I glanced away, forcing my gaze at the supplies scattered around us instead. When I'd first joined theHistoria, I'd rebelled against Duke Ako's insistence that each warrior learn to speak and read the human language called English. Hours upon hours spent wrestling with strange phonetics and incomprehensible grammar structures that seemed to follow no logical pattern. It had seemed unnecessary at the time, an academic exercise that had no place in a warrior's training. But the Duke had been adamant, his reasoning sound even if I'd been too stubborn to appreciate it. Our mission through the stars was to rescue abducted humans, and we could hardly protect those we couldn't communicate with. Never had I been more grateful for those lessons than I was at this moment.
Harper's fingers moved methodically through the crinkled bags of chips, the plastic crinkling and rustling with each selection she considered and discarded. Her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she examined each option, turning bags over to read the labels with an almost endearing seriousness. Finally, she settled on the dill pickle flavor, a choice that made my nose wrinkle involuntarily. The sharp, vinegary scent wafted toward me even through the sealed bag, acrid and distinctly unappetizing.
"If you don't mind me asking," she began, her voice measured as she tore open the bag with a soft pop, "how did you and Xytol get separated?" The question hung in the air between us, weighted with genuine curiosity but also hesitancy, as if she wasn't sure she had the right to ask.
I tilted the plastic water bottle back, draining the last of its contents in a long swallow. The cool liquid helped wash down the lingering saltiness of the beef jerky that still clung to my teeth. I needed the moment to compose myself, to carefullyconstruct the story in my head before speaking it aloud. Every word had to be filtered through the lens of what she could comprehend. There was so much about my existence that she simply wouldn't or couldn't understand. At least not yet.
"As you probably gathered from knowing him, Xytol is very intelligent," I began, my voice catching slightly as pride and old pain warred within me. "Where we are from, he was considered genius level." The words felt inadequate to describe my brother's brilliance. The way his mind could unravel complex problems that left others baffled, how he could see patterns and connections where others saw only chaos.
"Where are you from?" She asked, tilting her head with genuine curiosity. A smile played at the corners of her mouth, softening her features. "Both you and Xytol have the strangest accent. It's like Greek with a little French thrown in."
"Greek," I agreed carefully, though I had no clue what I'd agreed to. The word meant little to me, but I recognized the need to let her fill in the blanks with something that made sense.
"I've always wanted to go to Greece," Harper said with a happy sigh, her expression turning dreamy and distant.
"Yes," I agreed with a nod that said as little as possible. "When Xytol was of age, he was recruited for a prestigious learning institute far from our home. As his older brother, it was my pride and duty to protect him on his travels." My voice faded off, the words trailing into silence as memories from that night filtered through my brain like hot slime.
The explosion as the Kerzak warship breached our vessel. The screams of the crew falling under their teeth and claws, and the acrid smell of blood and fear thick in the recycled air. I'd fought with everything I had, my blade singing through the chaos, but in the end, there'd been too many. I'd never forgotten the look of utter terror on Xytol's face when the blaster discharged, the flash of energy hitting me squarely in the chest.It didn't kill me. Kaelaks are tougher than most. Our bodies were designed to withstand punishment that would obliterate lesser species. When I awoke, I’d been taken as a prisoner in Nansar's gladiator stable, and my brother was nowhere to be found. Vanished. As if he'd never existed at all.
"Our ship was attacked," I said finally, condensing the chaos and carnage and soul-crushing loss into a few inadequate words. "We were separated and enslaved."
"I've read stories of how bad modern-day piracy is," Harper said sadly, her brow furrowing with sympathy as she shook her head. Once again, she confused space for the seas, imagining wooden ships and eye patches instead of the cold brutality of interstellar raiders.
I didn't correct her. The truth would only frighten her more.
"He talked about you all the time," she told me, her voice softening as a faint smile ghosted across her lips. "His older brother Xabat, the hero of the family. He was so proud of you." The way she said it—with such certainty, such warmth—made my chest constrict painfully.
