“Without preparing for exactly this moment?”
Another step. The smell got stronger, decay and chemicals and something else. Fear-sweat. Even in his clarity, even in his moment of triumph, some part of Qeth was terrified.
“Your neural signature has been triggering my sensors since you docked in Bay 7.” He stopped exactly ten feet away, close enough for conversation, too far for Varrick to reach him before the guards could react. Even deteriorating, Qeth was careful. “Every step you've taken through my station. Every system you've accessed. Every time you've touched your little dealer here.”
His copper eyes fixed on me, and my stomach turned to ice water.
Everything inside me knew what was coming. Observation had taught me to recognize the moment before the trap springs. The slight intake of breath before bad news. The shift in posture before violence. The pause before the revelation that changes everything.
“Ah yes.” His mouth curved in what might have been a smile if it had reached his eyes. “You.”
He started moving again, but not toward Varrick. Toward me. Slow, deliberate steps, each one making my skin crawl.
“My perfect, unwitting assistant.”
The words struck the air from my lungs. My knees wanted to buckle, but Varrick's hand pressed harder against my back, his thumb still making those small circles that said I'm here, breathe, don't let him see you break.
“Every report you gave Kreeg.” Another step. Close enough now that I could see the burst capillaries in his eyes. “Every observation about unusual players.” Another step. “Every credit you took for information. It all led directly to me.”
My hands started shaking. Not visible tremors, not yet, but I could feel it starting in my bones. I had been performing. Dancing to choreography I didn't know existed. A puppet whose strings were so fine I'd never felt them pulling.
“You were perfect.” Qeth was close enough now that I could see myself reflected in his copper eyes. Small, pale, frozen. “Smart enough to notice patterns but not smart enough to see the bigger picture. Desperate enough to take Kreeg's money but too proud to sell yourself completely. Broken enough to be controllable but not so broken you'd stop functioning.”
He reached out with one six-fingered hand, not quite touching me but tracing the air around my face. The extra fingers moved independently, creating patterns that made my skin crawl. Varrick pulled me against his side, the movement casual, his muscles coiled like steel cables under tension.
“I needed someone intelligent enough to truly observe Varrick when he arrived. Someone who could catalogue every micro-expression, every tell, every pattern in his behavior. My cameras see actions, dealer. You see intent. You cataloged his tells, his micro-expressions, every subtle shift in his betting patterns. You gave me the data that truly mattered.”
My throat was closing. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. Three years of violation. Every private moment being data. Every thought being hijacked for purposes I'd never known.
“You catalogued everything without realizing you were writing my reports for me.” His hand dropped, and he stepped back, admiring me. “You even noticed when he started protecting you. Started claiming you without claiming you. The possessive positioning. The territorial displays. That was particularly useful information.”
The rage started in my chest. This was different from the cold anger I'd carried since Vonni died. This was volcanic. Primal.The kind of rage that could burn down worlds. My hands weren't shaking from fear anymore.
“You used me.” The words came out steady. My dealer's training held. Never let them see you break.
“Used you?” Qeth laughed, a sharp, discordant sound. “My dear, I created you. The desperate woman with nothing left to lose. The brilliant mind wasted on dealing cards. The perfect spy who didn't even know she was spying.” He gestured toward Varrick. “His first sale listing described him as 'Vinduthi mathematician, pre-broken, knows his place.' But he escaped. I needed a new weapon to bring him back. You were that weapon.”
He spread his six-fingered hands. “You were my greatest creation. My masterpiece. The weapon I aimed at Varrick without him even knowing he was under attack.”
Behind him, on the massive wall screen, I saw the first flicker. A line of code that shouldn't exist. Then another. And another. My device was working.
Despite everything, despite the violation and manipulation, I smiled.
Qeth noticed immediately. His sensory filaments twitched. “What are you?—”
The screen exploded with data.
Not just random information. Everything I'd gathered during those “maintenance” shifts. Account numbers in the Torelli family's private banks. Murder orders with Qeth's digital signature. Security footage of him executing the Frost Collective's messenger last week. Transaction records showing he'd been selling information to the Nakamura syndicate while simultaneously betraying them. All those years of crimes, all with irrefutable proof, broadcasting on every screen in the station.
Qeth spun toward the displays, and I watched his face change. The careful control cracked. His sensory filaments began moving, first slowly, then faster.
“You clever little human.” For a heartbeat, there was genuine admiration in his voice. The recognition of a fellow predator. Then his hands started shaking. Real tremors now.
“No,” he whispered. Then louder: “No, this isn't, this can't be.”
His hand went to his pocket, pulling out a neural enhancer. But I knew his schedule better than he did. Twenty-three minutes until his next dose. Taking it early could cause a fatal interaction.
“Sir,” the Krelaxian guard said carefully, “should we?—”
