The Union always sounded different after a fight.
Not louder. Not quieter. Just… changed. Like the ship had a heartbeat that sped up during combat and didn't quite remember how to slow down afterward.
The mech bay lights were too bright for what they'd just done. They made the metal look clean when it wasn't. Dust clung to everything in thin gray film—boots, tool benches, the seams of the bay doors, the hanging chains around the captured Atlas. Even the air felt gritty, like the planet had followed them inside.
Taila stood near the Griffin's ankle actuator and tried to make her breathing match the steady rise-and-fall of her HUD replay. One inhale per second. One exhale per second. She'd learned that trick from sims because panic killed faster than heat.
It didn't work on memories.
She kept seeing the yard lights strobing. The way Quill's Zeus had pivoted hard. The way HRR men—real men, not silhouettes inside cockpits—had turned into red mist when autocannon fire hit too close. The way Venn's confidence broke and poured out of him in a shrill, ugly rush right before Morrigan ended him.
Taila had thought she'd be the one to freeze.
She hadn't.
That fact sat in her chest like a foreign object—heavy, uncomfortable, but hers.
A laugh cut through the bay—bright, shameless.
Jinx.
She was leaning against a crate like she owned the ship, hair half-loose, eyes glittering with the kind of energy that came from surviving something you weren't supposed to survive. Her clothes were all black and red now—tight, revealing in a way that should've felt ridiculous inside a warship, and somehow didn't because Jinx wore confidence like armor.
She also looked… slightly pale.
Taila noticed it and hated herself for noticing it with the same sharp instinct she used to track missile locks.
Dack was up in the Dire Wolf, hatch open, silhouette framed by dim cockpit lighting. He didn't linger on the deck with the rest of them. He never did for long. Too many people, too many loose words, too many angles.
He liked machines because machines were honest.
Taila understood that better than anyone.
She watched him for a second too long.
Then she forced herself to look away—because staring at Dack always did something strange to her. Not just want. Not just gratitude. Something worse.
Something like belonging.
She hadn't known what to do with that since she was a kid.
Lyra walked past her with a tablet in one hand, calm as ever. Her eyes scanned the bay, the mechs, the chains around the Atlas, the people. She looked like someone who'd already organized the chaos into a list and was checking items off without letting anyone see her nerves.
Morrigan lingered near the shadows under her Marauder, arms folded, expression sharp. She didn't pretend to be gentle. She didn't pretend she wasn't proud either. Taila could read it in the way Morrigan stood—like she was daring the universe to try again.
The Atlas hung overhead, restrained by mag clamps and chains like an animal too dangerous to cage properly. Its armor was dull gunmetal and ash-gray, practical and scarred. No personal paint. No vanity. Just a machine built to break other machines.
And inside it, a woman who hadn't said her name.
Taila felt her teeth grind without meaning to.
Dack had beat her. Beat an Atlas in a Dire Wolf. Clean terms. No interference. Still—Taila didn't like that the prisoner was up there listening. Taila didn't like the way that voice had sounded smooth even while kneeling.
Like losing was still a move.
Taila's gaze flicked toward Jinx again—just in time to see Jinx press a hand briefly to her stomach, fingers splayed like she was steadying herself.
Jinx caught Taila looking and immediately smirked, as if being seen was an insult.
"What?" Jinx asked.
Taila kept her voice neutral. "You look off."
"I look victorious."
"You look pale."
Jinx rolled her eyes hard enough Taila could almost hear it. "Okay, mom."
Taila's face warmed. "I'm not—"
"Not what?" Jinx leaned in, grin sharp and teasing. "Worried? Protective? Having feelings?"
Taila's throat tightened. She hated that it was so easy for Jinx to say things out loud. Taila had spent most of her life swallowing her words until they became stones.
She glanced up at the Dire Wolf again. Dack was still in the cockpit. Not watching them. Not intervening.
Good.
Taila lowered her voice. "Seriously. Are you okay?"
Jinx's grin faltered for half a heartbeat—so fast most people would miss it.
Taila didn't.
Then Jinx shoved the grin back into place. "It's probably the adrenaline crash. Or the fact I haven't eaten anything but protein paste and spite for two days."
Lyra walked by again, eyes flicking between them.
Taila saw it—the tiny tightening at the corner of Lyra's mouth, the way her gaze took in Jinx's posture, the hand near her stomach, the paleness.
