Chapter 8 · What's Sewn In

"Take it off."

Calder didn't ask twice. He had my coat collar in his fist before I got a word out, yanking me two steps closer to the emergency lamp, the only light left now that the dock lines were dead outside.

"Get your hands off me."

"You've got thirty seconds of backup air left on that panel and you want to fight me over a coat." His voice was flat. Not loud. That was worse. "Somebody's cutting your oxygen feed one wire at a time and you think this is the hill."

The red numbers on the wall ticked down behind his shoulder. 04:58. 04:57. My lungs already felt smaller just looking at it.

"There's nothing in the coat."

"Then you won't mind."

He spun me by the shoulder, fast, and I hit the wall harder than he meant to, I think, because his hand came up flat against my sternum a half second later, like he was catching something he'd thrown too hard. His palm stayed there. Warm. Too warm for a man who'd just bolted a hatch on both of us.

"Move your hand."

"Hold still and I will.