DAY 98 — 00:41 (LOCAL)
The Union ran on night-cycle, but Moonjaw didn't.
Work lights made islands of brightness inside the mech bay—pale cones that turned armor scars into sharp relief. The air smelled like solvent and hot ferro, like something had bled metal and refused to apologize for it.
The Dire Wolf filled its cradle like a crouched beast with its ribs open. Right torso plates were off. Cable bundles lay neatly lashed where Rook and Rafe had been in there for hours, hands quick and sure, eyes bright with the kind of devotion mechanics usually reserved for holy relics.
The Highlander sat beside it with the gauss barrel hoisted by crane, dangling like a severed limb. Jinx leaned on a maintenance step with her arms folded, long dirty-blonde hair thrown over one shoulder, blue eyes following every lift and shift with hungry interest—less about the gun, more about the work being done for them.
Across the bay, Taila's Marauder stood under diagnostics, shoulder assembly open like a wound being cleaned. Taila hovered close, black-and-red clothes tight to her frame, hands tucked behind her back, gaze fixed on the machine like it might decide whether she deserved it.
Morrigan's Orion had its front plating stacked on the deck, inner structure exposed. Morrigan sat on a crate under its shadow, boots planted, arms crossed, expression sour enough to melt steel.
And Quill's Awesome loomed tall near the far bulkhead—its triple PPC housings quiet for now, posture as severe as Quill herself. Quill stood near it with her helmet under one arm, not speaking, not wasting motion, watching the bay like a commander guarding a perimeter.
Dack moved through all of it like it was a checklist.
He said little. He didn't need to.
When he did speak, it was to the point—asking Lyra about fuel windows, asking the twins about the gauss collar, telling Taila once, "Good work in the cut," like it was a receipt rather than praise.
Taila had flushed anyway.
Morrigan told herself she didn't care.
Then she caught herself watching the way Dack paused near Taila's Marauder—just long enough to check the work, just long enough to make Taila stand straighter—and her stomach twisted with irritation.
Not at him.
At herself.
She hated that.
She stood so abruptly her crate scraped the deck.
Jinx's head turned immediately. "Uh-oh. The goth is moving."
Morrigan shot her a glare sharp enough to cut cloth. "Shut up."
Jinx only grinned wider. "Make me."
Morrigan didn't even give her the dignity of a response. She walked past the Dire Wolf's open torso, past the crane shadow, past the smell of coolant, and found Lyra at the edge office—partitioned by a bulkhead panel and a hanging tarp like privacy could be bought cheap.
Lyra looked up from her slate. Her calm brown eyes took Morrigan in, took in her posture, and adjusted instantly.
"You're about to ask something," Lyra said.
Morrigan leaned a shoulder against the bulkhead. Arms crossed. Chin lifted. Scowl ready.
"I don't ask," she said.
Lyra didn't blink. "Fine. You're about to declare something."
Morrigan's jaw tightened. She hated how accurate Lyra was without being smug about it.
Morrigan said, "If I do this… it doesn't screw the crew."
Lyra's stylus stopped.
She looked Morrigan in the face. No teasing. No games.
"You mean Dack," Lyra said.
Morrigan didn't answer.
Lyra continued anyway. "And you mean the pack dynamic. And you mean whether you'll fracture us."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Yes."
Lyra nodded once. "Then here are the rules."
Morrigan's scowl deepened as if rules offended her personally.
Lyra didn't care. "Consent, first. No coercion. No sabotage. No using intimacy as a weapon inside a cockpit. And no jealous spirals that make anyone hesitate when rounds start coming in."
Morrigan's lip curled. "I don't spiral."
Lyra's eyes flicked down—quick, pointed—then back up.
Morrigan hated that she felt seen.
Lyra softened just a hair. "You're allowed to feel things. You're not allowed to turn them into operational problems."
Morrigan's voice came out low. "I won't."
Lyra held her gaze. "And if you do this, you do it because you want it. Not because you're trying to compete with Jinx or Taila."
Morrigan's scowl sharpened. "I don't compete."
Lyra's mouth twitched. "You do. You just pretend you don't."
Morrigan clenched her jaw hard enough to ache. Then she said, quieter, "Does he want… that."
Lyra didn't answer immediately.
She didn't lie, either.
"He wants us safe," Lyra said. "He wants cohesion. He wants loyalty that doesn't break under pressure. And he's not blind."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "That's not an answer."
Lyra's gaze stayed steady. "It is. For him."
