“He was here,” I whisper, voice cracking. “The trace said he was here.”
Then Clint picks up a datapad off a shelf—left behind, discarded. Intentional. He flips it open.
The screen blinks. A message.
My name. Vex’s name.
Autrua’s face, holographic and cold, fills the display. Her voice rings out—calm, composed, deadly.
“Ella Corleone, you have failed. The child is aboard the Flame of Ataxia—the capitol ship of Ataxia’s transformed fleet. If you do not surrender yourself this hour, the boy’s fate will be sealed, and you will be delivered personally to the Throne as a traitor to your species. Consider this your final warning.”
The message ends. The pad dims.
Clint’s fist slams against the wall. The impact echoes through the hall.
Takhiss’s hands clamp around me from behind, pressing me close in a moment of desperation. I feel the heat of him, the trembling rage in his frame.
“We’ll get him back,” he says, voice low, feral. A promise made of blood.
My bones tremble. But I nod. Not just a nod of assent—but a nod of a vow.
Clint pulls me back. “We move now. TheFlameis orbiting closer than expected. Its shields are high. The docking bay is sealed. We’ll have to breach remotely, cut power, override the comm feed, and extract quietly.”
“We are not asking,” I say, my voice steadying into something cold and hard. “We are taking back what is ours.”
I look at Takhiss. The raw promise in his eyes. The hungry steel in his jaw.
“Let’s move,” Clint says.
We step out of the cell, the lock sealing behind us.
As we move down the corridor, I taste static in the air. The hum of shields farther ahead. The scent of burnished metal, fear, and the promise of war.
And theFlameawaits.
CHAPTER 44
TAKHISS
Icharge down the narrow corridor of theAces High, rifles in hand, heart hammering like war drums. The corridors vibrate underfoot—power conduits humming, emergency lights slicing through the smoke. My senses reel: the tang of hot metal, the acrid sting of burned circuitry, the soft drip of coolant from ruptured pipes overhead.
Spewey hovers at my boot—its grotesque little body spongy, glistening, dripping affectionate goo onto the plating. I don’t even flinch. It’s part of our madness now.
“Honeybear, quit bitching about the armor weight,” I mutter.
He grunts behind me, shoulder laboring under a duffel filled with extra packs, grenade belts, and medkits. “It’s heavy, boss.”
Clint’s voice crackles in my ear via comm link, calm but urgent.“Flame’s defenses are strong. We cut in through the hangar deck. Kalow will open the energy shields. Nefarious will loop comms. Ella leads the path to the holding bay—lockstep. Everyone knows their role?”
I swallow, tasting sweat and adrenaline. The corridors bend like a maze, but I don’t need maps—I know the bones of warships. I know how to move like a predator in the guts of them.
For Ella. For Vex.
“Yes,” I grit. “On me.”
We shift into approach formation as theAces Highdocks against a hull port of theFlame of Ataxia. Magnetic clamps and energy nodes hiss as integration begins. The docking bay moans under pressure. The hum of shield generators fills the air, like a beast breathing.
Kalow’s voice rasps over comm:“Moment’s here. Stand by.”
