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S he d been abducted by aliens and they d brought her to a scrapyard.

Mira watched as Ryke slid a handful of credit chips across the rusted metal counter. The salvage yard supervisor-a four-eyed alien with mottled green-grey skin and fingers that never seemed to stop moving-scooped them up with practiced speed.

"Two hours," he muttered, all four eyes blinking asynchronously as he stuffed the chips into a pocket inside his stained coveralls. "Not a minute more. And if anyone official shows up, I never saw you."

"Two hours is more than sufficient," Ryke said, his massive frame dwarfing the supervisor's booth. At nearly seven feet tall, the Latharian mercenary captain had to duck his head to look through the security window. "We'll be gone before anyone notices."

The supervisor's lower eyes flicked nervously to the rest of their group waiting outside the fence while his upper pair remained fixed on Ryke.

Mira could practically hear him calculating if he'd charged enough for the risk.

His gaze lingered a second longer on her-the only obviously human among them-before returning to Ryke.

"Imperial salvage is regulated for a reason," the alien said, lowering his voice to a wet rasp. "Some of that shit is still active. You get yourselves killed, that's your problem. But if you blow up my yard, I'll hunt down whatever's left of you."

Ryke's mouth twitched in amusement. "Understood."

A buzz and clank signaled the gate unlocking. The Reapers filed through, and Mira followed, very aware that she was the smallest and most breakable person in the group. Fourteen days aboard the Lady's Dream, and she still felt like she was walking among giants.

The salvage yard stretched out, a massive graveyard of spacecraft parts and military tech.

Mountains of twisted metal rose like jagged islands from a sea of smaller debris.

The distant edges of the yard disappeared into heat haze, despite the relatively mild temperature.

Everything glinted with a film of condensation, making the rusted edges gleam deceptively beautiful in the thin sunlight.

Where do I even fit here? The thought ambushed her as she caught her reflection in a polished piece of hull plating-small, fragile, unmistakably human.

Unlike Jesh with her cybernetic enhancements or even Davis with his huge human-but-not-quite physique, she was just..

. Mira. Former assistant. Former victim. Current what, exactly?

"You all have your lists," Ryke said, his voice cutting through her thoughts, carrying easily over the wind whistling through metal canyons.

"We're looking for parts compatible with the Dream, so priority on propulsion control circuits and shield harmonizers.

Stick to your assigned sections. Two hours. "

The team began to pair off-Ryke with Rann, Covak with Jesh, Anson with Jex's Scorperio suit. Which left...

Davis Tell stood a few feet away, scanning something on his wrist device. He didn't look at her as the others dispersed, the metal under their boots sending hollow echoes across the yard.

She swallowed. Hard. Davis was technically human, but it was easy to forget that fact.

At six-foot-five with shoulders that could fill a doorway, he made her feel even smaller than the aliens did.

And unlike them, he was difficult to read-his expressions always carefully controlled, his words measured.

Difficult to read, and the most drop-dead handsome man she d ever met.

Handsome, intense, and utterly unreadable.

Just being near him tied her thoughts in knots, a confusing mix of the fear he d inspired when they d first met and the electric awareness that had sparked when he d first touched her.

He looked up suddenly, catching her staring.

Something flickered behind his eyes-but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light. He retreated behind that professional mask so quickly, leaving her feeling wrong-footed, like she was always one step behind understanding him.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the eastern section of the yard. "We've got a lot of ground to cover."

She was forced to run to keep up. The silence between them stretched out as they picked their way through the debris. It wasn't comfortable-it felt charged . She risked a sideways glance, but his face was impassive. Perhaps she was imagining it?

"So," she ventured a few minutes later, "What are we looking for first?"

He glanced at her. "Shield regulator assembly. They're too delicate to fabricate with our equipment. Easier to pick them up and retcon them."

"Makes sense." She stepped over a twisted piece of metal, her nose wrinkling as she caught the sharp tang of scorched wiring. "I thought Latharian tech lasted centuries, though?"

