“And you’re an idiot for thinking I wouldn’t come.”

“Protocol failed when the ship exploded.” He turned toward the airlock, his amber eyes glancing down at you. “Survival is now the protocol. You are light. I am strong. This is efficient.”

And in the quiet of his den, wrapped in the arms of the creature the galaxy called a beast, you finally let yourself feel the truth you’d known since the crash.

His arms came around you, crushing you to his chest. His hearts were racing now, a frantic double-beat that matched your own. He buried his face in your hair, and you felt him shudder.

“No.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He held out his hand, palm up. The scales there were softer, lighter in color—almost grey. You hesitated, then placed your palm against his.

“Batteries are dead,” you said, trying to keep the despair out of your voice. “But the cells might still hold a charge if we can jump-start them. Do you have anything conductive?”

“Excuse me?”

You answered the same questions a dozen different ways. Yes, the Grunk had been calm. Yes, he had assisted with survival protocols. No, he had not shown any aggression. Yes, you were certain.

The shock was immediate and sharp, a jolt that raced up your arm and made your teeth clench. But the core hummed. Lights flickered across its surface. Heat began to bleed into the room.

“And?” His voice was raw, the collar barely translating through what sounded like tears.