Morrigan stared at the slate dock, then back at Lyra.
"If it causes problems—" Morrigan started.
Lyra cut her off. "Then you handle it like you handle everything else. You get mad. You say something sharp. And you stay."
Morrigan's throat worked once. She hated that Lyra's words landed.
Lyra added, "If you want to talk to Taila and Jinx first, do it. They'll respect you more for it."
Morrigan's jaw tightened. "Fine."
She pushed off the bulkhead and left before Lyra could see anything else on her face.
---
Taila was in the sim alcove—one of the Union's small training pods, lights dim, a holographic map frozen mid-run. She sat on the bench with her hands in her lap, posture stiff like she was waiting for judgment.
She looked up when Morrigan entered, eyes wide for a heartbeat. Taila's hair fell around her face, and the black halter top she'd started wearing made her look braver than she sounded.
"Morrigan," Taila said carefully.
Morrigan stood in the doorway like she owned it. "We need to talk."
Taila swallowed. "Okay."
Morrigan stared at her for a moment, then said the truth without dressing it up.
"I want him," she said. "And I'm not asking you for permission like you own him. But I'm not going to step on you."
Taila's cheeks flushed instantly. She looked down at her hands, then up again.
"I don't own him," Taila said softly.
Morrigan snorted. "Jinx acts like she does."
Taila's mouth twitched despite herself. "Jinx acts like she owns the air."
That startled a sound out of Morrigan—almost a laugh, but not. More like a surprised exhale.
Taila's eyes widened as she realized she'd made Morrigan react like a person.
Morrigan's expression snapped back into scowl out of pure reflex. "Don't look at me like that."
Taila flushed harder. "Sorry."
Morrigan's voice went rougher. "How do you feel about it."
Taila hesitated. The honesty took effort, like lifting a weight.
"I'll be jealous," Taila admitted. "I already am, sometimes. But… I want the pack to be strong. I want him to be happy. And I want you to stay."
Morrigan's throat tightened, and she hated it.
"You're too nice," Morrigan muttered.
Taila's smile was small. "I'm trying."
Morrigan stared at her for a long beat, then nodded once—sharp, like it cost her something.
"Okay," Morrigan said. "Good."
Taila's eyes softened. "Are you… going to tell him."
Morrigan's mouth curled. "I'm going to inform him."
Taila actually giggled—small and startled.
Morrigan glared. "Don't."
Taila covered her mouth with one hand, still smiling. "Sorry."
Morrigan turned to leave, then paused in the doorway.
Taila's voice came quieter behind her. "Morrigan?"
Morrigan didn't turn.
Taila said, "He cares. He just doesn't show it like normal people."
Morrigan's jaw clenched.
"Yeah," she said, and left.
---
Jinx was back in the mech bay, leaning against the Highlander's maintenance rail like she was part of the structure. Her red jacket was open over a black tank top and tight gym shorts, sci-fi combat webbing strapped over one thigh because she thought it looked hot and practical at the same time.
When Morrigan approached, Jinx's grin sharpened instantly.
"Ohhh," Jinx said. "Look who's stomping over here like she's about to commit a crime."
Morrigan stopped in front of her. "I talked to Lyra."
Jinx blinked, impressed. "Wow. Responsible."
Morrigan's scowl deepened. "Don't make this worse."
Jinx held up both hands. "I won't. I swear on my gauss rifle."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "That's not comforting."
Jinx leaned in slightly, eyes bright. "So. You want your turn."
Morrigan's face warmed in a way she wanted to murder the universe for. "I don't want a turn."
Jinx's grin softened a fraction. "Okay. You want to join."
Morrigan swallowed once. "Yes."
Jinx didn't tease that. Not this time.
She hopped down from the rail and stepped closer, voice lower.
"Then you do it," Jinx said, "and you don't apologize for wanting him. You're not stealing. We're not a church. We're a pack."
Morrigan's throat tightened again. "And you're fine."
Jinx's smile was sharp. "I'm thrilled. You're hot, you're mean, and you're loyal. It was always going to happen."
Morrigan glared. "You planned this?"
Jinx shrugged. "I plan everything."
Then she leaned in and—because she couldn't help herself—tapped a fingertip against Morrigan's collarbone.
"And if you break his heart," Jinx added sweetly, "I'll bury you in a salvage crate."
Morrigan's lip curled. "Try."
Jinx beamed. "That's the spirit."
