Chapter 62

“Dylan,” I warn. I don’t like the way Conlan can’t quite look at

us—he watches Ellington set up the decon cycle for the airlock,

stares at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but across the corridor

where we are. I catch Dylan’s hands as they smooth down my hips and

extract myself from his embrace. “Not right now,” I tell him.

He sighs, a sound so forlorn that I want to

kiss him and make it better and I can’t. I just lean against the

wall beside him, my hands folded behind my back, and try my hardest

to ignore his wounded pout. “So,” I say, hoping to disperse the

awkwardness that hangs across the corridor between the two of us

and Conlan. It doesn’t work—he still doesn’t look our way. “Why

didn’t you mention our landing would ruin your water supply?” I

ask. “We didn’t haveto land, if it was going to

inconvenience you…”

Conlan shrugs. “It was a risk I was willing

to take,” he says softly. He’s turned away from me as he watches