Lyra paused just long enough to make it casual. "Jinx. Medbay."
Jinx straightened like she'd been insulted. "No."
Lyra didn't raise her voice. She never had to. "Yes."
Jinx opened her mouth to argue.
Taila stepped closer before the argument could start and lowered her voice. "Come on."
Jinx's eyes narrowed. "You're siding with Mom?"
Taila swallowed. "I'm siding with not dying on our ship because you're stubborn."
Morrigan, from the shadows, muttered, "She's always stubborn."
Jinx shot her a look. "You love it."
Morrigan didn't deny it.
Jinx huffed dramatically, then tossed her hair over one shoulder and started walking toward the medbay corridor with exaggerated swagger—as if swagger could bully biology into obedience.
Taila followed.
Lyra fell into step on the other side of Jinx, tablet tucked under her arm now.
They walked in silence for a few seconds, boots tapping softly against metal decking. The ship's inner corridors were dimmer than the bay, warmer too. The hum of the Union's systems was constant here, like the ship was whispering to itself.
Jinx's shoulders were tense, like she was waiting for someone to tease her for agreeing.
Taila didn't. Lyra didn't.
That was the first thing that made Taila's stomach twist.
Because this felt like something more than a simple check.
They reached the medbay hatch. Lyra keyed it open.
Inside, the medbay was small but well-stocked—Lyra had always insisted on that. Med kits, diagnostic scanners, sterile lockers. A compact autodoc chair bolted to the deck. If the Union had to limp for months with no support, Lyra wanted them able to stitch themselves back together.
Jinx stopped at the doorway like it could bite.
Taila remembered standing like that in front of clan infirmaries. Not because she feared pain.
Because she feared being judged.
Lyra's voice was even. "Sit."
Jinx made a face. "I'm not sick."
Lyra's eyes didn't soften. "Sit."
Jinx sat.
Taila stood off to the side, arms folded, trying to look calm.
Lyra grabbed a handheld scanner, the kind used for quick diagnostics. She swept it over Jinx's torso, then paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she read the display.
Jinx forced a laugh. "If you tell me I'm pregnant, I'm going to punch you."
Taila's chest tightened.
Lyra didn't react to the threat. "When was your last cycle?"
Jinx blinked. "That is none of your business."
Lyra kept her tone flat. "It's about to be everyone's business if you pass out in a cockpit."
Jinx's eyes darted toward Taila as if looking for rescue.
Taila didn't know what to do with that look. It wasn't flirtation. It wasn't teasing. It was… scared.
Taila's voice came out quieter than she meant. "Just answer."
Jinx scowled. "Traitor."
Then, reluctantly, she answered. Not a date—Jinx never spoke in clean numbers about anything personal if she could avoid it. But she gave enough for Lyra to make the timeline in her head.
Lyra set the scanner down and opened a locker. She pulled out a sealed test kit and a compact blood-strip analyzer.
Jinx stared at it like it was a weapon. "We have those?"
Lyra nodded. "We're a merc unit. It's standard."
Jinx swallowed. "We don't need—"
Taila cut in quietly. "Jinx."
Jinx looked away.
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "If it's nothing, you get to make fun of me later. If it's something, we handle it before it handles you."
Jinx's jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to bite someone. Then she shoved her sleeve up and held her arm out with exaggerated annoyance.
"Fine," she said. "But if I'm not pregnant, I'm telling Dack you're both being weird."
Taila's throat tightened again at the mention of Dack.
Lyra worked quickly—clean, practiced. A small sting. A blood strip slid into the analyzer. A soft chirp as it processed.
The three of them waited in silence.
Taila hated waiting. Waiting was when your mind filled the space with the worst possible outcomes.
She watched Jinx's face in that too-bright medbay lighting—suddenly she looked younger. Less like a chaos-gremlin mech ace and more like an eighteen-year-old woman who'd never had to confront consequences that couldn't be solved with a Gauss rifle.
Jinx tried to look bored. Her fingers tapped against the chair arm. Her knee bounced once, then stopped when she noticed Taila noticing.
The analyzer beeped.
Lyra looked at the display.
Her eyes didn't widen. She didn't gasp. She just went still in a way Taila had come to recognize as Lyra being careful with emotion.
"Confirmed," Lyra said quietly.
