Page 230 of Red Scale Daddy
Roma doesn’t answer immediately.
Her eyes stay on the ship.
On the Reapers.
On the narrowing window between survival and nothing.
Finally, she says, “Move on my mark.”
The outer hatch begins to cycle open with a slow, grinding hiss.
Cold seeps in, sharper, thinner, absolute.
I step up beside her, tether clipped, heart hammering.
“Roma,” I say.
She glances at me.
“If this goes bad?—”
“It will,” she says.
I huff a breath. “Yeah, fair.”
The hatch opens wider.
The void waits.
Reaper fire streaks across the hull, striking too close now, the impacts flashing against Roma’s ship like warning shots.
Pally grips his tether. “That’s… significantly worse than before.”
Roma watches the pattern, calculating, adjusting, her entire focus narrowing to a razor’s edge.
“Not yet,” she murmurs.
Another blast hits closer.
The ship’s shields flicker.
I feel something twist in my chest.
“Roma—”
“Wait.”
The hatch is fully open now.
Vacuum roars in silence.
The tether at my waist tugs gently, a promise and a threat.
Roma inhales once, sharp and controlled.
“Now—”
A barrage of Reaper fire slams into the hull, brighter, closer, more precise.
