DAY 74 — 21:47 (SHIPTIME)
The Union's mech bay smelled like hot metal and solvent, like a place where steel went to heal—or to be made meaner.
They'd been in orbit over Damaris Ridge long enough to cool down, long enough for adrenaline to turn into fatigue and then into routine. The recorded win was already filed. Payment had cleared. Salvage rights were sealed with signatures that mattered. The kind of quiet paperwork that turned violence into reputation.
Dack didn't celebrate it.
He watched it become useful.
The disabled Guillotine they'd dragged back wasn't a trophy. It was parts and leverage. Armor plates stacked along the bay wall. Actuator assemblies labeled. Heat sinks counted. Gyro housings inspected for hairline cracks. The kind of work that didn't look heroic until you realized it was what kept a mech from dying on its feet.
The twins moved in their own orbit—tools precise, hands steady.
Rook slid a diagnostic probe into a salvaged actuator housing without looking up.
Rafe traced the microfracture line with a gloved finger and muttered, "This will—"
"—shear under hard torque," Rook finished calmly, as if it was weather.
They didn't smile. They didn't brag. They just worked.
The triplets were everywhere too, but in a different way—less silent, more nervous energy leaking out of seams.
Iona stood with a slate at the edge of the salvage pile, eyes flicking like a targeting reticle. "If we sell the shoulder assembly, we cover the replacement myomer for the Griffin and still—" She glanced at the numbers, swallowed. "—and still have enough to not die this month."
Elin hovered near the comm station built into the bay's side bulkhead, headset on, whispering to herself like she was praying. "Okay, passive watch, no broadcast, no chatter, no personal channels, no—" She saw Dack glance her way and immediately straightened. "I'm not talking out loud. I mean— I'm talking but it's not— it's fine—"
Sera was down at the Leopard bay access ladder, running checklist calls with a tech's severity that didn't match how young she looked. "Fuel balance. Ramp actuators. Lock bolts. If you touch a line, you log it. If you log it wrong, I throw you out an airlock." She paused, then added too quickly, "Not really. Probably."
Jinx leaned against the Highlander's shin armor, watching it all like a queen watching servants build her throne. Her long dirty-blonde hair was tied back today, messy at the nape. Blue eyes bright, mouth curved into a grin that was half hunger, half satisfaction.
Taila sat on a crate nearby, halter top tight under her jacket, red-striped leggings tucked into boots. She watched the work with a calmer focus than she'd had weeks ago. She still got quiet sometimes, still looked like she was waiting for the universe to remind her she didn't deserve this.
But she didn't flinch at the bay noises anymore.
Lyra stood in the bay's shadowed edge by the internal comm panel, calm and centered the way she always was. She watched crew movement and watched Dack without making it obvious. Her hands were folded behind her back, slate tucked away. She looked like she could fly a ship through hell and still remember where every wrench was stored.
Quill kept near the Awesome, posture straight, helmet tucked under her arm. She didn't talk unless spoken to. She was still adjusting to being part of a pack instead of commanding a perimeter.
And Morrigan—
Morrigan worked alone.
She always did.
She was near her Marauder, gothic black-and-red clothes sharp against the bay steel, arms bare, pale skin catching the cold light. Her hair was dark, heavy, styled like she didn't care while making sure it was perfect. Twin tails tonight—tighter than usual—tied with red strips that made her look like a warning sign.
She had a wrench in one hand and a rag in the other, wiping grime off her Marauder's elbow joint actuator like she hated it for being dirty and loved it for surviving anyway.
Dack moved through the bay with quiet purpose, checking seals, reading stress marks, watching the crew become a unit in little ways. He stopped at his Dire Wolf, looking up at the giant like it was the only thing that never lied to him.
He keyed Lyra on internal. "Any new work."
Lyra's voice came immediate. "A broker ping. Better than the last. Not great, but it's a step up."
Dack didn't ask for enthusiasm. "Terms."
"Industrial site defense," Lyra said. "Three nights. Planet-side. They want you visible. They want raiders deterred and shot down if they commit." A beat. "The raiders have a name. Knives of Acheron."
Jinx's voice cut in, delighted. "That's even dumber than Cinder Jackals."