The word hit Taila like an impact.
Jinx froze.
For a few seconds, she didn't speak. She didn't laugh. She didn't tease. Her mouth opened slightly and then closed again, like the sound couldn't find a path out.
Taila's chest tightened, and she realized she was holding her breath.
Then Jinx whispered, almost angry, "No."
Lyra's voice remained gentle without becoming soft. "Yes."
Jinx's eyes snapped up. Bright. Wet. Furious at the idea of being vulnerable. "I didn't— I didn't even— how am I supposed to—"
Taila stepped closer before she could think too hard about it. She put a hand on Jinx's shoulder.
Jinx tensed like she was going to shake it off.
Then she didn't.
Taila swallowed hard. "You're… okay. You're still you."
Jinx let out a shaky laugh that sounded like it hated itself. "I'm going to kill you for saying that like it helps."
Taila's lips twitched faintly. "It helps."
Lyra set the analyzer down and leaned against the counter, still composed but with a quiet heaviness behind her eyes. "We need to decide what you want."
Jinx's voice came out too fast. "I want—" She stopped. Her expression twisted. "I don't know."
Taila felt the answer in her own stomach like a mirror.
Because Taila had been terrified of wanting things her whole life. Wanting made you easy to control.
Jinx finally spoke again, quieter. "I… wanted a baby. I said it. I meant it. But saying it and… having it are different."
Lyra nodded once, slow. "Yes."
Jinx looked down at her hands. "Don't tell him."
Taila blinked. "What?"
Jinx's eyes flicked up, sharp and pleading at the same time. "Don't tell Dack. Not yet."
Lyra didn't immediately agree. She asked the question Taila had been too afraid to form. "Why?"
Jinx's laugh came out brittle. "Because if he knows, he'll… change."
Taila felt something cold slide through her chest.
Jinx kept talking, words rushing like she was trying to outrun her own fear. "He'll start making decisions for me. He'll start trying to protect me like I'm fragile. He'll look at me differently. And I—" She swallowed, jaw trembling once before she forced it still. "I can't handle that. Not right now."
Taila understood it so perfectly it made her throat ache.
Because Taila had spent most of her life being looked at like she was either disposable or pathetic. She didn't want Dack to ever look at her that way.
Jinx's voice dropped lower. "And if he thinks I'm… out of the cockpit—if he thinks I'm a liability—he'll blame himself."
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "He will."
Jinx's smile flickered for a second—small, real, scared. "Yeah."
Taila's hand tightened on Jinx's shoulder. "We can help."
Jinx's eyes snapped to her. "You will?"
Taila surprised herself by not hesitating. "Yes."
Lyra exhaled slowly. "We keep it quiet for now. We watch your vitals. You don't do anything stupid."
Jinx bristled. "I don't do stupid things."
Lyra's eyebrows lifted.
Jinx sighed dramatically. "Fine. I do stupid things. But I do them cute."
Taila almost laughed. Almost.
The laughter died in her throat as the reality settled again.
A baby.
On their ship.
On their crew.
In the middle of a corporate kill-order, a chained Atlas prisoner, and a growing list of people who wanted Moonjaw erased.
Taila asked the next question quietly. "What about… the meds? The exposure? The cockpit strain?"
Lyra nodded, already thinking. "We manage it. But we need stability. Food, rest, reduced stress."
Jinx snorted. "Reduced stress? Great. We'll just ask the universe to chill."
Taila's hand slid from Jinx's shoulder to her forearm. "You'll be okay."
Jinx's eyes narrowed. "Stop being nice. It's weird."
Taila swallowed. "Get used to it."
Jinx stared at her for a long moment.
Then she leaned in, fast and impulsive, and pressed her forehead briefly against Taila's shoulder—one second of contact, then she pulled away like it burned.
Taila froze.
Jinx cleared her throat loudly. "If you tell anyone about that, I'm throwing you out an airlock."
Lyra's mouth twitched. "Noted."
Taila didn't tease. She didn't want to cheapen that moment, because she knew what it cost Jinx to do it.
Jinx stood up and rolled her shoulders like she was shaking the weight off. "Okay. We're fine. We're totally fine."
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "You're not fine. But you're alive."
Jinx flicked her gaze between them. "You swear?"
Taila didn't hesitate. "We swear."
Lyra nodded. "We handle it together."
