Chapter Twenty-Three
Connor barely made it into his crash couch on the bridge before the Lucky Sevens launched. Even sealed up in the bridge compartment, the smell of rocket exhaust was thick—something that had crept in through the cargo hold.
The acceleration pressed him deep into the seat's old gel padding, which was overdue for replacement. His spine pressed against the frame of the couch, and his saliva pushed against the back of his throat.
It felt like drowning on his own spit.
At least the gel still managed to feel cool, even if the experience always left him bruised and stiff the next day.
His seat was opposite Selen's, pointed away from her to give him a good look at the flashing lights on the systems console. Normally, he hated not being able to see her, but until they broke
