But no. Kyla sent Clo to this frozen silthole to learn “character” as she helped Briggs smuggle ships to the resistance. If she didn’t freeze first.

The weather on most of Jurran was as cold as Novantae was scorching: it could kill people within minutes. The hangar was warm enough to keep them alive but not comfortable. At night, Clo curled up with her knees to her chest, wearing all her winter clothes.

“So my balls can freeze off?” Sher asked, bringing her back.

“Why not your fingers?” Clo asked, rolling her eyes. Men were so fluming dramatic. “Or your nose?”

“Can’t speak for the commander here, but my face ain’t my pride and joy. And my fingers are fine. So’s my—”

“Nah, don’t finish that sentence,” Clo said, making a face. “Gross.”

Briggs snorted, taking off the gloves and settled his hands on the cold engine again. Clo winced. As frigid as it was, they couldn’t wear gloves while working with the delicate parts of the Tholosian engine. “Because I need ’em both. Right, Commander?” He settled the digital panel back into place for the navigation system.

“I’d rather all my body parts remain attached,” Sher said, deadpan.

Clo snorted.

“One day, I’ll have a lady who’d definitely mind.” Briggs hunched over a part of the engine.

“Huh. Would have to be a desperate berm of a lass,” Clo said.

Briggs threw a glove at Clo. “I got more charm than the commander here. You don’t even know.”

“Aye, and I’m Princess Discordia, preening about in my robe during the coronation.” She straightened and gave a mocking royal wave.

Briggs gave a whistle. “She’s feeling feisty today. Must be all that angst and teen hormones.”

Clo flashed him the two bent fingers of the scythe and he stuck his tongue out at her in reply. A screeching beep from the command stopped them short. Sher went still, and a flash of fear crossed Briggs’s features.

“Commander, get in my office and stay hidden,” Briggs said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Clo, I need a cover for the ship.”

Sher moved quickly but Clo remained frozen.

“Now, Alesca!”

She sprinted to the utility closet, grabbing a tarp. The thing was heavy as she dragged it to the ship. Briggs was at the deck, working the controls, his skin pale beneath the dark stubble. Covering their tracks. The tarp covered the ship, the surface changing to meld with the hangar behind. As long as someone didn’t touch it, they’d never know it was there.

Another beep. Whoever was arriving had been cleared for landing. “Fuck,” Briggs muttered.

“Who is it?” Clo asked. “What’s goin’ on?”

He jerked his head toward his office. “Get behind the desk with Sher, sweet. It’s all right.”