My instincts rarely fail me, and I know—know—a threat is coming. Without losing my casual grin, I quickly scan everyone within view.
Lena hasn’t changed—still dutifully recording scores.
The human next to me seems lost in his drunk thoughts.
The two Neroots? They’ve been caught up in some flirty eye contact for the last few minutes.
So, not brothers after all, I note briefly.
Nope. The danger’s coming from somewhere else.
In the reflection of a glowing scoreboard behind me, I catch a glimpse of someone a few feet back. That’s it. That’s where it’s coming from. Every fiber in my body screams it.
Ignoring the pile of credits on the table, I dive—
Just in time to avoid a hail of gunfire that tears through the gaming board.
Shit!
Weapons are supposed to be banned in places like this! And that one is clearly a Coalition-grade piercing weapon—designed to destroy, furniture and all! Not the kind we use in the Confederation, which come with a stun setting.
How did this guy sneak it past Minjo’s security scans? No idea.
One thing’s clear—I’m not safe here. And I don’t even know how many are after me.
Just one bounty hunter? Or a whole team?
I grope inside my jacket lining until my fingers find the familiar contours of my two hidden companions: shurikens made of composite alloy, courtesy of the Intergalactic Confederation. Undetectable by Coalition scanners.
Carefully, I pull them from the inner pocket and grip one in each hand.
Around me—silence.
Lena’s crouched behind a chair just a few steps away.
Beyond the bitter scent of her fear, her red-tinged skin has gone pale, and her long ears are flattened back against her head as if trying to disappear.
The coppery tang of blood hits my nose from the left. I don’t hear any groaning, though—whoever’s hit isn’t conscious.
Has to be the human.
I stay alert. My attacker’s lying in wait, ready to shoot the second I move. Maybe he’s not alone.
Then—movement. A second shot rings out.
I use the moment to shift my position slightly and catch a glimpse of my enemy. Scaly greenish leather.
Penubian.
Could it be Bully, my old associate? Has he finally tracked me down after two years of chasing my tail to get revenge?
But this doesn’t feel like Bully. He’s the loud type. If it were him, he’d already be boasting about finding me and rattling off a list of my so-called betrayals.
No, this guy’s working solo.
A peppery scent makes my nose twitch.
“You’re hurt,” one of the Neroots whispers.
