She took a breath and shook it from her mind. She needed to focus on finding the crew. They would have all the answers she needed.
Adequin ducked back outside and continued down the corridor as Jackin appeared in a doorway across the hall.
“Clear,” Jackin said.
Adequin didn’t spare a look back as she slipped into the next room.
“Clear,” Warner called from the hallway, just as Jackin said it again, though he couldn’t have cleared another room that quickly.
Adequin swept every corner of the room and a small supply closet, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Warner called another all clear as she went back into the corridor and turned toward the last door on her side—the engine-access room. The red screen beside the closed door indicated it’d been manually locked. She tried to swipe it open, but the screen flashed a warning: “Biometric clearance required.” She pulled her glove off and stuck her thumb to the pad. The door slid open, accompanied by a waft of burnt metal and charred rubber.
And there he was, lying on the floor in front of one of the ion-engine access doors. Her feet crossed the metal floor in a few short strides, and she slid to her knees at Griffith’s side.
“Griff?”
He didn’t stir. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the fine lines on his face appeared deeper than ever. The gray peppering his beard and hair somehow seemed even lighter. A bloody, Legion-issue combat knife lay on the floor beside him.
Her fingers fumbled to his neck—his skin blissfully warm—searching for the spot just below his jaw. She pushed out a few purposeful breaths to steady herself long enough to sense it. A sliver of relief cut through her when she finally felt it—his heartbeat strong, his thick chest raising and lowering slowly. He was breathing.
“Jack!” she called over her shoulder.
She carefully looked Griffith over, but saw no wounds.
“Griffith,” she said, shaking him gently. “Wake up, Centurion.”
Her heart fluttered as he groaned. His head lolled from one side to the other.
“Griff, look at me.” She held his face in her hands and turned his head toward her. His eyelids flickered, then opened, revealing bloodshot, tired eyes. They were the same warm brown, but in the dim light they appeared dull, as if the color had faded.
“Fuck,” he grumbled, his voice a deep rasp. His brow creased. “Quin?” He craned his neck and slid his elbows back, as if trying to sit up.
“Don’t.” She gripped his shoulder to stop him. The door behind her hissed open, followed by the shuffle of feet. “Find a biotool, guys?”
“Mo’acair…” A grin tugged at the corner of Griffith’s mouth as he stared up at her. “I didn’t even get off at the right stop, and I still found you. You really are my anchor.”
Her throat closed as Lace’s final words sounded in the back of her mind again, the sincerity in the circitor’s soft brown eyes crushing the air from her lungs. She had to swallow down a swelling lump before she could breathe again.
Griffith pulled her to him, locking his dry lips around hers. A few tears escaped the corners of her eyes as she clamped them shut, letting the anxiety and tension she’d spent the last two days meticulously constructing seep away.
The door hissed again, and a rush of boots squeaked across the metal floor. Adequin pulled away to find Jackin standing over them, eyes wide. He made a production out of clearing his throat, then said, “Uh, when did that happen?”
The door slid open again, and moments later, Warner knelt beside her.
“Biotool, please,” Adequin said, not sure why they were making her ask again.