A picture flashes. Chelsea. My daughter. Her image nearly breaks me in half.
“They’ve got her buried deep beneath an old geothermal lab in the Greenland Zone,” Zib continues. “Technically, it’s abandoned. But Earth First’s been using it for unauthorized research—genetic purification, off-book enhancements, some downright nasty stuff.”
“She’s alive?” Ayla’s voice is thin, fraying at the edges.
“Very,” Zib says, too cheerfully. “And giving her handlers hell. Bit one. Drew blood. I believe the phrase is ‘chip off the ol’ tusk,’ hmm?”
“What about Frederick?” I ask.
Zib’s eyes glitter. “Ah, the pretty snake. No longer slithering on official paths. Vanished. But rumor says he’s grown a beard, found a god, and calls himselfThe Purifiernow. Runs a purification cult out of the tundra, just north of Orchid’s cage.”
“The IHC?”
Zib waves a hand. “Oh, they condemned Earth First after your little... performance. Officially. But I know a few names who still send them funds and look the other way. Cowards love plausible deniability.”
“If I don’t have to fight the IHC to get to him, his days are numbered,” I growl.
Ayla reaches over, slides her fingers into mine. “Then we bring our daughter home.”
“And bury anyone who gets in our way,” I finish.
Zib claps again. “Such poetry! Such violence! I’m touched.”
“Zib,” I say, voice low and dangerous, “if you’re lying?—”
“Me?” He feigns offense. “Perish the thought. I adore children. Especially yours. I do hope you’ll let her chew on one of my fingers someday. Symbolic bonding.”
“You get within biting range, you’ll lose more than a finger.”
He cackles like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in years. “Oh, you Reapers. All fire and fangs. Such a mood.”
I take the datachip and turn to go.
Zib waves cheerfully. “Say hi to the cult leader for me! And do try not to raze the whole region—ice ecosystems are so fragile.”
I’m already walking, fury roaring in my veins.
Too late.
CHAPTER 24
AYLA
The wind screams like a banshee, clawing through every crevice in the Reaper stealth cruiser. Blizzard conditions slam the tundra, visibility reduced to nothing but swirling white and the breath of ghosts. I’ve never felt anything this cold before—it’s a soul-freezing kind of cold. But I don’t flinch. I don’t shiver. I feel fire inside me.
Kallus stands beside me in the tight drop bay, his black armor catching dull reflections from the low crimson lights. He called in the Black Fang clan—Reapers known not for brute force, but precision. Ghosts in the dark. I’ve heard of them in whispers: infiltration experts, assassins, saboteurs. They're already prepped and silent behind us, each one draped in bone-marked stealth gear.
I’m suited in Reaper battle gear, custom-forged for my smaller form. It fits like a second skin, jet black with matte plating, light-reactive fibers flexing with each breath. But my proudest piece? The collar. Bone, etched with sigils of Kallus’s bloodline. His. Mine. Ours. I wear it like a queen wears her crown.
“I still say you should stay on the ship,” he growls without looking at me.
“Say it again, and I’ll punch you through a bulkhead,” I snap back, adjusting the hilt of the plasma-sheared blade strapped to my thigh.
His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “There she is.”
The ship lands with a whisper. The Black Fangs vanish into the blizzard like smoke into night.
Kallus steps off the ramp first, his breath steaming, his blade humming low. I follow. I don’t hesitate. My boots crunch in snow and ice. The cold bites, but I bite harder.
