I’m tearing the workshop apart, hunting for a signature, a tracker,anything, when the comms crackle.
I froze mid-motion, a heavy wrench in my hand. It hits—static first, sharp enough to sting my eardrums, then a voice.
Her voice.
“—Vex—”
Everything stops.
My heart goes still, like the sound sucked all the air out of the garage.
I fumble for the comm switch, twist the dial hard enough to shear it. “Ella? Say again.”
Nothing but the hiss of broken channels. Then—bangs. Shouting. A crash. And her voice again, barely a whisper through the distortion.
“Vex… taken… please?—”
The feed cuts.
Dead silence.
For one heartbeat I stand there frozen, the wrench slipping from my numb fingers to clang against the concrete. Then the world narrows down to a single point of rage and fear so sharp it feels clean.
I check the signal origin. It’s faint, jittering through interference. Fringe zone. Novaria system.
That’s all I need.
I leave the ruins of the workshop behind. I override the jump protocols on the nearest transport I can hotwire. The nav display screams warnings I don’t even register.
I’m gone before anyone can stop me.
The jump drive howls through my bones. Space folds into threads of light.
My claws dig grooves into the throttle. My breath’s too shallow. I keep hearing her voice in the static—Vex… taken.
My son.
Gone.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. I burn through every hyperlane in reach, every jump corridor I know, until the panels rattle and the hull screams with heat.
When the drive finally spits me out into realspace, my gut twists.
Because I see it.
Hanging in low orbit, dark and sleek, her name stenciled in weathered white across the hull.
Aces High.
Her signature hum pulses faint on my sensors, like a heartbeat I remember.
Ella’s signal came from here.
They’ve got her.
My landing thrusters shriek as I set down hard beside her dorsal gangway. The airlock seal hisses.
The minute the ramp lowers, I catch the smell—gun oil, metal, burned coffee, and sweat. I know this ship. I’ve bled on her decks.
