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He was fine.
Physically, at least. Mal’ik had seen nothing more than a few scratches on the surface, and he hadn’t moved like someone with internal injuries. And he didn’t smell like blood. Just fear, with a few whiffs of quickly controlled panic.
He had practice managing his own terror, Mal’ik realized, and the thought made his heart ache. He fought the urge to go into the bathroom and be near him. Oliver needed Mal’ik to protect him right now, not coo over him. Mal’ik’s comfort would be of little use if the torvar found them vulnerable here.
So he sat on a chair in the bedroom, alert and rubbing at the skin that itched and ached where his stump met his prosthetic.
After a few more minutes, there was a quiet knock on the front door. Mal’ik glanced at the door to the bathroom where he could still hear the shower, then crept into the living room. He peered through the door’s viewer.
Patrick.
Ostensibly.
“Get on your knees and move your weapons out of reach,” Mal’ik demanded through the heavy wood. Patrick did as he was told and dropped his chin to expose his neck. Mal’ik quickly opened the door and checked him. “Clear.” Mal’ik pulled him into the room and shut the door. “What’s the news?”
“We got him.” Patrick’s lip was split and oozing blood, and he was covered in debris, but other than that, he looked fine. He collapsed against the closed door and rubbed his eyes with his palms. “He’s in a holding cell. I’ve warned and triple-warned everyone not to get into the same room with him. So, hopefully, he’ll stay there.”
“Who’s he wearing?” Mal’ik crossed his arms.
Patrick grimaced. “Governor Tesh.”
Mal’ik matched his grimace. “Was Tesh in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Or was he a dirty traitor?” Patrick finished for him. He shrugged. “My money’s on dirty traitor based on the caliber of encryption on his data tablet. But we’re still trying to break it, so we’ll see.”
Mal’ik nodded slowly, letting that sit on him before letting it slide off. Politics were other people’s problems. Someone else would have to figure out what to do with a traitor. “Is it over then? Or do we have other concerns?”
“There’s been a lot of destruction.” Patrick smelled exhausted, stressed, mournful. It had been a long time since Mal’ik had smelled that combination on him, and Mal’ik clasped his hand on Patrick’s shoulder as he went on. “Rescue efforts are under way, but there could be more bombs hidden, either on timers or other triggers.”
“I’ll keep Oliver here for a while longer then.”
Patrick nodded. “Yeah. There’s another thing.”
Mal’ik’s stomach went cold, but he spoke evenly. “Tell me.”
“They took out our communication towers first. We still haven’t had any contact with anyone outside.”
Mal’ik tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “That’s not surprising.” It was quite a standard tactic for the Resistance. “What’s bothering you?”
“I’m not sure.” Patrick shook his head. “I just have a bad feeling.” He straightened and shook his head again, this time as if he were tossing the thoughts out of it like water. “I should get going. I’ll come back when we’ve finished sweeping all the buildings.”
“Any word on Lar’a?” Mal’ik asked before he left.
“No.” Only the barest thread of tightness in Patrick’s voice gave away his worry. “She’s either buried in the hangar, or she’s gone to ground with her two men just like you have.”
Mal’ik nodded. “Alright. Send me all the information on the attack as it’s gathered. I want to know everything.”
“Of course.”
“Be safe.”
Mal’ik closed and locked the door behind him. He stood there for a few seconds, breathing deeply and letting his mindset shift with the situation. The immediate danger had passed. He could let go of the urgency and the adrenaline. Now was the time for analysis and deciding what to do next.
And for caring for Oliver.
He looked over his shoulder at the bedroom door. The sounds of the shower had stopped. He double-checked the lock on the front door, then walked back to the bedroom. Oliver wasn’t in there, and the bathroom door was still mostly closed.
He knocked a single knuckle lightly on the cracked door. “Oliver? Can I come in?”
