He nodded.
"And that's why you are suspicious of me."
"That is why Iwassuspicious of you. The information Vaelix provided at dinner has… shifted certain assumptions."
"Shifted how?"
He studied me for a long moment. "It is not the right time to discuss that. He is convinced. I am not—at least, not yet."
He lifted a hand as if to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, then stopped himself at the last second. Our eyes met, his gold gaze intense enough to steal my breath.
Warmth bloomed in my chest—not my chest, deeper than that. Somewhere behind my sternum, where emotion and instinct tangled together. It spread through me like I'd just finished a second glass of wine in front of a roaring fire. Cozy. Content. Happy.
Then he blinked and looked away. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me cold and confused. I opened my mouth to ask what the hell that was, but Torvyn had already turned to the door.
"This next part will not be easy to see," he said quietly. "But you are strong. And it must be done."
I nodded.
He opened the door.
A sharp antiseptic smell punched me in the nose. The sound hit me next—the rhythmic beep of monitors, the hiss of respirators, hushed voices speaking in a dozen languages I didn't understand. At least fifty beds stretched from one end of the room to the other. Bodies lay beneath bandages and glowing medical wraps, tended by men and women in scrubs. The diversity of alien life was staggering—and among them, I spotted humans.
A human girl—maybe ten—lay in the third bed, her small body dwarfed by alien medical equipment. Burn scars traced her arms in patterns I recognized: shrapnel from a mining explosion. Her eyes were closed, but her fingers twitched, reaching for something that wasn't there.
My throat tightened. I'd seen these injuries before in corporate medical bays. They would stabilize the victims and then void their contracts, which cancelled their insurance. Then they had to pay the corporations back everything spent on their care. My fists balled.
"These," Torvyn said softly, "are the lives the galaxy has forgotten. Those discarded by society. Too weak to contribute. Too poor to afford care. Without our medical teams, these stories would have ended a long time ago."
We walked between the beds, my eyes stinging. I stopped at one bed, my hand hovering over a Xythrian male whose breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Radiation burns. Stage three, maybe four. I didn't know their physiology well enough to help, and the helplessness burned in my chest.
"Where do you find them?" The question came out rougher than I intended.
"Our intelligence network tracks corporate expansion. Wherever new resource harvesting begins, suffering soon follows. If we arrive before the corporate fleets, we evacuate whom we can."
"And if you arrive after?"
Torvyn gestured around us.
A technician approached and handed him a tablet. Torvyn scanned it, signed, and handed it back before turning to me with a faint smile.
"My apologies. Even pirate captains must contend with bureaucracy. Please—come with me."
We left the medical bay and moved through the winding corridors of the Starbreaker. Crew members passed us with purpose in their stride. The ship felt like a beehive—alive, organized, driven.
I was also acutely aware that I was barefoot, padding along beside Torvyn's polished boots like some kind of rescued stray.
"You mentioned you are Knights," I said.
He nodded. "We have sworn an oath to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Corporations make promises they never intend to keep. Governments refuse to hold accountable those who break their laws. Distress calls go unanswered."
"Like my beacon."
"Exactly. The Reach believes the only right choice is the moral one. If someone needs help, it is the duty of the Zorathi Knights to assist."
"That's kind of like the knights on ancient Earth," I said. "Only they had horses and swords."
Torvyn chuckled. "We lack horses. We do not lack swords."
