Pink Slip screams forward.
The probe tries to compensate, but it’s designed for stealth, not speed. I come in at an angle that gives Rynn a clear shot and then flip us hard to port. G-forces slam me into my harness. My vision grays at the edges.
“Now!”
Rynn fires.
The energy beam catches the probe’s forward array and shears it clean off in a spray of molten metal and sparking circuits. The probe spins, trying to stabilize, but I’m already past it. Already plotting the jump to hyperspace.
“JUMP COORDINATES LOCKED,” Zip announces. “MERIDIAN FLEET DETECTED AT 50,000 KILOMETERS AND CLOSING. THREE HEAVY CRUISERS. TIME TO INTERCEPT: SIX MINUTES.”
“Fantastic.” My hands are steady on the controls despite the adrenaline singing through my veins. “Everybody loves a deadline. Jumping in three... two...”
We slam into the blue-white tunnel of hyperspace.
The sudden silence of the cockpit is deafening. We’re safe. For now. But the reality of what just happened hangs between us like smoke.
I slump back in the pilot’s seat, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“We cannot go to Helios,” Rynn says into the quiet. His voice is flat, devoid of the warmth from this morning.
I turn to look at him. He’s staring at the tactical display, his jaw locked tight enough to grind teeth. I can feel him through the bond—a dark, roiling storm of guilt and cold calculation. He’s pulling away. Putting the armor back on.
“They’ll be waiting,” I agree. “If they tracked the crystal here, they know Helios is the only station with a relay strong enough to handle the data.”
“Then we are out of options.” He unbuckles his harness with sharp, jerky movements. “You need to drop me, Polly.”
“Excuse me?”
“Find a neutral system. Drop me in an escape pod with the crystal. I will lead them away from you.”
“Are you insane?” I snap, unbuckling my own harness to face him. “We just bonded. You just claimed me. And your first instinct is to play the noble martyr and die in space?”
“My first instinct is to keep you alive!” He spins on me, eyes flashing gold. The bond flares hot with his terror—not for himself, but for me. “The crystal is a beacon. As long as it is on this ship, you are a target. I will not let my legacy become your grave.”
“It’s our legacy now, Rynn! That’s how bonds work!”
“It is a death sentence!”
He’s vibrating again, that low, dangerous thrum. But this time, I don’t back down. I reach out and grab his face, forcing him to look at me. I push calm and stubbornness down the bond, fighting his panic with my own resolve.
“Listen to me,” I say, voice steady. “We aren’t splitting up. And we aren’t dying. But you’re right—we can’t outrun them forever. We need a place to stand and fight. Somewhere with shields strong enough to mask that beacon and guns big enough to kill a fleet.”
“Does such a place exist in the Fringe?” he asks, his voice rough. “From what I have seen, your ‘Fringe’ is held together by rust and optimism.”
“One place.” I take a breath. “Zater Reach.”
Rynn stiffens under my hands. “The Warlord’s territory?”
The name Henrok D’Vorr is known even in the Core Worlds. The First Blade. The Butcher of the Nebula. Rumors say he carves his enemies into pieces and decorates his halls with their crystalline bones.
“Polly,” Rynn says, his voice low and dangerous. “You want to bring a corporate war fleet to the doorstep of a Zaterran Warlord? He will vaporize us the moment we drop out of hyperspace just to save himself the headache.”
“No, he won’t. Because he’s family.”
Rynn stares at me. “Family? He is a monster.”
“He’s Suki’s husband,” I counter. “My best friend. The other OOPS courier I told you about? She crashed there three years ago and... well, she kept him.”
