I nod once, the motion precise and final.
“Garkin.”
My lieutenant is already standing by the door. His face is pale, sweaty, and tight with stress.
“Put together a quiet team,” I say. “Two shuttles, EMP rigs, and extraction pods. This isn’t a warning shot. It’s an autopsy.”
“You’re sure?” Garkin mutters. “You realize the Alliance barely looked the other way last time. You start lighting up cartel safe zones, they won’t ignore it.”
“I’m not giving them time to retaliate,” I snap. “Lexit’s one of ours.”
“You mean like I’m one of yours?”
My claws flex at my sides. Garkin holds my gaze.
I exhale hard. “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“No, you’re thinking like a male who just got kicked out of a warm kitchen with homemade waffles.”
I glare.
“You want to help her?” Garkin continues, voice softer now. “Then stop treating this like a damn turf war.”
I snatch the compad from the table and crush it in one hand. It sparks once, then dies.
“I have one week,” I hiss, pacing again. “One week to become a teacher, a father, and a man she doesn’t have to fear.”
Garkin groans, dragging a claw down his face. “We’re doomed.”
“Shut up and get me the strike team.”
He heads for the exit, muttering something about cupcake icing and plasma grenades.
I stare at the broken compad for a long moment.
And for the first time in years, I wonder if I’ve finally met a battle I can’t win by force.
CHAPTER 17
KAIRO
Istare at the blinking cursor like it’s mocking me.
Chapter Twenty-Three. The sentence reads: “His eyes were…” and then—nothing. Just a sad, abandoned ellipsis, like it’s waiting for a train that’ll never come.
I delete it. Type something else.
“His hands trembled as he?—”
Delete.
“Her heart cracked?—”
Delete. Delete. Delete.
The screen’s as blank as my thoughts, except for the same two words that have been bouncing around in my head since Jav walked out my door this morning.
He left.
