Page 28

CHAPTER 28

H e touched her.

Not with a shove or a grip, but with a hand. His bare hand.

Warm. Heavy. Pressed gently between her shoulder blades as he guided her down the corridor, back toward the place he’d locked her in before.

The contact sent a jolt straight through her spine.

Not pain.

Not fear.

But something stranger.

She shivered. Goosebumps rippled along her arms despite the ambient warmth of the ship. Her breath caught in her throat. Because there was something in the way he touched her: firm , but not cruel. Gentle , but not quite tender.

It wasn’t affection.

It was control.

He wanted her to walk.

And she did.

Because the pressure of his hand said she should, and it told her—quietly, unmistakably—that if she didn’t, there would be consequences.

She wasn’t ready to test what those might be.

Besides, she wasn’t fighting him anymore.

Not right now.

How could she? After what she’d seen? A world of jagged snowcaps, firelight bleeding through mist, and the realization that they were stranded. There were no roads, no ships in sight. No help.

No hope.

Just her. And him .

She couldn’t even speak the language, didn’t even know what planet they were on until he’d shown her. She was completely, helplessly cut off from everything she knew. Every flicker of resistance inside her had nothing to hold on to.

And so she walked.

She could feel him behind her. Hear his footfalls. Sense the weight of his presence—tall, armored, silent. But his hands… his hands were bare.

Why?

She hadn’t seen his fingers without gloves since he’d first collared her. Six-fingered. Deep blue. Hard but strangely beautiful. Alien and terrifying—and yet, somehow, reassuring. They’d held her earlier when she broke down. Held her like she was something he didn’t want to break .

How did he know?

That she needed that ?

Not commands. Not glares. Not cold silence.

Just… contact.

It was the only thing grounding her right now.

The door to her quarters slid open with that low mechanical hiss. The room looked the same—windowless, smooth, inhuman—but her perception had changed. She understood now. She wasn’t just being kept in here to be controlled.

This was protection.

A cage, yes.

But one meant to keep the monsters out .

She stepped inside.

He followed.

She turned, expecting him to retreat, to vanish again behind that seamless door the way he always did. But he didn’t.

He stayed.

His hands were still bare.

She stared at them for a moment, irrationally fixated on the shape of them. The lines. The dark nails. The fact that he hadn’t re-gloved them. That he hadn’t stepped away the moment he could.

That meant something.

Didn’t it?

She couldn’t ask. Couldn’t speak to him in any meaningful way. But she clung to that detail like it mattered. Like it proved he wasn’t just a brute in armor, but something more.

Something that could learn .

He looked at her—no movement, no sound. Just that intense, unreadable gaze behind the helm.

And still… he didn’t leave.

A heartbeat passed.

Then another.

And somehow, in that strange, tense silence, she didn’t feel afraid.

Not exactly.

Because he wasn’t leaving her alone.

And maybe… just maybe… that was what she needed most right now.

She stood there, breath caught in her throat, as he remained in the doorway.

Watching her.

Still helmeted. Still unreadable.

And then… he stepped closer.

Her instinct was to retreat—but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her feet stayed rooted, her muscles taut, her mind caught in that strange limbo between apprehension and something she couldn’t name.

And then… he touched her.

Not roughly.

Not to control her, but to comfort her.

His hands—bare, warm, alien—rose to her upper arms and stroked down in a slow, measured pass. Again. Then again. Smooth. Gentle. His fingers spread lightly as they moved over the soft fabric of her dress, barely pressing, like a whisper across her skin.

It wasn’t sexual.

It wasn’t forceful.

It was… unfamiliar.

And yet, somehow, it was so clearly intentional .

A gesture of reassurance.

Of care.

Her body tensed in response, unsure how to interpret this. Her first instinct was indignation.

What did he think this was?

Some kind of manipulation?

Did he think he could tame her with a few well-placed strokes, like she was a frightened kitten and he was trying to coax her into purring?

She clenched her jaw. Her pride bristled.

But the fire didn’t last.

Because reality came crashing back: the cold image of the cockpit, the broken systems, the frozen mountains, and the bleeding sun vanishing into storm-misted cliffs.

This wasn’t Earth.

And he wasn’t human.

He could have locked her away again without a second thought.

He could have ignored her, as he had at the beginning.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d shown her the damage. Let her see the world outside. Tried— actually tried —to make her feel safe.

And now… he was touching her like she was something that mattered. Something worth soothing.

Her breath shuddered in her chest, emotion knotting behind her ribs.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just let herself feel the quiet heat of his hands as they passed over her arms once more. Not clinging. Not claiming. Just being there.

Present.

And when he finally drew back, she looked up at him.

The helmet remained in place. No face. No expression. Just that sleek, black mask and the low sound of his breath behind the filters.

She nodded, her voice low.

“I’ll wait,” she said softly, knowing he wouldn’t understand the words.

“But whatever it is you need to do out there, you have to come back.”

Because despite everything—despite the terror, the fury, the helplessness—he was her only hope now.

Her last thread of connection to anything stable. Anything alive .

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even nod.

He just turned.

Moved toward the door in that same impossibly smooth, quiet way, faster than any human had a right to move, despite all that armor.

And then… he disappeared through the wall.

Gone, like a shadow swallowed by silence.

She stared at the seamless surface he’d vanished through, her heart thudding in the quiet.

She was alone again.

Trapped.

But this time, it was different, because now, she wasn’t just holding onto fear.

She was holding onto certainty .

That he’d come back, and that as long as he did, she would be safe.

“You’d better fucking come back, metalhead,” she whispered, both hating him and appreciating him.

And for the first time, she wondered— really wondered—what he looked like underneath that sinister black mask.