She can wait till morning... (Act 2)

Dawn crept in through the bunker’s narrow ventilation slits like it was ashamed to be seen. Grey light painted the sleeping hall in washed-out stripes across the bunks, the floor, and the tangle of bare limbs still half-wrapped around me. Jax’s arm lay heavy across my waist, his breathing slow and deep, the kind of sleep only earned by people who’d almost died the night before and somehow hadn’t. I could still feel the ghost of him inside me—warm, sticky, leaking slowly down my thigh where we’d fallen asleep without cleaning up. The mark on my chest throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a low, steady heat that felt… satisfied. Like it had approved of last night. Fuck, that was an odd thought. I must be losing it.

I eased out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. My legs were shaky, but not in a bad way. The injection site had stopped hurting hours ago. Now it just glowed faintly under my skin, a soft amber pulse visible even in the weak light. I pulled on yesterday’s shirt and pants, and slipped out of the hall before the rest of the bunker stirred. I didn't have to worry about being quiet, the hungover soldiers covered my retreat with the elegance of a thunderstorm.

Lira was already up.

She sat at the little med-station we’d put together of scavenged bobs and bits - mostly from an old field hospital. She had a cracked overhead lamp that buzzed like dying insects. Her back was to me, dark hair tied back in its usual tight knot, shoulders squared like she was waiting for something. A half-empty mug of the terrible chicory coffee sat beside her. Acquired taste, my ass. She didn’t look up when I stepped in, but I felt her notice me anyway. The air between us felt… charged. Thicker than it should have been after a night of whiskey and weed.

“Sit,” she said quietly but not unkindly, already pulling on a fresh pair of disposable gloves.

I dropped onto the stool across from her and shrugged the shirt off my left shoulder. The mark was impossible to miss now—smaller than my palm, but glowing like coal under ash. Lira’s eyes flicked to it once, then away. She didn’t ask what it was. She never asked about anything. That silence was starting to feel heavier than any question could have. Sometimes I got the impression she didn't ask because she already knew everything, but I was fairly certain she was just as fucking clueless on this as I was.

Her gloved fingers were cool and steady as she cleaned the scar with antiseptic that stung like a memory. The skin around the mark had already closed, pink and new, far faster than it had any right to. I watched her work, the way her jaw tightened when the cloth brushed the glowing edges. I could feel the heat radiating off me—literally. My body temperature was running higher than normal, like I’d spent the night in a sauna instead of a freezing bunker.

“You’re healing wrong,” she murmured, so low I almost missed it. Her thumb pressed lightly along the edge of the mark, tracing the faint tracery of light that had started to creep toward my collarbone overnight. She held my arm a second longer than she needed to. Not long enough to call it anything. Just… longer. The contact sent a lazy spark straight down between my legs, a warm pulse that had nothing to do with last night’s orgasm. My gaze met hers and I felt the embarrassment just as brazenly as the flush in my cheeks. I'd never been attracted to a woman.

I didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

For one heartbeat something—whatever it was—felt like it stretched between us. Not words. Just a flicker of shared awareness: her worry, my confusion, the way my skin still remembered Jax’s hands and somehow wanted hers too. No, maybe it wanted Jax's? Then it was gone, like a breath against glass. Whatever conscious thoughts evaporated. Probably just the fucking weed still messing with me.

Lira taped a fresh bandage over the mark anyway, even though we both knew it didn’t need one. Her gloved fingers lingered on the tape, smoothing it down with unnecessary care. When she finally looked up, her eyes were unreadable.

“Whatever that is,” she said, voice flat but not cold, “it’s not done with you.”

She stood, stripped the gloves, and walked out without another word. The curtain swayed behind her like a question mark.

I sat there a minute staring at the gloves in the bin, shirt still half-off, the mark pulsing warmer now that her hands were gone. My nipples had tightened against the cool air. Between my legs I was slick again—Jax’s cum and my own fresh arousal mixing in a way that should have embarrassed me, but didn’t. Not entirely. The frustration from the bunker yesterday felt distant now, replaced by something sharper. Hungrier. Like my body had tasted something new last night and wanted more... I probably reeked like booze, weed, and sex... Lira wasn't ever the chatty type, but I probably could've taken a shower just as common fucking courtesy.

The shortwave crackled to life in the common room before I could chase the thought any further.

“Central to all cells,” Bradford’s voice rasped, tired but urgent. “That data you pulled last night just lit up a priority target. Gene Therapy Clinic on the edge of the old interstate sprawl. Light security, but high-value manifests. We need schematics, patient logs, anything with the word ‘Vessel’ on it. Squad leaders, gear up. Wheels up in forty.”

Jax appeared in the doorway, hair messy, grin crooked, already buckling his vest. “You hear that, Kane? Sounds like we’re going shopping.”

Behind him, Kara was checking her rifle with sharp, angry movements, still processing Reyes. Finn limped over—he could've sat this one out and no one would've blamed him, fucking legend—and gave me a nod that somehow included the whole squad. Lira stood by the weapons rack, loading magazines with mechanical precision. She didn’t look at me, but I felt her anyway... like she was thinking about me. That same faint charge in the air.

The mark under the bandage flared hotter.

I pulled my shirt back on, grabbed my own gear, and felt the first real stir of something I couldn’t name yet. I had always looked forward to a good fight, but this was different. Power. Hunger. It felt... more primal.

We loaded into the truck in silence, the kind that comes after a night of too much booze and not enough sleep. The clinic was two hours out—plenty of time to think about what Lira hadn’t said, what my body was already whispering, and what the hell “Vessel Protocol” actually meant.

The road ahead was ruined blacktop and ambush country. Perfect for us, as long as we weren't the prey. Wouldn't be the first time.

But something in my veins was already humming. Spoiling for a fight... or a fuck, perhaps. Last night was good though... it more than made up for missing my pre-combat ritual.