And for the first time since they dragged him away, I understand exactly what it means to bealone.
CHAPTER 20
TAKHISS
The light never turns off.
It hums, steady and soft, the color of bone. My cell is ten paces wide, five deep, four high. The walls are cold enough to numb the claws when I touch them. I count breaths. I count hours. I stop when both start to feel like lies.
Footsteps echo down the corridor. A mechanical hiss precedes every door cycle. The guards wear sealed helmets. I can’t smell them — only the faint sting of disinfectant and ozone.
The door slides open. A man walks in with a pad. Thin. Pale. Unafraid. His uniform gleams white, same as the light.
“Sergeant Takhiss of the Coalition,” he begins, reading. “You stand charged with the destruction of an Alliance research vessel, unauthorized possession of military-grade weapons, and assault during boarding operations.”
I sit on the slab that pretends to be a bed. “And survival,” I say. “You forgot survival.”
The man doesn’t look up. “Do you acknowledge these charges?”
“I acknowledge that you talk too much.”
He exhales through his nose — a soft, condescending sound. “You’re in no position to posture, soldier.”
I lean forward. “Neither were the ones who dragged me here in cuffs. That didn’t stop them either.”
He finally looks at me. “We can make this easier if you cooperate.”
“I already told you everything.” My voice grates in my throat — too many days of silence and recycled air. “The Seeker’s experiment caused the singularity. I tried to contain it. Your people fired on us. I lived. That’s all.”
He tilts his head, studying me like a specimen behind glass. “And the human woman?”
The muscles in my jaw tighten. “Ella.”
“She’s been debriefed. She’s alive. For now.”
I stand before I realize it. The man doesn’t flinch, though I tower over him. “What does that mean?”
“It means she’s being evaluated for contamination, both biological and… psychological.”
I take a step closer. The guard outside shifts, weapon ready. “You touch her mind, and I’ll?—”
The man cuts me off, calm as a frozen lake. “You’ll do nothing, Sergeant. You’re in our custody. You’ll answer our questions, and if you behave, maybe—maybe—you’ll get to see a courtroom before you’re sent home.”
Home. That word burns worse than acid.
I lower myself back onto the slab. “Home doesn’t exist anymore.”
He watches me for a few seconds, like he wants to understand but doesn’t have the framework for it. “Tell me, Sergeant,” he says quietly. “What is she to you?”
I laugh once. It sounds wrong. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“She’s the reason I didn’t let go.”
He scribbles something, then taps his pad twice. The guards step in. “Session concluded.”
As they cuff me again, I mutter, “Tell her I’m alive.”
