Page 46 of Rogue Starfighter

“It makes me less likely to complain.”

“That’s not what living with you has taught me.”

She spread the layer across both our laps.

“It is designed for one scout,” I said.

“Then scoot closer.”

“That is a poor idea.”

“Hypothermia is a worse one.”

She tugged the thermal layer toward me. Our thighs pressed together from knee to hip. Heat transferred immediately through the flight suits. My cock remembered the previous night. So did the bond. Priya looked at me. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

“Watch the display.”

“Focused coward.”

“You used that insult already.”

“Still accurate.”

A patrol ship crossed the far edge of our sensor range. We stopped talking. It moved around the moon in a standard search pattern, closer than intelligence had predicted. Its active sweeps lit our display every thirty seconds.

“If it completes the orbit, it’ll pass within nine thousand kilometers,” Priya whispered.

“The Wraith should remain below detection threshold.”

“Should?”

“Nothing is certain in enemy territory.”

“I liked you better when you lied about us not dying.”

The patrol continued toward us. I calculated three escape routes. All required engine power. All would reveal us. Priya studied the patrol’s path, then the moon’s surface.

“There’s an iron deposit below us,” she said.

“I see it.”

“Can we lower the Wraith into its magnetic field?”

“The terrain is unstable.”

“Not what I asked.”

“Yes. If we descend four kilometers.”

“The patrol sweep will think we're part of the deposit.”

“And if your descent is too fast, we strike the surface. Too slow, they detect us before we reach it.”

Her hands settled on the controls. “So I’ll do it exactly right.”

I should have taken the pilot controls. I had flown a hundred deep runs. She had flown one real corridor and one qualification sim. I rerouted the sensor display to her screen instead.

“Descent window in five seconds,” I said.