Across the hangar, through the blur of light and motion, I see a woman in an Alliance uniform—dark hair, civilian stripes on her sleeve. Not her. Not Ella. But the shape makes my breath stutter anyway.
The guards shove me into a transport cage. The door seals with a hiss.
I sit there, breathing hard, tasting iron.
“Back to custody,” a voice crackles over comms.
Good.
Let them.
Let them bury me again. Because at least here, in the dark, they can’t make me forget her.
Seasons blend. Time is a wound that never scabs.
My new cell is narrower than before. The walls hum with recycled power. Every eight hours, they flood the vents with inhibitor gas—a pale haze that dulls my muscles, slows my thoughts. I’ve started counting heartbeats instead of hours.
It’s not working.
The dreams come anyway.
I see her, standing barefoot in the ship’s corridor, sparks raining down. She’s yelling at me to move faster, her voice half panic, half defiance. Then the blast. Then her hand reaching through the smoke.
When I wake, I’m drenched in sweat. My claws carve shallow grooves into the wall.
“She’s gone,” I whisper.
The cell doesn’t argue.
I sit there, chained, breathing through the static hum. Let them keep me here. Let the gas dull the edges of my mind. As long as I stay in the dark, I can keep her face clear.
And that’s the only freedom I have left.
CHAPTER 23
ELLA
Icradle him in the sling, walking through the Underground Concourse like a ghost with a secret. Neon signs flick overhead. Hovertrains hum a distant lullaby. The scent of ion-smoke, fried street-foods, and synthetic perfume clings to the damp air. Vex’s breath is warm against my chest, steady and quiet.
He babbles something, a low, raspy coo. I turn my head, squint toward a cluster of commuters, when motion at the edge of my vision snags me.
Seven feet of shadow, sharp angles of muscle.
My heart freezes.
I press my free hand to the rail for balance. Vex squirms. I shove fingers into his fleece. His lips widen in a half-smile, or maybe it’s a flinch.
“Mommy?” he says, voice small in the cavernous terminal.
I swallow hard. “Yes, little spark?”
He babbles again, excited. I stay still. The figure moves — just a few steps — through a space between a hovercab dock and a holo-ad. I try to catch the face: strong jaw, broad shoulders, thescent of scale and metal, memory stirring. But when I blink… nothing.
I lurch forward.
My heel scrapes the metal walkway. I jab forward, trying to cut off his path. But the crowd swallows him up, folds him into motion.
“No!” I gasp.
