My fangs ached. Actually ached. The claiming instinct—this thing I'd never felt before her—roared through my blood. Bite. Mark. Keep. Mine.
But she'd asked for truth, and truth was harder than any claiming bite.
“I'm here to steal something called the Regalia.” The words scraped out raw. They were a confession. A failure.
She didn't move, but I felt her attention sharpen. That brilliant mind that had cataloged every tell at every table for five years now focused entirely on me. On what I was about to admit.
“Tell me.”
I looked down at her, this brilliant, defiant woman in my arms. To tell her the truth was to hand her a weapon—one she could use against me with devastating precision. But looking into her eyes, I knew she, of all people, would understand betrayal. The risk was enormous. But the thought of lying to her was worse.
So I told her everything. And with every word, I felt more naked than our bodies had made us.
“It's a crystalline key. Looks like someone compressed starlight into something the size of my fist. Pretty, until you know what it unlocks—a vault containing everything the Sovereign hid before the Conclave murdered him. Weapons that could level stations. Wealth that could buy systems. Information that could destroy half the criminal enterprises from here to the Outer Rim.”
The lines on my chest were stark and clear, a reaction to her touch. Making me hers as much as I was making her mine.
“Why does a casino owner have it?”
Here it came. The part that made me a fool. The part that still woke me at night, fury and shame a knot in my chest, tight and sharp.
“Qeth was my mentor.” The words tasted of copper, of blood—of trust turned to poison. “Eight years ago, I was young. Brilliant with numbers, stupid with people. He found me running probability scams in the lower sectors, saw my work with algorithms—probability matrices that could predict anything, behavioral models that could map anyone—and he made me feel... seen.”
Her hand stilled on my chest. Waiting.
“He said I was wasted on small scams. Said my mind could build empires. Fed me expensive dinners and talked about legacy and succession. Made me feel...” I stopped. Swallowed past the tightness in my throat. “...that I mattered. That I was more than just another grey-skinned thug with a talent for math.”
“Varrick.” Just my name, but the way she said it made something in my chest crack.
“I built him an empire. Every algorithm running this station, every predictive model managing the games, everymathematical framework keeping the credits flowing—I created them. Handed them over as gifts because I thought—” The words stuck. Even now, years later, the betrayal burned. “I thought he saw me as a successor. Maybe even as a son.”
She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking down at me. In the dim light, I could see something fierce in her eyes. Not pity—thank the void, not pity. Fury. Raw, protective fury. For me.
“He didn't.”
“No.” The word came out bitter. “He saw me as a commodity. When my work was complete, when the algorithms were perfect and self-running, he sold me.”
She sat up fully then, her expression sharp. “What? He wanted to sell you to who?”
“The Conclave. As if I were livestock. As if everything between us had been training me for sale.”
She made a sound—small, hurt, furious. Her hand found the scar along my ribs, the one she'd traced earlier.
“You escaped.”
“Barely. He had me drugged at what I thought was a celebration dinner. Woke up in restraints with Conclave buyers examining me with a buyer's cold assessment. Had to tear through three guards and leave half my blood on the floor to get out.” I touched the scar. “But the algorithms stayed. And without my skills to maintain them, they're dying. Degrading by the day. Taking his empire with them.” A dark laugh echoed through the room. “Qeth thought he could maintain them with neural enhancers. That's why he's dying—he's been jury-rigging my algorithms through his own brain, and it's destroying him.”
“So he leaked the Regalia's location.” Her quick mind was already there, already understanding. “He knew you'd come.”
“It's bait. This whole thing is bait. He knows I need the Regalia to honor the Sovereign's legacy, to fund my crew's war against the Conclave. Knows my pride would demand I take backsomething from him after he took everything from me.” I met her eyes, needing her to understand this next part. “I walked into this trap with my eyes open because I needed to prove he hadn't broken me.”
She studied my face for a long moment. Then she said, “You used me.”
Not an accusation. Just truth between us.
“Initially.”
“My knowledge of the casino. My position. My—” She paused, and I saw her throat work. “My reaction to you.”
