I stare at her. Internal war drums. I want to say you’re right. But duty says no.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Then we go Rynn?+?Nessa. But after the drop, I lead them away. You board the vessel. You vanish. I’ll pull the lion away.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “No.”
I feel the static behind my eyes, the old guilt. “Listen — you go before dawn. When the shuttle clears the rim-port — we’ll be separated. This is how it works.”
She grips my arm, voice soft but unbending: “I’ll ride with you on the tail. I’m not sending my daughter off alone.”
I look at her, then at Nessa asleep in the bunk behind us, dream-whispering Razorclaw’s name. My heart stutters.
I nod. “Okay.”
And there it is — the call we both know we made.
Kael sets the decoy feeds — drone signatures, thermal ghosts, false log-ins. Drel uploads the alias credentials. I feel the magnitude of it sinking in — we’re not just hiding anymore. We’re fighting.
I sit back, closing my eyes. I taste the ozone from the data racks, smell the stale coolant in the ducts. The hum of the station feels like chains around my ankles. I feel Rynn’s hand again, on my shoulder. And I quietly swear: whatever happens, I won’t let them take my family.
We emerge into the night of Gantry’s rim-port. The sky above is murky, lit by war-shadows and freight shuttles. We walk side by side—Rynn with Nessa’s hand in hers, me with bag strapped tight. The air has a freeze edge, like the universe is holding its breath.
Nessa tilts her head. “Da… when will we get the new sky?”
I stop. I crouch. I pull her into my arms. The scrambler collar hums faintly, echoes of its signal safe-locked. I breathe in her hair — faintly wild, as though hope could grow hair. I kiss her temple. “Soon, starling. When we lay this ghost to rest.”
She nods. Then she turns to Rynn: “Can Razorclaw come too?”
Rynn smiles tiredly. “Of course.”
I watch them. My family.
And I realize the fight I’m about to choose? It’s not for me anymore. It’s for them.
We separate from the crowd, head for the freight corridor that Drel marked. The corridor smells like old freight pods and urgency. My boots cling to the damp metal surface. Every echo is sharper now.
Rynn stays beside us but slower. I glance back. She’s scanning the crowds, the lit port bars, the bounty noticesblinking on holo-boards. I catch the flicker of the bounty feed — the false Nessa image blinking under designation K-3X9.
My heart sinks. They’re already buying lies.
I quicken pace. “Stay tight.”
Rynn nods. Nessa squeezes Rynn’s hand.
We round a corner and a port official blocks us. He questions credentials. My pulse picks up. Rynn speaks fast, low modulator voice. I whisper: “Now.”
Rynn flips the burner ID. The official runs the scan — his face flickers through surprise — and waves us through.
I exhale. But there’s no relief. Just more stakes.
We step into the freight shaft elevator. It rattles downward, past sectors blacked out, labels peeling. The air gets thick. My arm itches—old war memory flaring.
Rynn pulses beside me, hand still gripping Nessa’s.
I say: “One hour to drop.”
Rynn nods, whisper: “Then we’re free.”
I glance at her. I want to say:We will be.
