She turned the slate toward him. Mercer’s face, usually a slab of unreadable stone, flickered with something raw. Fear.
“Then why use a personal authenticator I never filed?” Elara stood up. Her knees ached. She was too old for ghosts. But she’d left Jin for the fire. She’d sealed the blast doors herself, his voice screaming through the comm: Go, Sundog! Go!
She keyed the ship’s intercom. “Mercer. Get to the bridge. Now.”