The third turns to me.
He’s fast. Already raising his weapon. Already moving.
But Kenron is faster.
He surges forward, rams his elbow into the enforcer’s jaw, grabs the man’s gun, and wrenches it sideways with a snap of metal and bone. The weapon discharges into the air—blue arcs sparking over the crowd.
Then it's over.
Kenron stands, swaying slightly, blood soaking his side. He looks down at the bodies around him, then back at me.
I run to him, and he catches me like I’m air and fire all at once.
“I told you to stay down,” he mutters, voice rough.
“You shot a guy with a staff,” I reply, breathless. “You don’t get to lecture me about reckless.”
We laugh. It sounds like dying.
Then I bury my face in his shoulder and sob again—because I can’t not.
He holds me, tight, while the square empties and the sirens finally begin to wail in earnest. Drones circle above like vultures realizing the feast was denied.
“They’re going to come hard now,” I whisper. “He’ll use this.”
Kenron nods.
“He always does.”
CHAPTER 28
KENRON
Dennis Montana stands across the loading bay like he owns gravity.
Flanked by two guards dressed in the white-and-gold trim of Earth First paramilitaries—gilded patriotism over cold steel muscle—he looks untouchable. Too clean. Too smug. My sword’s slick in my hand from the blood leaking out of my side, hot and thick and soaking through the tear in my tunic. I feel every heartbeat as a drumbeat against the wound, but I don’t waver. Not now.
The room hums low, the charge from containment pylons whispering like angry bees through the air. It stinks of ozone, overclocked machinery, and the tang of burnt coolant. Somewhere above us, the celebration has turned to chaos—scattered voices, distant screams, a crackle of failing broadcast tech.
But down here?
It’s just us.
“You’re done,” I say, my voice flat but loud enough to cut the space between us.
Dennis laughs. Not the maniacal kind. Worse. Controlled. Arrogant. Like he’s still giving a press conference.
“I built this planet’s power structure,” he says, and it rolls off his tongue with the same rehearsed cadence he used in every speech. “You think one scandal changes that?”
His guards shift.
Subtle. But I see it.
A tilt of the shoulders. A recalculation.
Dennis doesn’t notice. He’s too busy basking in the glow of his own voice.
“Do you know how many deals I’ve cut to keep Novaria running? How many council votes I own? Hell, half the contractors on this station still owe me their pensions.” He steps forward like he’s trying to reclaim the floor. “You and your little alien whore think you’ve started a revolution? You’ve lit a match in a hurricane.”
