I nod, accepting the praise, but my eyes are on the tactical display. Red dots are detaching from the Dreadnought—dozens of them, streaking toward the fortress like angry hornets.
“Boarding pods,” I say. My voice sounds distant to my own ears. “They’re coming inside.”
Polly’s hand finds mine. Her fingers lace through my own, and through the bond I feel her fear—real, sharp, immediate—but buried beneath it is something stronger. Something that feels like steel.
Together,she sends.
Together,I agree.
But Henrok is already moving. He strides to the weapons rack, pulling down a massive rifle that hums with barely contained power. His crystalline veins blaze bright as stars, pulsing in a rhythm that speaks of battle-lust barely contained.
“Vex’ra!” he calls out, his voice booming. “Status on civilian evacuation!”
The violet-eyed warrior appears in the doorway, her armor gleaming. “Final seals are closing now, First Blade. All non-combatants are in the core sanctuary. Blast doors will engage in thirty seconds.”
“Good.” Henrok’s smile is terrifying. “Then we have no reason to hold back.”
He turns to address the room, and I see why he’s called the First Blade. Why his reputation extends across three sectors. This is not the husband who just gently touched his wife’s face. This is the warlord. The warrior-king. The monster that lesser men fear in their nightmares.
“Warriors of Zater Reach!” His voice shakes the walls. “They come to take our guests. They come to violate our hospitality. They come to our home—our home—with their corporate greed and their mechanical bodies and their belief that credits can buy anything.”
The crystalline veins in the walls pulse brighter, responding to his rage.
“Show them they are wrong. Show them that some things cannot be bought. Show them that Zaterran steel has not dulled in three years of peace. Show them—”
He lifts his weapon, and the crystal-powered charge coils light up like captured stars.
“—that they have made aterriblemistake.”
The War Room erupts in a sound that is not quite a cheer and not quite a war cry. It’s something older. Something primal. Thesound of warriors who have been kept too long from the hunt, finally given permission to do what they were born to do.
“Defensive positions!” Suki calls out, her voice cutting through the chaos with practiced authority. “Squad Theta, cover the northern access corridors. Squad Sigma, reinforce the relay chamber. No one—and I meanno one—gets within fifty meters of that crystal. Are we clear?”
“Clear!” the warriors respond in unison.
“Upload is at 35%,” she continues, her eyes on her screens. “We need fifteen more minutes. Fifteen minutes, and this is all over. Can we hold for fifteen minutes?”
“We can hold for fifteenhoursif we must,” Henrok says. He looks at me, and there’s something almost like amusement in his eyes. “Valorian. Can you shoot?”
“I... adequately.”
“That will have to do.” He tosses me a sidearm—smaller than the weapons the Zaterran warriors carry, but still substantial. “Stay behind the defensive line. If anything gets past us, shoot it. If you cannot shoot it, run. If you cannot run—”
“Use the bond,” Polly says, stepping up beside me. She’s checked the charge on her own weapon—a sleek energy pistol that looks like it’s seen serious use. “I’ll feel it if he’s in trouble. We both will.”
Henrok nods. “A mate is a warrior’s greatest advantage. Use it.”
The tactical display flares red. Warning klaxons blare.
“First impact in thirty seconds,” Suki announces. Her voice is calm, but I can see the white-knuckle grip she has on the edge of her console. “Pods are targeting the eastern hangar and the northern access corridors. They’re trying to split our forces.”
“Let them try.” Henrok checks the charge on his weapon one final time. “All squads, weapons free. Fire on sight. No prisoners. No mercy.”
Through the bond, I feel Polly’s determination sharpen to a killing edge. She’s been in firefights before—running the Fringe teaches you how to shoot or die—but this is different. This is war.
Henrok moves toward the door, and something in my chest pulls tight. Every instinct I’ve been bred with, every enhancement written into my DNA, every oath I swore when I marked her—all of it screams at me to move. To fight. To stand between her and anything that wants to harm her.
I am not cargo anymore. I am not a passenger.