Taila muttered, "Jinx…"
Lyra continued, calm. "Close-in ambush style. They don't like long range. They like getting under your guns."
Quill's voice slid in, controlled. "Then we don't let them."
Morrigan's quiet voice came from where she worked, sharp without looking up. "Let them try."
Dack stared at the Dire Wolf a moment longer, then nodded once. "We take it."
Lyra didn't question. "I'll finalize. We'll drop in the morning. Quiet route. No station."
Dack shut the channel and turned.
The bay had shifted around him without him noticing.
Jinx was watching him with a grin that said she approved of everything. Taila watched him like she was trying not to.
Morrigan wasn't watching him at all.
Until she was.
Her eyes lifted from the Marauder's actuator seam and locked onto Dack like a blade sliding out of a sheath.
"Dack," she said.
He looked over. "What."
Morrigan tossed the rag into a bin hard enough to make it slap metal. She stepped away from the Marauder and stalked toward him.
Jinx's grin widened. Taila's cheeks warmed. Lyra's expression didn't change, but her eyes tracked.
Morrigan stopped in front of Dack close enough that the heat from his body suit could be felt through the air. Her gaze flicked up his pilot suit, over his chest, his throat, his face.
Average looks. Lean build. A man who didn't look like a legend until he started moving steel like it was part of his spine.
"You're getting sloppy," Morrigan said.
Dack blinked once. "No."
Morrigan's mouth tightened. "Yes."
Dack didn't argue. He just waited.
Morrigan's hands curled into fists at her sides like she wanted to hit him and didn't know why.
"You… stand in front of everything," she snapped. "Like you think you're allowed to."
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "I am."
Morrigan's eyes flashed. "You're not."
Jinx made a little sound of delight. Taila shifted awkwardly on her crate. The triplets—standing nearby because they were everywhere—froze like prey animals, faces turning pink as they realized this wasn't a work conversation.
Elin whispered, horrified, "Oh no, oh no, is this— is this like— a personal dispute—?"
Iona hissed, "Elin, stop."
Sera muttered, "Why do people talk about feelings in public. Why is that a thing."
Morrigan ignored all of them.
She stepped closer, so close she could've shoved Dack if she wanted.
Her voice dropped, sharp and low. "Don't die."
Dack stared at her.
Then he said, simple and honest. "I don't plan to."
Morrigan's jaw clenched like she hated hearing that. Like it wasn't enough to calm what she couldn't admit out loud.
She lifted one hand and pressed two fingers against the front of Dack's pilot suit, right over his chest. Not gentle. More like she was checking if he was real.
"You're stupid," Morrigan said.
Dack didn't flinch. "Yeah."
That made her pause.
The pause broke her armor more than any confession could.
Her eyes hardened like she was about to run.
Instead, she did something worse.
Something she couldn't take back.
She grabbed the front of his suit with her fist, yanked him down half an inch—and kissed him.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't careful.
It was fast and hard and angry like she was punishing him for making her feel anything at all. Her lips were cool at first, then warm, then gone.
She pulled back like she'd been burned.
Silence snapped through the bay.
Elin made a tiny strangled noise. Iona stared at the floor like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the universe. Sera's face went red to the ears, and she whispered, "What. The. Hell."
Taila's eyes were wide, breath caught, cheeks blazing. She looked shocked—then, behind the shock, quietly happy.
Jinx's grin turned soft for half a second, and she didn't even bother hiding the satisfaction in her eyes.
Morrigan stared at Dack like she expected him to laugh at her.
Dack didn't.
He didn't tease her. Not yet.
He said, blunt, "You wanted that."
Morrigan's face tightened. "No."
Dack's eyes stayed steady. "Yes."
Morrigan's hands curled again, now with panic behind the anger. "That doesn't mean anything."
Dack's voice didn't rise. "It means something."
Morrigan's eyes flashed. "Don't get a big head."
Dack's mouth twitched—not a smile, but close. "Too late."
Morrigan looked like she might actually hit him. Then she swallowed hard and snapped her gaze away like the bay lights were suddenly too bright.
She stepped back one pace, trying to rebuild her tsundere armor piece by piece.
"You're still an idiot," she muttered.
