Clint glances at me. “You in?”
I look back at Ella. She’s standing straighter now, shoulders set. Broken but unbent.
I nod. “I’m in.”
Hours later, the engines rumble to life. TheAces Highsurges into the black, cutting through the void like a knife.
I stand beside Clint in the cockpit, watching the stars bend.
Ella’s below deck, recalibrating the scanners, her hands moving like she’s keeping herself from shaking apart.
I want to go to her. To tell her we’ll get him back. That I’ll kill anyone who stands in our way.
But I don’t.
Because words won’t make it true.
Only action will.
Clint’s voice cuts through the hum. “You know, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“You still owe me for Horus IV,” I mutter.
He grins, tired but genuine. “Guess I do.”
He leans back, eyes on the stars. “We’ll get him, Takhiss. She’s tough. You’re mean. And I’m too stubborn to die.”
I almost smile. “Still cynical.”
“Still breathing.”
The comm light blinks once. Ella’s voice filters through, tight but steady. “We’ve got a lock on their trajectory. We’ll beat them to Klyros if we don’t stop.”
I glance at Clint. He nods, flips the throttle.
The stars stretch. The ship hums like a living thing beneath our feet.
The scent of ozone and oil. The vibration of the engines. The faint echo of Ella’s voice through the comm.
It feels like war again.
And this time, I know exactly what I’m fighting for.
CHAPTER 43
ELLA
The docking bay lights flare as theAces Highclamps itself to the station’s outer ring. Pistons hiss like dying breaths. Ramps descend with a heavy, industrial groan. Alarms flash in staccato bursts across the corridors, painting everything in a nausea-inducing rhythm of red and black.
I taste copper and ozone on my tongue—the taste of fear. My palms are slick inside my gloves.
Takhiss stands rigid behind me. He isn't wearing his armor, just a tactical vest over his shirt, but he looks like a war machine powered by pure rage. Veins cord in his neck; his nostrils flare with every sharp intake of breath. Energy crackles around his posture—a physical weight. He could lash out right now, punch through the wall, scorch the floor with his bare hands.
I know the type. I know him. I feel the storm brewing behind his eyes, the kind that levels cities.
“Hold it together,” I whisper, mostly to myself.
Kalow lingers in the shadows near the airlock, her tail curving protectively behind her legs. Her eyes flicker gold and dangerous as she shifts weight—muscles tightening, scales rippling beneath her skin. She’s ready to tear something apart.
