Page 117 of Red Scale Daddy
“The ship just took a hit ten minutes ago,” he says, his voice steady but edged with something firmer now. “You might want to?—”
“I am aware of the ship’s condition,” I cut in, my focus locked on the signal pattern as it sharpens. “And I am also aware that this is the closest I have been to him in nine years.”
My fingers move faster.
The numbers align.
The path tightens.
“He’s here,” I say again, quieter this time, the certainty settling into something that feels almost unreal. “He’s actually here.”
I do not realize how hard I am gripping the edge of the console until the pressure registers in my hands.
“Roma,” Dux says again, closer now.
“I have it,” I say. “I just need to refine the?—”
“Roma.”
His hand closes around my wrist.
The contact is firm, grounding, pulling my attention away from the cascade of data just long enough to break the spiral of focus.
I look at him.
Really look.
His expression has changed.
The humor is gone.
The ease is gone.
What remains is something sharper, more deliberate, a focus that mirrors my own but points in a different direction.
“You’re pushing too hard,” he says.
“I am optimizing the approach vector.”
“You’re burning yourself out before we even get there.”
“I am not?—”
“You are,” he interrupts, his grip tightening slightly before releasing my wrist. “I’ve seen this before. You lock in, everything else drops out, and you stop paying attention to what’s right in front of you.”
“I am paying attention,” I say, the words coming faster now, edged with something I do not fully suppress. “I am managing multiple variables simultaneously, including navigation, structural integrity, and?—”
“And yourself,” he says.
The words land harder than they should.
“I am fine,” I reply.
“You’re not,” he says.
The certainty in his voice irritates me.
“You are not qualified to make that assessment,” I say.
