After the sound of the tires faded, the crew scattered briefly—to wash up, rest, maybe puke in the bushes.
I stayed by the loading dock.
I didn't sit. Couldn't. My muscles were too tight. My thoughts too loud.
Because now that it was over—now that the job was done—I had no excuse not to feel the ache that had been buried under blood and adrenaline.
I missed him.
Not just in the abstract. Not like a soldier missing home.
I missed the shape of him. The sound of his breath. The way he'd tilt his head just slightly when I walked in, like he couldn't believe I'd returned.
I missed the soft weight of him resting against my thigh when he was too tired to stand.
I missed how he looked at me like I was safe. Like I was something to trust.
And he didn't even know why.
He didn't know about the mate bond. Didn't know what he was to me. Or what I was to him.
And I—
I didn't know how much longer I could lie to him about that.
Nyx stirred. We're going back. Tonight.
I nodded.
Nothing was going to stop me.
Not the boss. Not the crew. Not the ghosts in my lungs.
Because whatever that thing in the crate had been—
Nine was still mine.
And I was going to protect him.
Even if it killed me.