Jinx swallowed hard and forced a grin. "Cool. We're a conspiracy."
Taila's lips tightened. "A stupid one."
Jinx's grin sharpened. "Yep."
They left the medbay with the secret sealed between them, sitting in Taila's chest like a second heartbeat.
As they walked back toward the mech bay, Taila kept thinking about Dack.
About how he'd looked up at the chained Atlas. How he'd said nobody touched it without him. How he'd spoken to Quill without warmth but with clarity. How he'd walked away into his cockpit because cockpits were the only place he didn't have to pretend he knew what to do with people.
Taila wondered what Dack would do if he knew Jinx was pregnant.
She pictured it too easily: his jaw tightening, his eyes going colder, his decisions becoming sharper and more ruthless because now there was something fragile on his ship that wasn't just metal.
Taila didn't want him to carry that weight yet.
Not when he already carried all of them.
They reached the mech bay doorway again.
The lights hit them like a glare.
The Atlas still hung overhead. Dack's Dire Wolf still loomed quiet at the bay's center. Morrigan was still in shadow. Lyra's tablet chimed softly with new alerts.
Jinx lifted her chin and walked in like nothing had changed.
Taila followed, trying to match the confidence.
Dack climbed down from the Dire Wolf's ladder again a few minutes later, helmet tucked under one arm, pilot suit clinging to him. He looked tired in the way only someone inside a cockpit all day looked tired—eyes sharp but heavy around the edges.
His gaze flicked over them.
Taila felt her skin tighten, like he could see straight through her.
But Dack's eyes didn't linger on Jinx's face. They didn't drop to her stomach. They didn't sharpen.
He didn't know.
Good.
Lyra stepped toward him and started talking about ports and risk profiles, words clipped and efficient. Morrigan added something about money. Jinx inserted something about beds. The twins drifted near the benches, finishing each other's sentences while they inspected a torn armor panel like it was a puzzle only they understood.
Taila stood slightly behind Dack's shoulder and listened, because listening was what she did best. She listened for threats. She listened for weakness. She listened for the tiny changes in tone that meant a storm was coming.
And she listened to herself.
To the way her heart jumped when Dack turned his head slightly and his shoulder brushed hers. To the way her skin warmed when his voice said her name once, blunt and casual, like she belonged in the conversation:
"Taila."
She looked up. "Yeah?"
Dack's eyes held hers for a second—steady, direct. "You did good out there."
That was it.
No praise speech. No reassurance. Just fact.
Taila's throat tightened so hard it hurt. She nodded quickly, afraid if she spoke her voice would betray her.
"Good," Dack said again, and turned away.
Taila stood there for a moment, almost dizzy from how much that word mattered.
Because she'd grown up as a bondsman—unwanted, ashamed, looked at like a stain you couldn't scrub off. She remembered the way other kids had laughed at her boots in the barracks corridor. The way instructors had treated her like a placeholder, a body to fill a roster until someone better came along.
She remembered being twelve years old and realizing no one would ever pick her first.
Not for a team. Not for a dance. Not for a date. Not for anything.
She'd decided then that wanting was stupid.
Wanting only made you bleed.
Now she wanted something anyway.
She wanted this strange pack. This ship. This Dire Wolf pilot who didn't waste words, who didn't pity her, who didn't look at her like she was broken.
She wanted Jinx's fearless chaos and Morrigan's sharp loyalty and Lyra's steady leadership and even the awkward twins' quiet competence.
She wanted a future where she wasn't ashamed of where she came from.
And she wanted Dack to keep looking at her the way he had just now—like she mattered because she earned it, not because he felt sorry.
Taila glanced at Jinx, who was joking too loudly at the twins, pretending her hands weren't trembling when she thought no one saw.
Taila felt the secret settle deeper inside her.
She would protect it.
She would protect Jinx.
She would protect Dack from it until the timing was right.
Because Taila knew something about survival that most people never learned:
Sometimes the most dangerous enemy wasn't the one shooting at you.
Sometimes it was the truth arriving too early.
Taila looked up at the hanging Atlas again, at the silent cockpit seam.
The woman inside hadn't given her name.
Fine.
Taila didn't need it.
Taila had her own verdict already, quiet and firm as a targeting lock.
You don't get to take this from us.
And if she had to learn to become sharper—meaner—stronger to make that true…
Then she would.