Chapter 33 · Somebody Else's Finger on the Switch

"Move your hand." Dean's shoulder was still jammed against mine on the lever, both of us leaning into dead metal that hadn't budged in ten minutes.

"Move yours," I said. "You're the one who cut the wire."

"I cut a wire I didn't know fed this door. That's different."

"Not from where I'm standing."

We stayed bone against bone, breathing through our mouths because the air had gone thick and wrong, tasting like hot copper and rubber. The red light on the wall kept ticking its own private countdown — no numbers, just a pulse getting faster. Dean's jaw worked. He let go of the lever first, which was new. Dean Rourke never lets go first.

"Ward. Step back from the board."

"No."

"That's not a request."

"Then it's a bad one, because I'm not leaving five channels open with nobody on them." I pushed past him toward the console. His hand caught my forearm — not soft, not asking. A full gravity pin, fingers locked around bone, and for a second neither of us moved.

His eyes dropped to my collar. To the mark still raw under it.

His breath changed, went ragged at the edges, like something in him had slipped a gear.

"You're not on suppressants," he said. Not a question.

"Neither are you, genius.