We spent another hour planning, still naked, still intertwined. Every detail she shared was trust. Every weakness I admitted was vulnerability. By the time we finally dressed—her in my ruined jacket that hung to her knees, me in pants that might not survive the walk back—we weren't just lovers who'd had desperate sex in a casino's private room.
We were something more dangerous. Two broken people who'd found their missing pieces in each other. Who were about to risk everything on an impossible heist that might kill them both.
She left first, wearing my jacket and her dignity and nothing else. I waited, thinking about what had just happened. Not just the sex, or the partnership, but the connection. The feeling that I'd been walking through life incomplete until her.
SABINE
Two in the morning. Station time. The kind of hour when even the casino's endless twilight felt heavy.
I sat cross-legged on my narrow bed, back against the wall, watching Varrick pace my quarters. Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn. His shoulders brushed the walls each time. The space was too small for him—for the heat of him, for the way he made the air feel thin.
My sheets still smelled like sex. Like us. From two nights ago in the private gaming room. Neither of us mentioned it.
“You're hunting them,” I said, pulling my knees up, making myself smaller. Creating distance. “The Conclave.”
“We're destroying them.” He stopped pacing, those red eyes finding mine in the dim light. His fangs showed slightly—that tell I'd cataloged when he was concentrating hard. “Piece by piece. Vault by vault. Until there's nothing left of the empire that murdered our mentor.”
The Conclave. I twisted the regulation blanket between my fingers, needing something to do with my hands. Half the galaxy's shadow economy ran through their networks. They owned senators, controlled trade routes, bought and sold lives like inventory.
“Good.” The word came out flat. Final.
He moved closer, sat on the edge of my bed. The mattress dipped. I had to brace my hand to keep from sliding toward him. “Tell me why.”
His thigh was inches from my foot. I could feel the heat through my thin sleep pants. I pulled my legs tighter against my chest and found the words I'd kept locked away for five years.
“Rigellan fever.” I picked at a loose thread on the blanket, focusing on the small destruction instead of his proximity. “Off-world virus. Rare. Curable, if you have credits.”
He shifted, and his knee touched mine for a heartbeat before I pulled back. “How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.” The thread came loose. I wound it around my finger until the tip went white. “For the treatment that might work. Might.”
Varrick's hand moved toward mine, then stopped. Rested on the mattress between us instead. Close enough that I could grab it. Far enough that I could pretend not to notice.
“Vonni was twenty-two.” I unwound the thread, wound it again. Tighter this time. “My baby sister, though she hated it when I called her that. She was going to be somebody.”
I stood abruptly, needing to move. Crossed to my small desk in three steps. Started pulling things out of drawers—data pads, credit chips, anything to keep my hands busy. “I borrowed from everyone. Legitimate lenders at first.”
He turned on the bed to track my movement. The mattress creaked. “Then?”
“Then sharks.” I found what I was looking for—the maintenance panel under the desk. Popped it open with practiced ease. “Then worse. Signed contracts I didn't read.”
My fingers found the static-proof cloth by touch. Behind me, I heard him stand. Felt him move closer but not too close. Giving me space while taking up all of it.
“The treatment didn't work.” I pulled out the device, turned to face him. He was two feet away. “She died anyway. Drowned in her own blood while I held her hand.”
His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped near his temple. His hands flexed like he wanted to reach for me.
I held up the device between us—a barrier and an offering. “The legitimate lenders sold my debt to predators. The predators sold it to Qeth. Three hundred thousand credits.”
He took the device carefully, our fingers brushing. That small contact sent heat up my arm. I pulled back, turned to my data pad on the desk. “I've saved twenty-seven thousand in five years.”
“Come with me,” he said, examining the device's circuits. “After this?—”
“With what?” I laughed, but it came out cracked. I pulled up files on the data pad, needing the distraction of data. “I need thirty-five thousand minimum just to disappear. New identity, transport, bribes.”
I scrolled through identity files, showed him the screen. Anything to avoid looking at his face. “Maria Voss, transport worker. Jana Reed, teacher. Alara Kim, nurse. Two years of planning routes that go nowhere without credits.”
He set the device down carefully, moved to stand beside me at the desk. His arm brushed mine as he leaned in to look at the screen. I didn't pull away this time. Couldn't.
