Chapter 7 · Wrong Death Line

The Nightjar's dying on my screen and Briar's gun is in my face.

"Coral uplift."

She says it flat. Two words. Waiting.

I don't know what the hell that means. My mouth's dry. The scuttle protocol's still running and I can see the Nightjar's reactor curve spiking red and Briar's staring at me like she's deciding whether to pull the trigger before the ship does it for her.

"I didn't—" I start.

My right hand moves.

I don't tell it to. It just does. Three fingers folded, thumb and pinkie out, angled down across my collarbone. Some kind of sign.

Briar's eyes flick to my hand. Her gun doesn't move but something in her face shifts. Still wrong. Still assessing.

"Say it," she says.

I don't know what I'm supposed to say. My head's full of the Nightjar's crew roster scrolling past and the fuel debt brand still burning on my wrist and the vault coordinates I'm not supposed to have and none of it gives me the words she wants.

My hand's still locked in that position. It feels right. It feels like muscle memory but the memory's not mine.

"I don't—"

"Say it or I drop you here."