“You’re going to, what, knock me upside the head with that canister, then go finish off the rest of my crew, but also somehow deactivate JAX, pilot the ship alone and get to safety? That the plan?” He finally turned around, resting his lower back against the table and crossing his arms over his Merchantia crew jumpsuit. “You would also have to decontaminate yourself and your entire ship or risk bringing Foxfire with you. Oh, and good luck explaining this mess to HQ. They’d probably quarantine you for life just in case. Did I miss anything?”

Rosalyn worked her jaw back and forth, feeling stupid. “I’m not sharing my plans with you.”

The captain gave her a slow, wry smile and then spread his hands wide. “Go ahead. Bash my brains in. It won’t do a damn thing. The Foxfire will just fix it all up. You’ve seen Rayan, right?”

“What if I cut you into little pieces?”

One dark, thick brow raised above the rim of his glasses. “Hadn’t thought of that. Worth a shot maybe.”

Rosalyn frowned, finding his laughter a little annoying.

“You’re not like the others,” she said softly.

“Better looking, you mean.”

“Ha. Ha.” She rolled her eyes, taking a careful step toward him. The lighting in the storage bay was as dim and infuriating as it was in the rest of the ship, but he had set up a few emergency lights near the table, giving her a better view of his face. Bookish, she thought. Kind. Tired. Tired and handsome. The kind of man she would give a second look in a bar under extremely different circumstances.

“I’ve managed to keep my situation in check,” he added, taking off his glasses and scrubbing at his face with an open palm. He stroked his short beard for a second and then put his spectacles back in place, sighing. “Meditation helps. Music, too, one song in particular. If I can keep a familiar tune in my head then I can . . . feel more like myself.”

“That’s good,” Rosalyn said. She hadn’t meant to sound so excited. “Right? That’s good. That means you might actually listen to me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He laughed again, but it was humorless. “I’m Edison—Captain—Edison Aries. But I’m guessing you know that. Salvagers don’t go in blind, right?”

“I know who you are,” she replied, nodding. “I’m Rosalyn Devar. MSC fell for Rayan’s fake code blue, so here I am. My pilot . . . he’s dead. Rayan cycled the engines while my pilot was trying to get in.”

Edison crossed his arms over his chest again and grunted. “Foxfire cycled the engines. Rayan would never do that, he’s a good kid.”

“Fine, well, I don’t want to argue semantics. Someone on your ship killed my pilot. Fair?”