Page 212 of Red Scale Daddy
Her head turns just enough for one furious eye to catch mine. “Dux.”
There it is again, my name in her mouth like a warning shot. It should work. It usually does. She says my name that way, and smarter men would shut up.
I have never been accused of being smarter men.
“You said we finish this together,” I say. “I need to know you meant it.”
The hatch control spits sparks. Roma’s fingers still.
Pally’s mouth opens, then closes. For once, the man recognizes a cliff edge before tap-dancing on it.
Roma’s voice drops low. “This is not the place.”
“This is exactly the place. Because every time the floor catches fire, you start looking for a way to turn yourself into a solution.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Bull.”
She faces me fully then, eyes bright in the emergency gloom. “Do you want comfort or survival?”
“I want both.”
“That is childish.”
“Maybe.” I step closer, close enough to see the fine tremor in her hands before she curls them into fists. “Still want it.”
Her nostrils flare. “We don’t always get what we want.”
“No, we don’t. Sometimes we get a Reaper death ship, collapsing gravity, and a woman who thinks she has to earn the right to breathe.”
Her expression changes so fast I almost miss it. Pain, naked and sharp, flashes through before she locks it down.
But I saw it.
Good.
Let it hurt. Let it be real. Let it crack something open before the universe gets another shot at burying us alive.
Pally clears his throat, softer now. “Roma, he’s being a pain in the ass, but he’s not wrong.”
She looks at him like betrayal has suddenly grown a face. “You too?”
“Yeah. Me too.” He swallows, throat bobbing. “Because I would really like to not die today, and my chances of not dying go way down if our best tactical brain decides she’s optional.”
The hatch behind us gives a faint click, then groans open three inches.
Roma turns back to it immediately, shoving her shoulder against the metal. “Help me.”
I plant my hands beside hers and push. Pally joins on my other side. The hatch resists like the ship itself has an opinion, then slides open with a grinding scream that makes my teeth hurt.
Cold air pours through from the passage beyond. It smells cleaner, but not safe. Metal. Ozone. A faint chemical sweetness that raises the hair on my arms.
Roma ducks through first.
Of course she does.
I grab her wrist before she clears the threshold.