Yeah. He gave a sharp nod. "When it's maintained properly. And not jury-rigged into something it was never meant to be in."

More silence. She bit her lip, tasting salt and dust. Two weeks aboard the Lady's Dream, and he was just as much a mystery when he'd grabbed her by the throat in Dr. Rettnor's office.

While the other Reapers had gradually warmed to her, Davis maintained a careful distance-professional but never friendly.

Why did that bother her so much?

He stopped suddenly, checking the device in his hand. "We're close to something on the list."

Turning in a slow circle, he frowned as the device emitted a soft beeping. One that sped up as he pointed it toward a smaller pile of scrap.

"There." He strode toward it, and Mira trailed behind.

They spent the next few minutes digging through the pile, occasionally finding usable parts that Davis stored in his pack.

"Hold this." He handed her the scanning device and began to dig out something buried deeper in the pile. "It's showing something important underneath all this."

She took the scanner, trying not to stare as his muscles flexed under his tight-fitting shirt.

He lifted heavy pieces of metal aside with an effortless grace that belied his size.

When he turned to toss aside a particularly large chunk of debris, she bit her lip at the way all the muscles in his back tightened.

God, the man had an ass that could crack walnuts in those combats.

Why did he have to be so damn attractive? It was distracting as hell.

She looked down at the scanner, heat flaring over her cheeks as she forced herself to concentrate on something, anything, else.

The device in her hands was fascinating. The screen glowed with a faint blue light that cast shadows across her fingers, and the display showed a three-dimensional rendering of their surroundings with various hotspots highlighted. One blinking dot represented whatever Davis was digging for.

But there were other buttons along the side. Curiosity got the better of her. She pressed one and the display changed, showing different energy signatures rather than physical components.

A new ping appeared on the screen, not far away from where they were.

"Huh," she murmured, tapping the display.

The energy signature was unusual. At least, she thought it was unusual, for all she knew it could be an alien toaster.

But, if she squinted her eyes and kind of looked sideways at it, all the alien words and the interface kind of made sense to her.

And the pattern on screen reminded her of the neural-interface gaming systems she'd worked with before Rettnor had smashed her rig. And her confidence right along with it.

Davis muttered something under his breath as he reached deeper into the pile.

He wasn't paying any attention to her, but she still hesitated for a moment.

She really should tell him but he was busy.

Fuck it. She took off, picking her way carefully through the scrap and following the new signal.

The scanner's faint electronic hum joined the crunch of her footsteps on scattered debris.

The ping led her around a tall stack of what looked like hull plating to a section they hadn't searched yet. With each step, the scanner's beeping got louder, leading her to a jumbled heap of mechanical parts. The air here smelled different-charged, like the aftermath of a lightning strike.

And then she saw it and her eyes widened.

There was a robot partly buried under smaller debris-or what remained of one anyway.

It had a squat central body with articulated legs extending outward, though only three of what appeared to be eight legs were there.

The rest were broken off to leave metallic stumps and trailing wires.

Most of the multitude of eyes across the front of the body were damaged, with only a few still glowing with a faint blue light that pulsed gently.

As she approached, the eyes that worked swiveled toward her. Its legs twitched, and one extended upward, moving back and forth as if...

Was was it waving?

"Oh," she breathed, stepping closer. Her heart stuttered. "You're still active."

The robot's visual array flickered, focusing on her with obvious effort. It waved the leg again.

Something tugged at her heart. There was something familiar in the gesture of a broken thing still trying to connect.

Crouching down, she set the scanner on a flat piece of metal.

The weight of the past two weeks-of being the outsider, the broken one, the one who didn't quite belong-pressed against her chest.

Hey there. Are you asking for help?" she asked softly, not expecting an answer.

The robot's leg moved up and down twice in quick succession. A faint mechanical whir emerged from somewhere in its damaged body.

Mira's eyes widened. "You understand me?"

Another double movement. Another soft sound.

"Holy shit," she whispered. This wasn't just some automated response system. The robot was displaying actual comprehension and trying to communicate.

Hey, don t worry. I got you.