“I want it in writing. If he steps out of line, I’m authorized to drop him.”
Valtari nods once. “Done.”
The ride to the secure sector takes less than fifteen minutes, but it feels like eternity in reverse. The aircar vibrates with the hum of reinforced shielding, and I can feel the security drones tailing us like ghost shadows. When we land on the roof of the old courthouse-turned-safehouse, I’m met by two Centauri enforcers in civilian attire—dressed down but still lethal.
They escort me down a private corridor, past retinal scanners and DNA-coded doors. At the end of the hall, behind a wall of shimmering translucent steel, he waits.
Aebon Rexx.
Seated, as usual, with that boneless arrogance that saysI’m in control even when I’m caged.He’s dressed in dark slacks and a silken shirt unbuttoned just enough to make a point. His red eyes lock onto mine the moment I step in.
“Well, well,” he purrs, voice smooth like smoke. “They sent my favorite prosecutor. What a treat.”
I don’t sit.
“I’m not here for small talk.”
He stands, slow, unfolding to his full height like a thundercloud dressed in silk. “Pity. I was looking forward to catching up.”
“I’m your legal liaison now. You follow my protocol, answer my questions, and stay out of trouble—or this protection deal evaporates, and I throw you to the wolves with a smile on my face.”
His grin widens. “So passionate. I missed this.”
“Shut up.”
He walks closer, stopping just shy of the barrier line. “Tell me something, Aria. Do you ever dream about me?”
My pulse jumps, traitorous.
He tilts his head, watching me like I’m a particularly intriguing riddle. “Because I dream about you. Not always the same way. Sometimes you’re chasing me with cuffs and fire. Sometimes… you’re not chasing me at all.”
I force myself not to react. Not to blink. “This is war, Rexx. Not flirtation.”
“Everything’s both, in my experience.”
I turn to leave. “Be ready to talk tomorrow. We start at zero-six hundred.”
“Sweet dreams, Counselor.”
I don’t respond.
But I hear his chuckle echo down the corridor as the doors seal behind me.
And gods help me, part of me wants to hear it again.
The dream is not violent.That’s the first betrayal.
There’s no blood under my nails, no courtroom buzzing with tension, no walls echoing with the sound of his laughter laced with menace. Instead, the world is soft. Blurred. I’m somewhere warm, the lighting amber, flickering like the reflection of fire on polished stone. The smell is musky, deep, with something sharp beneath it—leather, smoke, heat.
And him.
Aebon is there. Not as I’ve seen him, not cloaked in menace and bone, but bare-chested, silent, eyes not crimson but deep and molten like half-cooled magma. His skin catches the low light like obsidian. He walks toward me, slow, deliberate, not with swagger but gravity, like I’m the axis he orbits.
My dream self doesn’t back away. I step toward him.
His hand lifts, and instead of seizing, it grazes. Fingers feather-light against my cheek. It’s absurd. Those hands—those monstrous, lethal hands—should not be gentle. But here, they are. They trace the curve of my jaw like he’s memorizing it. Like I’m something precious.
He leans in.
