Ethan had to increase his stride to keep up with Becca. They’d left Preacher in the lab, packing the last of the samples for return to the surface. Becca had wanted him to come too, but Preacher had been immovable, despite his blanched skin and trembling hands. He’d insisted on packing the samples, and that was the end of it. Becca had left him reluctantly but instead of collecting her things from her quarters, Becca had been adamant it was more important to take a final look at Redd’s body. And nothing Ethan said could dissuade her.

She swept down the corridor toward the infirmary like a tornado. Her face was set, her intention laser-focused. Damn. He liked her like this too much.

Stress edged her voice as they made their way. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be. We were supposed to provide research that might change the world in a good way. That would make a difference. A clean source of energy that would help everyone. How did this end up such a mess?”

She halted at the infirmary entrance, swiped her palm across the lock. The door slid open, and he followed Becca inside. The air was coppery, the unmistakable bite of blood still discernible over the lemony tang of cleaning fluid.

Becca hesitated. She turned to Ethan, her eyes almost feverish in their intensity. “I should’ve spotted he was sick earlier, Ethan. I’m their doctor.”

“You can’t save everyone.” His words burned the air between them.

She blinked and wiped her eyes. “That’s true, but….” Her shoulders sagged. She was clearly exhausted.

Ethan caught her wrist. “This isn’t your fault, Becca.”

“I’m so damn tired.” She leaned into him, her nose bumping his chest. His chin grazed the crown of her head, soaking her in. Soft hair tickled his nostrils. She belonged in his arms.

Then just as quickly, it was over. She stepped away and scrubbed at her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just…”

Shit. He cursed mentally. Why the hell did being around her have to hurt so much? He gave himself a mental shake. Becca needed him. He wasn’t helping her by dwelling on his own anguish.

She went to cross the room, but Ethan caught her arm. She’d been surprised when Aimee reported she’d already known about the anomaly in Redd’s blood. His gut instinct told him he needed to share his side of the story.

He reached into her pocket, desperately ignoring the warmth of her body brushing against the back of his hand as he fished out her worn notebook. He’d tried to tell her this earlier. Maybe this time she’d listen to him.

He scribbled on a blank page, then glanced at the ceiling and shook his head before passing her the note. Earlier when Aimee said the comms link was down, it wasn’t. Cade says she cut the link.

Becca stared at the paper, her forehead creasing. She bit her lip then took the pad from him.

She wrote with a shaking hand. She cut the link?

There was no way to sugarcoat this. Yes, and she lied to you about it, Ethan wrote.

Becca gripped the pad with white knuckles.

Ethan knew what was rushing through her mind. AIs couldn’t lie. Aimee couldn’t lie. Cutting comms was putting their lives in danger, the one thing Aimee was programmed not to do.

Ethan took the pad from Becca with gentle fingers. He wrote again. There’s a storm coming. We’re on our own. We get everyone into the mini subs and get the hell out as soon as you’re done here.

Becca tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She took the notepad, tucked it back in her pocket and gave Ethan a quick nod.

After snapping on blue surgical gloves, Ethan helped Becca maneuver Redd into the medical scanner.

Even to Ethan’s untrained eyes, Redd’s body looked unnatural in death. The top of his skin was pale, but closer to the gurney, his flesh was mottled. Mottled green.

“His skin is greenish, Becca.”

She nodded, tight-lipped, and lifted Redd’s hands. She removed a small flashlight from her pocket and trained it on Redd’s blood-crusted fingernails. She selected a silver scalpel from a tray of instruments and scraped red-black blood from the nail. She turned the hand over, directed the light onto it once again. “Do you see this?”

“See what?”

“The nail bed.”

Ethan leaned forward to get a clearer look. “Green?”

Becca let the hand drop back onto the table. “Algae can turn a host’s body greenish. Polar bears fur takes on a green tinge because of algae growing in the hollow hairs. Like Redd’s eyes.”

She skirted the head of the table and gently lifted Redd’s eyelids with her thumb. She looked back at Ethan.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I know. I noticed earlier. When he went crazy.” Ethan ran his hand over his face, seeking some solid ground. Everything he’d expected from this mission was shifting under his feet like quicksand. It was all getting too fucked up.

Becca swept Redd’s eyelids closed. She dipped her head and murmured under her breath, “Sorry, Chase.”

Ethan ached to reach out and comfort her, but he kept his arms as tight rods at his side. His priority right now was getting her home safe. If and when she decided she still wanted him, the time for that was later.

Becca keyed in commands and waited as Redd slid into the whole-body scanner. A harsh ticking sound filled the room, echoing off the walls as a blue light swept from Redd’s toes to the top of his head and back again. Becca remained intent, her eyes glued to the scanner’s scrolling analysis as it progressed.

Ethan came and stood by her side. He allowed himself that. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She avoided his eyes but gave his hand a brief squeeze.

The screen blipped then a flashing cursor appeared.

Body scan complete. Becca hit return.

Ethan’s gaze roamed over the images sliding rapidly from one side of the screen to another. “I have no idea what I’m looking at, Becca.”

“Everything’s normal so far.” A red blip appeared in the bottom of the screen, and she hit pause. “Spoke too soon.” She touched the screen, her elegant fingers narrowing the focus to enlarge the image of Redd’s skull. Her breath caught audibly.

“Becca?”

She traced the skull with her finger. “The skull’s intact as I thought. But his brain…isn’t. What’s left of it anyway. The frontal lobes are almost completely ablated.”

“Ablated?”

“Gone.”