Chapter 43
Kael poured coffee into mugs as Spook walked back into the mess. Handed her one.
She sipped, tilted her head as if she’d had worse, and sat down opposite him.
“I dosed her with Sobren and shoved her in the shower. She should be okay-ish by the time she gets out.”
Kael swore he felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. “Sobren causes brain damage.”
Spook shrugged, “So does that swill you were drinking. And it’s only like, a one-in-five chance. She’ll be fine.”
“If she’s not—”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ll make me wish I was never born. Yadda yadda.”
Kael took a sip. “Good. As long as we’re aligned.”
Drinking coffee with her felt like sitting across from a tiger—claws sheathed, but just barely.
Shade had been chaotic and impulsive, but Spook was reactive. And that was far more dangerous in the immediate term.
“How did you know we were here?”
“Oh, you mean besides the giant bar brawl?”
He shrugged and she rolled her eyes.
“I bribed the dock master to keep an eye out for your ship.”
Wraith held a hand over one eye and squinted at the lights in her quarters. Light? Lights.
What the fuck had Rina given her?
It felt like the headache portion of every hangover she’d ever had hit her at once.
She sat on her bunk in her towel.
How a craft as small as the Styx had water-based showers was a mystery she wasn’t complaining about. The hard-coded time limit was another story.
Clothes. She needed clothes.
She looked down.
She could just wear the towel.
It seemed like a fuck-ton less effort. She smirked; Kael’s reaction would be gold.
But Rina would probably kill her.
Or him.
And honestly, a nap sounded like an amazing fucking idea.
She eased down to a prone position, wincing at the pain. Closed her eyes.
If Rina and Kael really got into it, the noise would wake her.
Probably.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
Spook’s voice followed him up the short corridor.
“Good for you,” he muttered.
“Like, eighty percent sure.”
He suspected she didn’t mean for him to hear that part.
“Wraith!” He banged on the cabin door.
No answer. No sound.
“Wraith!”
Spook stuck her head out of the mess, eyes worried. He met her gaze for a moment. She didn’t flinch, but he’d like to think she wanted to.
“Styx, interior door override.”
The door slid open. Kael stepped inside and stopped dead in his tracks. Wraith was lying on her bunk. Eyes closed. Still as death.
He was on his knees with his ear to her chest before his brain told him to move. Her heartbeat was steady.
“Wraith,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder with the careful panic of someone trying not to break something already cracked.
“Ash, wake up.”
Her eyes flickered, and she squinted at him. “Fuck off, Major.” And rolled over.
“That would be the hangover, Major, not brain damage,” Spook told him from the doorway. “Although I’ll be happy to give you some if you keep staring at my sister’s naked ass like that.”
Until Spook spoke, it hadn’t registered that Wraith was wearing nothing but a towel. One that had fallen off her as she rolled.
Kael snapped his eyes away, but not before his brain etched the image into permanent storage. Gaze firmly on the ceiling, he backed out of the room, trying not to breathe.
Spook was grinning at him. “You know what, you can call me Rina. After this, we’re practically in-laws.”
Of all the things Wraith expected to hear when she finally rolled out of bed—screams, groaning, crashing furniture—rolling laughter came in dead last.
And yet.
She moved slowly down the corridor, staying close to the wall. Each footfall silent. Rina’s voice rose above the howling laughter.
“—and that’s when Ash decides to make a sock puppet. With Shade’s sock, no less. She called him Sergeant Squidge, and then proceeded to tell seventeen very drunk marines that they were cogs in the military industrial complex, while Geist and Shade kept telling Sergeant Squidge to hush and stop revealing classified information.”
She was still dreaming. That was the only possible explanation.
“Although, you have to give the marines some credit. They made it four rounds into a Void-fueled drinking game with Shade, Geist, Ash, and Spirit. And lived. That’s either a war crime or a wedding ritual depending on which culture you ask. Personally? I call it Wednesday.”
Wraith crept forward and peeked around the corner.
Kael was crying with laughter. Rina was as relaxed as she’d ever seen her. And there was no alcohol in sight to explain it.
“And you weren’t taking part in this… competition?” Kael asked.
Rina shrugged, “Someone had to be the corpse courier, I drew the short straw.”
“Corpse courier?”
“You know, the person who gets you home even if you’re practically dead.”
They both laughed.
“So, who won?” Kael asked finally, holding his ribs with one hand.
“Me. With enough blackmail material to last a lifetime.” Rina glanced towards the door, winked at Wraith. Kael turned too.
Wraith sighed and stepped into the mess. “Actually, I think a coffee machine was eventually declared the winner.”
“Yeah. That’s how wrecked you all were.”
Wraith shrugged, pretended her cheeks weren’t burning. “On that note, is there coffee?”
Kael stood and poured her a mug.
His ribs ached, his cheeks hurt, and if Rina ever asked him for anything? She’d have it without question.
He handed Wraith the coffee. She still looked pale, blushing cheeks notwithstanding, but otherwise almost back to normal.
“So,” he started, sitting down and fixing her with a serious look, “what happened to Sergeant Squidge?”
Rina cackled and slapped the table. Kael couldn’t keep the smile from spreading on his face.
Wraith looked from him to Rina and back again.
Shook her head like she was the only adult at a toddler’s party.
“I’m going back to bed.”
Kael gave a solemn two-finger salute.
“Rest well, Sergeant Squidge.”