Page 214 of Red Scale Daddy
Pally points down the corridor. “Maybe she can affirm her enthusiasm while moving?”
Roma exhales through her nose, sharp enough to cut. “I choose survival. I choose leaving this ship with both of you. I choose not sacrificing myself unless there is absolutely no other option.”
I start to object.
She lifts a finger. “Do not be greedy.”
Pally nods fast. “Honestly, that’s pretty good for her.”
The sound that leaves me is almost a laugh, except it gets caught on everything lodged in my chest. Relief. Terror. Want. The nasty realization that I can win this argument and still lose her ten minutes from now.
“Good,” I say.
Roma holds my gaze. “Good.”
Something slams into the hatch behind us hard enough to dent the metal inward.
Pally yelps. “Good! Great! Beautiful emotional milestone! Run now!”
We run.
The new passage angles downward, narrower than the last and slick with condensation. My boots skid every few steps, and I slam my shoulder into the wall to keep my balance. The gravity keeps twitching sideways, tugging at my stomach, turning each movement into a negotiation with a drunk planet.
Roma leads, but she keeps glancing back.
Not just tactically.
Checking.
The first time I notice, I almost trip.
The second time, I grin despite the burning in my lungs.
“What?” she snaps without turning.
“Nothing.”
“You are smiling.”
“Am I?”
“This is a terrible time to smile.”
“Yeah, well, you chose survival. I’m celebrating.”
“Quietly.”
“I’m very quiet.”
Pally coughs behind us. “You are aggressively not quiet.”
We hit another junction. The ceiling here has partially collapsed, wires hanging down like vines in a metal jungle. Sparks drip from them in bright little bursts, sizzling when they hit the wet deck. Roma stops short, scanning.
“Final escape point is through auxiliary launch access,” she says. “Two hundred meters.”
Pally bends over, hands on knees, dragging in thin breaths. “Only two hundred? Lovely. Practically a vacation stroll through murder plumbing.”
“Can you make it?” I ask.
