Didn’t forgive.
Didn’t care what it cost to buy the right eyes on the right planet.
She’s being hunted. Not by the Coalition. Not really.
By a vendetta.
And now I’ve got the proof.
I secure the drive, copying every shred onto a triple-layered lock core. Air-gapped. No uplinks. Only way to keep it safe.
My hands shake for the first time in months.
This isn’t just about her anymore.
If they come for her… they’ll come through me.
And this time, I’m not walking away clean.
CHAPTER 15
KELSEA
The music hits, and I hit back. I force my body into rhythm, twisting through the heat of the spotlights with the scarf in my hand snapping through the air like a whip. The fire breathes around me, curling just shy of skin, but it’s too close tonight. Everything feels too close.
I catch a glimpse of a man in the crowd—dark coat, still, watching—not clapping, not smiling. I miss my cue by half a breath and nearly fumble the next spin. My toes ache. My left calf cramps. My back is slick with sweat and not just from the routine.
The audience doesn’t notice. But I do. I always do.
Backstage, Ceera’s waiting. Her face folds the second she sees me—like she’s been holding her breath.
“You’re limping,” she says, handing me a bottle that I nearly drop.
“I’m fine.”
“You missed the last pivot.”
“Wasn’t feeling it,” I mutter, sucking water through clenched teeth.
Her eyes narrow. “Kelsea?—”
“I said I’m fine.”
The silence stretches between us like a fault line.
“You look like hell,” she says finally.
I snap my head toward her. “And you look like someone who should mind her own damn business.”
Her jaw sets. “I am minding it. You’re part of it. You forget that?”
I toss the bottle at the wall—it bounces, clatters to the floor. “Don’t lecture me.”
“I’m not,” she bites back. “I’m trying to figure out if I need to start looking for your replacement because you’re about to burn out and take us all with you.”
My fists ball. My throat burns. “Maybe I should just go, then.”
Her voice drops, sharp and cold. “Maybe you should.”