"I was the proud one," I corrected, my voice thick with emotion I couldn't quite suppress. "I never stopped looking for him." The words came out fierce, almost defensive. Even when I was in captivity, shackled and beaten and forced to fight for the entertainment of beings who saw me as nothing more than an animal, every creature I came in contact with got an earful about my missing brother. Once I'd been liberated and made War Chief ofHistoria, every planet we visited and every human we rescued was carefully vetted and interrogated for any information about Xytol. I'd followed leads across three quadrants, chased rumors that led nowhere, spent countless sleepless nights poring over manifests and slave auction records.
I always came up empty until the day his message found me.
"He never stopped looking for you either," she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That's how we bonded, Xytol and I. Shared grief—mine for my husband and his for you."
Bonded.
The word hit me like a blow. I tried to pretend it didn't send jagged pieces of something sharp and hot scattering through my chest where they'd lodge forever, a constant ache I'd never be free of.
The wind kicked up suddenly with a howl that sounded almost alive, rattling the walls of our shelter. In the distance, I heard the sound of chaos—metal shrieking against metal, something massive crashing and breaking, followed by the tinkling cascade of what might have been glass or debris scattering across pavement.
"Are you sure your ship is okay?" Harper pressed, her body tensing as she turned toward the sound, gnawing on her lower lip worriedly. Her fingers had stilled on the chip bag, forgotten in her concern.
"It is fine," I assured her, keeping my voice calm. The shuttle was built to withstand far worse than Earth's weather, reinforced with alloys that could survive atmospheric reentry. "Once the storm clears, I will take you to my ship and then someplace safe."
When I first received the message from Xytol, I'd assumed the Trogvyk were after Harper since they were responsible for most human abductions. Yet human men broke into her house, not alien raiders. Human men, armed with human weapons and driven by human motivations I couldn't begin to fathom. The entire situation seemed bizarre. The pieces refusing to fit together into any pattern I recognized. I considered the human male Adtovar and Maddie had mentionedin the briefing and wondered who he was. If he was perhaps the one orchestrating the hunt, what connection he had to Harper, and what he wanted from her? If humans were after her, she would not be safe on Earth.
The storm intensified with each passing minute. The wind no longer merely howled but shrieked like something wounded and feral, battering against the walls of our shelter. What little bit of ambient light had filtered through the cracks and gaps in the structure surrendered completely to the darkness.
"We should rest," I told her, my voice cutting through the wind's constant roar. "It will get colder." Already, I could feel the frigid wind creeping through every crack and crevice.
"I got these things," Harper said, gesturing toward two flat plastic things lying on the floor between us. "If we blow them up, they might make decent mattresses."
She held out one of the garishly colored plastic rectangles to me, and I turned it over in my hands, perplexed. It was thin and lightweight, folded flat with odd ridges and what appeared to be a valve protruding from one corner. I noticed faded images printed on the surface. Some kind of Earth fruit, perhaps? The whole thing looked utterly useless in its current deflated state, like a shed skin or discarded membrane. When Harper demonstrated blowing air into the valve, I watched in fascination as the limp plastic began to expand and take shape, transforming into something that could actually support weight. Ingenious, in a primitive sort of way.
We inflated the two floats, the plastic squeaking and stretching as they took shape. I positioned them side by side on the floor, the bright tropical patterns—palm trees and cartoon pineapples—absurdly cheerful. We spread the beach towels over the surfaces, the terrycloth providing a thin barrier between skin and plastic. Harper claimed the float closest to the wall, settlingonto it with a soft creak of air-filled chambers shifting beneath her weight. I took up position beside her, close enough that my body formed a barrier between her and the door, between her and whatever threat might find us.
She gathered several towels around herself, layering them over her body as she curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up to her chest. The makeshift blankets did little to hide how small she looked, how vulnerable.
"Goodnight Xabat," she murmured, her voice muffled by the towels tucked under her chin.
