I want to reach for her. I don’t.
Instead, I turn to Clint. “Tell me you’ve got an intercept route.”
He smirks faintly. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”
He flicks a control, and a star map flickers to life—a tangled maze of lanes and shadow routes. “They’re headed toward Klyros Drift. It’s neutral. Perfect place to disappear a kid. But if we cut through the black lanes, we can beat them there.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Eight hours.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“Fuel,” Honeybear mutters from somewhere behind a crate. “And maybe a sandwich.”
Clint glares. “Fuel first, sandwich later.”
Honeybear shrugs, chewing anyway. Spewey burbles happily from his shoulder, dripping something corrosive onto the floor.
Ella presses a hand to her forehead. “We can’t just storm a Coalition freighter. They’ll kill him before they hand him over.”
I turn toward her. “You think I care about their protocol?”
“I think you’d rather he be alive than avenged,” she snaps.
The room goes silent.
I take a slow breath. My claws curl tight enough that my palms bleed.
“You think I’d risk him?”
“I think you’d burn everything in your way,” she says softly. “And I think that’s exactly what Autrua wants.”
The truth of it stings.
She looks away first. “I didn’t want to call you.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I step closer. The air between us hums with old tension and new pain.
“You think I’m angry you called?” I ask quietly. “I’m angry you didn’t sooner.”
Her eyes meet mine. There’s a thousand things there—grief, guilt, fire.
Clint coughs from behind us. “If you two are done glaring holes through each other, I’d like to keep the kid alive, yeah?”
Ella pulls away, wiping her eyes. “Right. Work first.”
“Good,” Clint mutters. “Because we’ve got movement.”
Nefarious’ voice purrs through the intercom, smooth as silk over machinery. “Coalition ping confirmed. Diplomatic clearance code. Vessel designationBright Mercy. They’re running cold, but the AIs onboard are whispering. I can hear them.”
“Creepy,” Honeybear mutters.
“I prefer gifted,” she replies.
