“I prefer the term ‘repatriate.’”
I laugh then. A sound too sharp, too bitter to be human. “You talk about symbols, priestess, but all I see is a hungry little politician clawing for relevance. You think binding my son to your schemes makes you a savior? It makes you a parasite.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “Careful. You’re treading close to treason.”
I lean in close, my voice low enough to make the guards at the door shift uncomfortably. “You’re not evolved, Autrua. You’re extinct and too proud to notice. If you touch my son—if you even think about putting your name in his file—I will end you.”
Her smile returns, soft and serpent-sweet. “And then what? You’ll be a murderer again. You’ll lose everything—including him.”
Her perfume fills my nose. It burns. I can’t breathe around it.
I turn away before I do something that’ll damn us all. My claws leave deep gouges in the crystalline floor. The guards track me with their rifles as I stride toward the exit.
Behind me, her voice follows, sing-song and poisonous. “You can’t fight the law, Takhiss. You’ve already lost.”
I don’t answer.
Outside, the air hits me like a slap. The Novarian sky’s gone storm-dark.
I walk fast, fists clenched, trying to bleed off the heat boiling in my chest. My compad buzzes.
Ella: Are you coming home?
I stare at the screen.
Takhiss: Yes.
But as I walk into the rain, I know one thing.
The home I’m going back to isn’t safe anymore.
CHAPTER 39
ELLA
Ican feel it before I see it.
The tremor in the feeds. The electric hum through the Holonet. Like a wire’s been cut in the wrong place and now everything’s sparking.
My compad pings once—harmless. Then twice. Then three times in rapid-fire succession. By the fourth, I know it’s bad.
The Alliance Central Registry update stares back at me in plain, sterile text.
CHILD OF MIXED HERITAGE IDENTIFIED: POTENTIAL DIPLOMATIC DISPUTE FILEDParents:Ella Corleone, Takhiss of Clan YarrMinor’s Designation:Vex Corleone-YarrLegal Status:Disputed Custody Pending Coalition Tribunal
My name’s right there. His name. Our names.
And Vex. My baby.
It’s public.
The way they word it makes me want to vomit. Subject. DNA. Like he’s a science experiment gone wrong.
There’s already a buzz thread in the gossip sphere: “Secret War Baby Could Unify—Or Divide—Galactic Superpowers.”
They’re talking about him. Already.
I grip the edge of the counter until the metal bites into my palms. The blood rush in my ears is deafening.
