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That answer bothered her.

Kesta broke the outer seal and lifted the lid.

The contents were far better than anything Ash Camp should have possessed: surgical blades still inside sterile sleeves, wound sealant, diagnostic patches, two micro-injectors, a compact cautery unit and enough basic supplies to transform what Sera could do for weeks if they used them carefully.

The packing material bothered Kesta almost as much as the instruments.

She pinched a small packet from beneath the upper tray.

“Desiccant.”

Dreven leaned over her shoulder. “Is that unusual?”

“This formulation is.”

She turned the packet toward the light. The lettering had been abraded from the outside, but the material inside remained pale blue.

“Military supply chains use this because it remains stable through orbital temperature changes. Civilian medical packs use silica gel.”

Dreven crouched beside her.

His shoulder nearly brushed hers.

Kesta became aware of his heat before she became aware of anything else. Beneath the familiar scents of ash and metal was that same dry resinous note she had noticed before, something almost like cedar warmed beneath sun.

Her attention slipped sideways.

Dreven’s profile was very close.

The dark scales at his temple followed the line beneath one horn. A faint scratch crossed his cheek where some piece of machinery had caught him earlier.

She realized she had stopped examining the case.

That was professionally embarrassing.

Kesta shifted slightly.

At the same moment, something brushed the outside of her ankle.

She looked down.

The tip of Dreven’s tail had curved toward her without either of them apparently noticing.

It went rigid.

Then withdrew so abruptly that it nearly struck the cabinet behind him.

Kesta looked up.

Dreven’s face remained carefully neutral.

His horns, however, had darkened slightly near their bases.

Interesting.

She decided not to rescue him.

“Is your tail always that independent?”