Page 69 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone

“Regulator’s free,” she announced, her voice rough.

She wrestled the component out of its housing, the salvaged part heavy and awkward in the confined space. She passed it to Mila, their fingers brushing again. Mila’s claws were cool, smooth. Carmen focused on the regulator’s weight, the grime on its casing – anything but the way her pulse hammered in her veins.

“Get the new one seated,” she commanded. “Tight. No play.”

Mila accepted the regulator without comment. Her movements were economical, efficient. She didn’t fumble in the tight space.

She watched, unable to look away, as Mila aligned the replacement regulator cannibalized from Turret Alpha into the housing. The yellow and red fur on her back rippled with the effort, muscles shifting beneath. The stripes stood out like war paint.

Carmen’s mouth went dry. Should she answer Mila’s question? What if she gave the answer she wanted to?

What if Mila agreed?

She forced herself to look at the housing, at the exposed wiring, at anything but the alien woman whose very presence felt like a physical violation and a magnetic pull.

“Alignment confirmed,” Mila murmured. She reached for the torque driver Carmen still held. “May I?”

Carmen handed it over, her fingers deliberately avoiding contact this time. Mila took it, her eyes lingering on Carmen’s face for a heartbeat too long before she bent to the task. The whine of the driver filled the tube again.

Silence stretched, thick with the hum of the ship and the unspoken tension coiling between them. Carmen leaned her head back against the warm metal, closing her eyes for a second. Exhaustion warred with the relentless buzz of awareness Mila generated.

“You carry it all,” Mila said, her voice cutting through Carmen’s thoughts, soft but penetrating. She wasn’t looking at Carmen; she was focused on tightening the bolts securing the new regulator. “The ship. The crew. Their fear. Their anger. Their survival.” A bolt clicked into place with finality. “You believe it is yours alone to bear.”

Carmen’s eyes snapped open. She stared at the curve of Mila’s spine, the way her fur caught the low light.

“Itismine,” she retorted, the words automatic. “I’m the captain. The buck stops here. Always has.”

She thought of Sark’s terrified face, Norvik’s cold pragmatism, Letitia’s furious disappointment. W’Ooshlee’s sightless eyes. Her failure.

“Especially when things go to shit,” she added. “Which they do. A lot.”

Mila finished the last bolt and straightened slightly, turning her head to look at Carmen. Her green eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unsettling understanding.

“Responsibility is not the same as control, Captain. One is duty. The other …” She paused, her gaze tracing the tight line of Carmen’s jaw, the tension in her shoulders. “The other is a cage. A cage you lock yourself inside, believing it keeps the chaos out. But it only traps you with it.”

Carmen stiffened.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was low, dangerous. A warning.

“I know what I see,” Mila replied, unflinching. She set the torque driver aside, her movements deliberate. “I see a womanwho grips the helm so tightly her knuckles bleed, afraid that letting go for even a moment will send everything spinning into the void. I see her in her quarters, alone, wrestling with decisions that could kill us all, refusing to share the weight because she believes only her hands are strong enough.”

She leaned forward slightly, the scant space between them shrinking. Carmen could see the fine texture of the fur on her cheek, the dilation of her pupils in the dim light. The scent intensified, warm and inviting.

“I see her directing, demanding, controlling every touch, every glance, as if evencontactwith another being is a variable to be managed.”

“Shut up,” Carmen hissed. “You have no right?—”

“I have every right,” Mila interrupted, her voice still soft but layered with an authority Carmen hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t harsh; it was commanding, certain. “Because I see what you need, Carmen Díaz. What you crave, buried under all that steel and guilt and desperate control.”

Her gaze locked onto Carmen’s, intense, magnetic.

“You need to stop. To let go. To surrender. Not to fate, not to the void, but to hands strong enough to hold you, to take the weight. To give you what you truly hunger for.”

Carmen’s heart pounded. Her breath quickened.

“And what’s that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Release,” Mila answered.