Suppression treatments. Human DNA overlays. Cellular rewriting.
“No.” The word rips from my throat like a snarl. “What is this?”
Ayla flinches. “I didn’t have a choice.”
I grab the pad, scanning deeper. “You masked her bloodline. You hid what she is.”
“I protected her,” she snaps, voice breaking. “If they’d known the truth, they would’ve taken her apart molecule by molecule. I had to buy time. I had to?—”
I hold up a hand. “Stop.”
The room is silent.
My hands shake. Rage coils in my gut, but it’s not for her. It’s for the ones who made her do this. Who made my mate afraid of her own child’s blood.
I place the pad down gently. Then I turn to her, stepping close.
“You kept her safe,” I say. “You did what I couldn’t. You made sure our girl survived.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. She leans into me, and I hold her. Tight. Fierce.
“She’s waking up, Ayla,” I murmur against her hair. “I saw it in her eyes. Her strength is coming. And they are not ready.”
Ayla looks up at me. “What do we do?”
I pull up the next file. Earth First’s primary facility schematics. Security details. Guard rotations. Holding cells.
“We take her back,” I say.
And this time?
Nothing will stop me.
“But how will we find her?” Ayla laments.
A low growl issues from my throat. I don’t want to do this, but I don’t think I have any choice.
“Zib,” I growl.
“Zib? Is that a star system?” she asks.
“I wish,” I groan in reply. “Zib is how we’re going to find Chelsea--if I don’t strangle him first.”
The Fratvoyan stinksof burnt sugar and motor oil. He's short—barely past my ribs—and his snout twitches constantly like a junked-out sensor drone. His name, or the approximation he offers, is Zib.
Zib is waiting before I even clear the last airlock. Furry fingers steepled, bulbous eyes blinking way too fast.
“Oh, ho! There he is!” Zib claps as if I’m a prize he’s just won. “Reaper royalty in the flesh. Or should I say, the bone?” He snickers at his own joke.
“I don’t have time for games,” I grunt, my voice gravel and iron.
“Games? No, no, my friend—this is business! Come, come.” Zib scuttles toward the nearest holotable, long vest flapping. “Bring that gorgeous mate of yours. I adore a united front.”
Ayla follows close behind me. She says nothing, but I feel the tension in her silence. Every molecule of her body is tuned to the same frequency as mine: get our daughter back, or die trying.
Zib slaps the holotable, and it buzzes to life. His claws dance across the interface.
“They’ve moved the little blossom,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Codename:Orchid.Subtle, no?”
