The cold in the coolant tunnels is not just a temperature; it is a physical predator.
It seeps through the thermal-regulation suits, a slow, creeping numbness that starts in the fingertips and works its way toward the heart. My breath plumes in the harsh, red light of my helmet’s HUD, freezing instantly on the visor. My ribs scream with every shallow breath, the heavy tape shifting against my bruised skin. My bandaged hands grip the heavy assault rifle, the nerve damage flaring with a dull, rhythmic agony in the freezing air.
Through the mate bond, I feel Kade’s physical discomfort. The cold is exacerbating the phantom pain in his missing left arm, a sharp, biting ache that threatens to overwhelm his senses. But beneath the pain, his mind is a fortress of cold, tactical calculation. He m
