.

“You are not an experiment, Razili.”

Her heart stuttered. Her hands curled into fists, nails pressing into her palms.

Because what was she supposed to say to that? It was an experiment. If it wasn’t… “Then what is this?”

Calyx exhaled sharply, the muscles in his broad shoulders shifting. “ Rhun , written in the stars, fate. Call it what you will.”

Her stomach clenched. “I don’t believe in fate.”

“I know.” His gaze swept over her face.

She turned away. She needed to breathe without his presence caging her. She took two steps before his voice stopped her.

“You wish to solve this as quickly as possible, to rid us of its weight,” he said, softer now. “But that is not how rhun works.”

She spun. “Oh? And how does it work, Calyx? Are we just supposed to surrender? To let it consume us?”

His gaze darkened. Yes.

Although unspoken, she felt the word anyway. A phantom pressure in the air. Stars help her.

Because she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to resist it.

Calyx watched her, patient. Steady. A controlled storm. She wondered if he ever broke.

She needed distance, perspective. Some kind of control.

She cast her gaze about the small ship, looking for any escape.

Of course, there was none. She cleared her throat, forcing her voice into some semblance of neutrality.

“So we don’t have sex. And we just… what?

Focus on the mission while you struggle against this? ”

A flicker of something passed through his gaze. Then he nodded, ever the logical warrior. “Yes.”

“Until when? I assume there’s an expiration date on your ability to control this.”

“Until you are ready.”

She snorted and shook her head. “What if that doesn’t happen?

You can’t rely on me ‘being ready,’ whatever that means.

There’s no logic in this, Calyx. What you’re struggling with will distract me, and I won’t be able to focus.

I don’t understand why the idea of having sex with me is so repugnant that you’d rather deal with the increasing effects of rhun than sleep with me. ”

He was across the small ship in two strides, crowding her against the hull.

He leaned in further to bring his head eye level with hers.

“The idea of sex with you is so far from repugnant it’s laughable.

I want you with the fire of a thousand supernovas.

The mere touch of your skin on mine,”—he ran his fingers down the exposed skin of her arm, and she shivered—“is exquisite torture I would gladly bear every second of every day. I won’t sleep with you—not because I don’t want to, because every cell and nanite in me wants to—but because I don’t just want your body, Razili. I want all of you. I want your heart.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath that she felt in her toes.

“Because you already have mine.”

The swift rush of cold air replaced his heat when he turned and strode to the captain’s chair—putting as much distance between them as the small ship allowed.

The loss tugged at something in her belly. Logically, she was more than ready to have sex with him to ease his suffering. She wasn’t sure about everything else. He wanted all of her—which was more than she was willing to give.

She would respect his decision, even though she felt like it left them in a weird sort of limbo.

But despite everything—despite his resolve, despite her logic—her body ached for him to turn back.

Calyx sat rigid in the captain’s chair, his hands clenching the armrests so hard he dented the material. His nanites were a cacophony of alerts and recalibrations, trying to contain the war raging within him.

He wanted her with a ferocity that threatened to shatter his carefully maintained control. Every instinct, every enhanced function of his body screamed for her—urging him to close the distance, to take what was his.

But she was not ready.

That mattered more than the gnawing need that turned every moment into agony. His fingers twitched against the controls. A distraction. He needed a distraction. He ran a diagnostic on the ship’s systems, double-checked their trajectory, their shield integrity, anything that might distract him.

It didn’t work.

Behind him, Razili’s breath came in uneven bursts. He could hear the way she shifted, restless, agitated. If he turned, if he looked into her dark eyes, he wasn’t sure his resolve would hold. He was a warrior. He had endured physical and mental pain. But resisting rhun —resisting her—was worse.

“You’re too quiet,” Razili muttered behind him. She covered her uncertainty with impatience. “Brooding isn’t going to make this easier.”

He exhaled. “What would you have me do, Razili?”

“Something. Anything. Talk, argue, build something. I don’t care. Just don’t sit there acting like you’re resigned to dying a slow death from rhun deprivation.”

He turned and met her gaze. She stood with her arms crossed, a stance that didn’t hide her vulnerability.

He could ease this tension in a thousand different ways. Instead, he said, “Tell me why you don’t believe in fate.”

She hesitated. “Because fate is an excuse to justify things people don’t want to fight against.”

Calyx tilted his head. “And yet, you fight this.”

She scowled. “Because it’s not fate. It’s biology. Chemistry. Hormones and nanites and whatever else your species evolved to make sure you don’t die out. That’s not destiny. That’s programming.”

His jaw clenched. “Biological programming means nothing when it comes to rhun . Rhun doesn’t end with sex.

That’s one component, yes, but not the only one.

There are a few who can fulfill rhun through the conception of a child and then walk away.

” He stood, but kept his distance. “I am not among them. What I feel for you supersedes biology. If we have sex—when we have sex—neither of us will walk away.”

Her breath hitched. Just for a moment. Just long enough for him to notice.

Silence stretched again, charged and humming between them. Then she exhaled sharply, breaking whatever moment had tried to form. “I need to sleep.”

Calyx nodded. “Then sleep.”

She hesitated, staring at him like she wanted to say something else, but finally turned toward the small bunk. He listened to the rustle of fabric as she lay down, heard the slow, deliberate breaths she took to calm herself.

Calyx sat and closed his eyes, gripping the armrests once more. He would not touch her. Not until she wanted him to.

But stars help him. They had two more cycles before they reached Dunia Prime. His nanites helpfully calculated the time in various increments. None of which seemed small.

Eventually, her breaths became slower and deeper, and he knew she’d fallen into sleep. His muscles relaxed. He would need sleep, eventually, but not yet. He pulled up all the information available on Dunia Prime. The planet was small, but full of life. What form that life took was anyone’s guess.

In orbit around a sun on the outskirts of Scozid territory, no one in the Denchui Alliance had stepped foot there in over fifty years. The data collection techniques from the last scientists were outdated, but sufficient for Razili to conclude what she needed would exist there—or nowhere.

Since the only defense the Alliance had against Scozid technology depended on Razili synthesizing the compound that neutralized it, her success was pivotal to winning the war.

He used the time she slept to learn all he could about the various lifeforms on the planet, and how they’d been influenced by the Scozid.

The limited data was frustrating.

This mission was less than ideal, but they held an advantage in their small number. They could pivot and adjust faster than a larger group could.

Relying on that to keep Razili safe was out of the question.

He needed more than just ‘we move when we need to.’ His fighter had cloaking abilities, but they were capable of short bursts only.

They would use it to enter the system and the atmosphere, but it would need to recharge before being viable.

The time to recharge would leave them vulnerable to scans.