A Nameless in action was a beautiful sight.

Competence and calm blended with liquid joints and pinpoint accuracy. Cybans like Raleigh could display those things, too, but that had a coldness, a calculation that stemmed from the tech and programming.

Cybans weren’t entirely organic, and sensates like him could feel that.

The hostiles didn’t declare themselves, and they wore no colors or badges or even ID, so he, she, and Misha could legitimately claim self-defense and that they had no way of knowing their attackers were tied to StretSec.

The last one fell at Second’s hand as TamLin finished one, himself, and his gaze locked with hers.

With the situation and what Second was, the stare couldn’t have lasted long—a second, two at most.

It felt like an eternity.

She spun towards Misha—who, TamLin now realized, was huddled against a door and muttering expletives in too high a pitch for him to not be in shock. She was crouched by his side, checking for more hostiles, but touching the scientist’s arm in comfort before TamLin could redirect his blood in the right direction.

That delayed response was…not good.

He sighed as he approached them. “We can’t do that again.”

“Can’t do that again?” Misha parroted. “Can’t do that again? You killed them…”

TamLin considered the bodies and figured ‘traumatized’ was a to-be-expected reaction from someone without battlefield experience.

Second was gently checking Misha for injuries and overall just providing the tactile contact he needed to settle down. “Will happen again.”

Well, yes. Especially since she was still Nameless and they were bondmates. And then he’d end up having this problematic reaction when coming off initial combat with primes, giving a perfect opening for him to end up killed. “Fuck.”

“Twenty-five is well past legal, by local reckoning.”

He gave her a sour look, because she was not helping his desire to grab her and find somewhere private to…relieve stress? celebrate their survival? take comfort in something that proved she was okay? He wasn’t even sure.

Considering her psy rating, it was quite possible that she had a better bead on his current mood than he did…but that confusion didn’t keep him from knowing that indulging his desires would be foolish. And taking advantage if not outright rape. “I think I could love you.”

She looked at him, startled and confused, and he wasn’t telepathic enough to be sure why, though he could make some educated guesses. TamLin wasn’t a virgin, but Second surely was, and Nameless didn’t receive any form of education outside what was needed for their duties.

So he explained, “We’ve barely met, and I’m already fond of you. If we do…consummate the bonding, that’ll only intensify…”—this was probably the only time he would ever be bothered by her ability to control her expression—“the hormones.”

She waited for…something.

What did she expect him to say? He’d kept it as clinical as he could, out of deference for her sensibilities.

She turned back to Misha and watched him.

“…You killed them…” he gibbered, so skin contact wasn’t working.

She scooted back, giving the man some space, and looked up at TamLin. “It’ll be another three minutes or so before we can get him moving.”

That sounded as if she’d gotten a lot of practice, helping people unused to lethal force.

“Why?” she asked, and it took him a few seconds to catch that she was asking him.

“Why what? Why I won’t fuck you?”

Second’s eyes flicked in a motion that he suspected was a halted roll.

He scowled at her. She was leading him to something, and he fucking hated that. “I’d rather not put you at risk of being hunted and euthanized.”

A slight frown answered him—a reminder that she already was a target, thanks to the resonance bond that had formed between them due to his fucking idiocy.

He looked away.

“So you’d rather deal with the physiological responses of unslaked lust than the emotional responses that you can detach from when and if you need to?”

“Emotional attachment has its own share of ‘physiological responses’,” he snapped.

He was angrier than he’d realized. Why was he angry?

Second was frowning thoughtfully and seemed to be about to say something when her eyes snapped out of focus for all of a half-second. She was pivoting back to Misha and yanking the man’s arm before TamLin could respond.

Misha stumbled to his feet in full evidence that Second was stronger than her size suggested.

TamLin took over grabbing him, and Second stepped far enough away to cover them as he drew Misha along as fast as he could.

“Up,” she said, before he could ask which way to go.

He hauled ass into the stairwell. As they headed for the roof, Second leaned over the railing and ducked back as a shot whizzed past her ear.

“Fuh, bel.”

Four below them—but she’d had to look to confirm that. Not a good sign. Meant they were dealing with shadows or shadowborn. Hopefully not Shadow Corps.

Please not Shadow Corps. He’d heard some stories about the commodore for this somewhen, and she sounded more like his mother than he would be able to deal with tactfully.

Whoever it was, they were smart enough to avoid wasting much ammunition up the stairwell. Instead they focused on climbing up to reach their targets.

With Misha still out of it, the hostiles were on-track to catch up before the three of them reached the roof.

In the same moment, TamLin and Second both gave Misha a flat look-over and locked gazes in wordless agreement.

TamLin hoisted his coworker over his shoulders—Second wasn’t the only one of them with muscle, though his wasn’t quite as packed as hers—and they ran.