Morrigan stared at her for a beat, then said it. "I want my first time with him to be alone."
Jinx's brows lifted, then she nodded. "Yeah. That's fair."
Morrigan blinked, surprised.
Jinx's grin returned, smaller. "We'll give you space. Taila will pretend she's not jealous. Lyra will pretend she's not listening. Quill will pretend she doesn't understand humans."
Morrigan muttered, "Quill definitely understands."
Jinx laughed softly. "Maybe."
Morrigan turned to leave, then heard Jinx's voice behind her—gentler than usual.
"And Morrigan?"
Morrigan paused.
Jinx said, "He's not going to make you beg."
Morrigan's jaw clenched. She didn't answer.
She just walked.
Behind her, Jinx pressed a hand briefly to her stomach—subtle, quick—then glanced toward where Lyra stood near the office tarp.
Lyra's eyes met hers for a moment.
Taila drifted closer, quiet and protective.
Jinx smiled like everything was fine.
It wasn't fear in her eyes.
It was something else.
Something new.
---
Dack was at the Dire Wolf's open torso bay, looking over the gauss stabilizer collar while Rook and Rafe argued with each other in their weird half-synchronized rhythm.
Rook: "It's micro-fractured."
Rafe: "It's fine."
Rook: "It's not."
Rafe: "It is—"
Dack cut in, voice flat. "Replace it."
They both froze.
Then:
Rook: "Yes."
Rafe: "Yes."
They beamed like he'd given them a medal.
Dack turned slightly as Morrigan approached. He didn't look surprised. He just looked at her like she was a problem he wanted to understand before it became a threat.
"Morrigan," he said.
She stopped close enough that the Dire Wolf's shadow covered them both. Arms crossed. Chin lifted.
"I talked to them," Morrigan said.
Dack's eyes narrowed. "Who."
"Lyra. Taila. Jinx," Morrigan said. "They're good."
Dack watched her face for a moment, then said, "What do you want."
Morrigan's eyes flashed. "I want you."
Silence snapped tight for half a second.
Jinx—across the bay—made a delighted little noise and immediately got smacked by Taila's elbow.
Dack didn't look away from Morrigan. "Tonight?"
Morrigan's jaw clenched. "Yes."
A beat.
"Alone," Morrigan added, as if the word cost her pride.
Dack's gaze held steady. "Okay."
That simple answer hit Morrigan harder than a speech would've.
She blinked once, then scowled harder to cover it.
"Don't make it weird," Morrigan warned.
Dack's mouth twitched faintly. "You're making it weird."
Morrigan glared.
Dack added, "Give me ten. I'll lock the bay."
Morrigan's voice came out rough. "Fine."
She walked away before her face could betray her further.
---
Dack secured the bay shifts and left the twins with a list of parts to inventory. Lyra took the watch rotation. Quill stayed near the Awesome like a silent sentinel. Taila and Jinx disappeared toward the crew quarters with a shared look that said we're absolutely talking about this.
When Dack reached Morrigan's door, it was already unlocked.
That felt like a statement.
He stepped inside.
Morrigan's room was sparse—functional, clean, a couple of gothic touches that looked like they'd been salvaged from some dead noble's storage crate: a black fabric throw, a small silver charm hanging from a locker handle, a folded red garment laid carefully on the bunk like she'd planned this more than she'd admit.
Morrigan stood near the bed in a tight black-red outfit that fit her like defiance—hair in twin tails, stockings, boots. Arms crossed. Expression sharp.
"You're late," she said.
Dack glanced at the chrono. "I'm on time."
Morrigan's mouth curled. "Smartass."
Dack stepped closer until the space between them was small enough to feel like heat.
"You sure," he said.
Morrigan's eyes flashed. "Yes."
"Say it again," Dack said.
Morrigan's jaw clenched. "I'm sure."
He nodded once—approval, not possession. Then he reached for her slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn't.
She grabbed the front of his pilot suit with both hands and yanked him down into a kiss that was more anger than softness—like she was trying to prove she didn't want this gently.
Dack took it, steady, hands sliding to her waist, anchoring her without forcing her.
Morrigan's breath hitched when she realized he wasn't going to fight her for control.
He was going to hold her while she chose it.
The second kiss was different—still hungry, but less violent. Her fingers loosened on his suit, drifting up to his collar, nails scraping lightly.
"Don't talk," Morrigan muttered against his mouth.
Dack's voice was low. "You're talking."