Dack nodded once. "Okay."
Morrigan hated that he didn't fight her on it.
She turned sharply, stalking back toward the Marauder like the kiss had never happened, like she hadn't just crossed a line she'd been guarding with her teeth for weeks.
But her shoulders weren't as stiff as they had been.
And when she reached the Marauder, she paused for half a heartbeat—just long enough to glance back.
Her eyes met Dack's.
Then she looked away again like she'd been caught.
Jinx sauntered up beside Dack, grinning, voice low enough to be "private" while still making sure Morrigan could hear. "Aww. The goth finally bit."
Taila hissed, mortified. "Jinx!"
Jinx lifted both hands innocently. "What? I'm happy. This is pack bonding."
Taila's cheeks went scarlet. "That's not—"
Lyra cut in, calm and firm before Jinx could escalate. "Back to work. We lift in the morning."
The triplets snapped into motion like they'd been rescued.
Elin practically sprinted to her comm console. "Yes. Work. Work is safe. I like work."
Iona returned to her slate like numbers could cleanse her eyes. "Inventory. Yes. Inventory."
Sera muttered, "Finally," and stomped down the ladder to check a lock bolt that didn't need checking.
Quill watched Dack a moment longer, unreadable. Then she turned back to the Awesome and began a slow, methodical check of panel seals.
Morrigan pretended she was adjusting an actuator housing.
Her hands were shaking slightly.
Dack didn't call her out.
He let her have the lie for now.
Because he understood her.
She didn't give pieces of herself lightly.
When she did, it wasn't romance.
It was war.
---
Later, as the bay thinned out and the ship settled into night procedure, Dack walked a quiet corridor toward the washroom to strip out of his pilot suit and rinse off the smell of metal.
Jinx appeared like she'd been waiting.
She leaned into his side, fingers hooking a strap on his suit. Her blue eyes were bright, but there was a softness under it tonight that hadn't been there before.
"You okay?" she asked, too casual.
Dack looked down at her. "I'm fine."
Jinx's mouth twitched. "Morrigan's not."
Dack didn't answer.
Jinx pressed closer anyway, then paused—just a second—hand brushing her abdomen absent-mindedly like she was checking something that wasn't visible yet. The gesture was small enough that most people would miss it.
Dack didn't.
Jinx caught his eyes on her hand and immediately forced a grin. "Don't start looking at me like that."
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "Like what."
"Like you're thinking," Jinx said, and laughed like it was a joke.
Dack didn't laugh.
He just said, "Later."
Jinx's grin softened. "Yeah. Later."
Taila passed them in the corridor, hair damp from a shower, eyes wide like she'd been listening to the ship's heartbeat.
She saw Jinx's hand drop away from her stomach.
She saw Dack's eyes.
She didn't say anything.
But her gaze lingered, worried and protective in a way she hadn't known she could be.
Lyra's door was half open down the hall, and Dack saw her inside at her console, running routes and reports like the ship would fall apart if she blinked.
Everything was moving.
Everything was building.
Moonjaw was becoming real.
---
Dack went back to the mech bay before he slept. He always did.
The steel giants rested under dim lights like sleeping predators.
He climbed back into the Dire Wolf cockpit and sealed the hatch, letting the world narrow until it was just him and metal and the steady hum of a reactor idling like a heartbeat.
This was where he told the truth he didn't tell anywhere else.
He stared at the tactical overlay and said the day count once.
"Seventy-four."
Then he exhaled slowly.
He thought about the Cinder Jackals breaking. The Guillotine kneeling in dust. The militia liaison signing the report with shaking hands.
He thought about the new hires—three sheltered voices turning into useful hands.
He thought about Helena Lark behind a locked door, smiling like she knew the shape of the machine they were walking toward.
He thought about Morrigan's kiss—fast and angry and real.
He didn't smile.
But his chest felt heavier than it had weeks ago.
Not with fear.
With attachment.
And attachment was dangerous.
It made you fight harder.
It made you smarter.
It made you survive longer.
Dack's hands settled on the controls like he belonged there.
"Prep," he said quietly into the ship's internal net. "We drop at first light."
Outside the Union's hull, stars didn't care.
Inside, Moonjaw kept building anyway.