I pull up my wrist display with shaking hands. The holoscreen flickers, damaged, but the transponder codes come through clear enough.
I stare at them.
I stare, and my chest tightens, and hope and disbelief war for dominance, and—
“Those are Valorian Fleet signatures.” My voice cracks. I don’t try to stop it. “My family. They came.”
Three generations of work. Grandmother’s sacrifice. Father’s burden. Everything we’ve fought and bled and nearly died for.
Theycame.
Through the bond, Polly’s fierce pride blazes like a sun. Her hand finds mine, squeezes hard.
Suki’s voice: “Upload just hit 100%! High Council has everything! Rynn, your familyknows. The coordinates, the proof, all of it.”
I close my eyes.
It’s done.
It’s finally done.
The moment of relief lasts exactly four seconds.
Then Commander Voros comes back on comms, and his voice is nothing like the cold professional from before. Now it’s cracked. Unhinged. The voice of a man who’s lost everything and decided everyone else should lose everything too.
“If I can’t have you,” he snarls, “no one can.”
The tactical display updates. My blood runs cold.
Every remaining Meridian vessel is moving. Not retreating. Not maneuvering for combat.
Accelerating directly toward the fortress.
“All ships,” Voros continues, voice cracking, “ramming speed. Take them with us.”
Kamikaze. He’s ordering a kamikaze run. Dozens of ships, millions of tons of mass, hurling themselves at the fortress at maximum velocity.
No shields can stop that. Not damaged shields running on crippled generators.
The math updates on my display.
Valorian Fleet: 4 minutes out.
Meridian impact: 90 seconds.
My family can avenge us. They cannot save us.
“Dying today?” Voros laughs, and it’s the laugh of a man who’s already dead, who just hasn’t stopped moving yet. “Then you’re dying with me,LordValorian. You and your little human pet and everyone in that fortress.”
I survived assassination attempts. Pursuit across three sectors. A siege.
I found my mate. Completed my mission. Saved my family’s legacy.
And now I’m going to die in 90 seconds, staring at a countdown timer while the woman I love breathes hard against my side.
Henrok stands tall despite his wounds, despite the blood dripping down his arms, despite the death toll of his warriors carved into his expression. The Zaterran way—defiant to the end.
“Then we take as many with them as we can.” His voice is granite. He looks at Polly and me—at the way we’re still pressed together, hands intertwined, neither of us willing to let go. “It has been an honor.”
