Her face pales. “They need a source.”
“They need a live subject,” I correct. “A pure-blood Valorian with active Aethel markers. They don’t want to ransom me, Polly. They want to harvest me.”
The horror on her face cuts me deeper than any blade. She looks at me not as a man, or even as a client, but as a victim. A piece of meat waiting for the butcher.
“That’s why you have the enhanced senses,” she whispers. “The heat. The strength. It’s all... harvestable?”
“To them, yes. I am not a person. I am a patented ingredient.”
I stand up, unable to bear the look in her eyes any longer. I move to the viewport, staring out at the spinning rocks.
“The data in this crystal,” I tap the case, “is locked behind a bio-wall that requires a level of biological intensity I have never achieved. It was designed for warriors in a blood-rage, not diplomats. That is why I must go to Helios—they have amplifiers. Machines that can force my biology to the breaking point to simulate the necessary frequency. If I don’t get there... the lock degrades, and the data is lost.”
I turn back to her.
“But Helios is a trap. You are right. Which means I have no way to open this, and no way to escape... And if they catch us,” I say, my voice low, “they will kill you immediately. You are a witness. That is why you must leave me at Kepler. Drop me at the neutral station. I will surrender to the authorities there.”
It is a lie. Meridian owns half the authorities at Kepler. If I surrender, I disappear within the hour. But it will get her clear.
I wait for her to agree. To realize that the danger is too great.
I feel her hand on my arm. It is not gentle. She grips my bicep, forcing me to turn around.
“You think you’re noble,” she says, her voice shaking with anger. “Lying to me like that.”
“I am trying to save your life.”
“You’re trying to get yourself killed.” She steps closer, invading my space again. The scent of her—fear mixed with the lingering traces of our night together—hits me hard.
“Listen to me, Your Highness,” she snaps. “We aren’t going to Kepler.”
“Then where are we going?”
“The Fringe,” she says, a dangerous light entering her eyes. “My turf. There’s an old fueling outpost in the Zater Reach. No sensors, no STI patrols, and definitely no Meridian jurisdiction. But we can’t make it there in this condition. We need parts.”
“Polly, the Fringe is lawless. It is dangerous.”
“So is sleeping next to me,” she counters, her voice dropping. “But you seemed willing enough to risk that.”
My breath catches. She knows. She knows exactly how close I am to breaking.
“You are...” I shake my head, unable to find the words. “You are going to get us both killed.”
“Maybe.” She releases my arm and steps back to the pilot’s seat, dropping into it with a fluid grace that makes my chest ache. “But at least we’ll die free. I’m setting a course for Junker’s Rest. It’s a scrap station. I know a guy there who can fix the stealth drive.”
She glances back at me, her eyes softening just a fraction.
“Strap in, Lord Broody. We’re going off the map.”
I strap in, the signet ring heavy in my pocket. My earlier release in the alcove still burns, but underneath it, there is something else.
Admiration.
She knows what I am—a target, a danger, a walking biological weapon—and she does not run. She changes the playing field.
For the first time in my life, the weight of my duty feels a little lighter.
But the hunger... the hunger is worse than ever. Because now I know exactly what kind of queen she would make.