Morrigan bit his lower lip—hard enough to warn, not hard enough to hurt.
Dack's hand slid up her back, fingers splaying between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer.
Morrigan trembled once, then cursed under her breath like the tremor offended her.
Dack's forehead touched hers briefly. "You don't have to perform."
Morrigan's eyes snapped up. "I'm not—"
Dack cut her off with another kiss, slower this time, letting her feel the steadiness of him. Letting her body realize it was safe before her pride could sabotage it.
Her hands slid down his chest, then back up again like she didn't know where to put them.
"I hate you," Morrigan whispered.
Dack's mouth twitched. "No you don't."
Morrigan's breath broke in a sharp laugh-sob that startled her.
Her eyes went wide, furious at herself.
Dack didn't flinch.
He lifted her carefully, like she weighed something precious instead of dangerous, and set her back onto the bunk. She grabbed his wrists as if to prove she could still choose, still control.
Dack leaned over her without crushing her, letting his weight hover.
"You're allowed to want," he said.
Morrigan stared up at him like that was a foreign language.
Then she swallowed, jaw clenched, and pulled him down again.
The rest was heat and breath and hands learning what the other would tolerate—Morrigan trying to hide how much she needed it, Dack staying steady enough that she didn't have to.
When Morrigan finally went still, she stared at the ceiling like she was counting bolts.
Dack lay beside her, one arm around her waist—not possessive, just present.
Morrigan's voice came out quiet, rough. "You're not supposed to be… gentle."
Dack answered simply. "Why not."
Morrigan's throat worked. She didn't have an answer she liked.
She settled for, "Because it makes it harder to hate you."
Dack's mouth twitched again. "Good."
Morrigan turned her head and glared at him.
Dack met her glare without blinking.
Morrigan's glare softened by accident.
She looked away fast, like softness was embarrassing.
"You're not telling anyone," Morrigan muttered.
Dack's voice stayed flat. "They already know."
Morrigan's face went hot. "I hate them."
Dack said, "No you don't."
Morrigan huffed, then—very quietly—shifted closer until her shoulder pressed into his chest.
It was the smallest thing.
It was also everything.
---
DAY 98 — 06:17 (LOCAL)
Morrigan walked back into the mech bay like she wanted to fight the air.
Her hair was still in twin tails. Her black-red outfit fit her like armor. Her expression was pure murder.
Jinx spotted her immediately and lit up like a festival.
"Oh my GOD," Jinx said. "Good morning, girlfriend."
Morrigan's eyes flashed. "Say one more word."
Taila stood beside Jinx, cheeks pink, trying very hard not to smile. She failed.
Morrigan's glare snapped to Taila. "You too?"
Taila's voice came out small. "I… I'm happy for you."
Morrigan's mouth opened, then closed, like she didn't know what to do with sincerity when it wasn't a threat.
Jinx leaned in and stage-whispered, loud enough for the whole bay, "Did he—"
"Jinx," Lyra's voice cut in calmly from the office tarp.
Jinx pouted. "What?"
Lyra didn't look up from her slate. "Don't."
Jinx sighed theatrically. "Fine."
Then she walked past Morrigan—too close—brushed her fingers across Morrigan's hip like she couldn't help herself, and murmured, "Welcome."
Morrigan stiffened.
Then, after half a beat, she didn't pull away.
Dack entered behind Morrigan a moment later, pulling on the top half of his pilot suit, expression unchanged.
Everyone looked at him like they were waiting for him to acknowledge the shift.
He didn't.
He just looked at Lyra. "Contracts?"
Lyra nodded. "Glass Vultures replied. Negotiation window opens in two hours."
Dack nodded once. "Good."
Jinx bounced on her toes. Taila straightened. Quill's gaze sharpened. The twins went back to work under the Dire Wolf like the world was normal.
Morrigan stood near Dack for a heartbeat, then—like it cost her pride—reached out and hooked one finger into the edge of his sleeve.
A tiny touch.
A claim.
Dack glanced down at it, then back up, and said nothing.
But he didn't move away.
---
Later, when the bay quieted enough and the work lights painted the Dire Wolf's cockpit glass, Dack climbed up into the seat alone.
The instruments glowed. The machine's cooling system ticked like a slow clock.
He let himself mark it once, for pacing—one private line in a place made of metal.
Day ninety-eight.
Then he started planning how to turn a contract into a reputation—and a reputation into power—because the people who took Selena weren't going anywhere.
Not yet.
But neither was he.