“I’m doing it for me,” he continues. “She believed in me. That means something.”
The words land heavier than they should.
I cross my arms over my chestplate, servos whining softly at the movement. “She’s not a charity project.”
“I know,” Tugun says. “That’s why it mattered.”
We stand there, two apex predators pretending this is a civilized conversation instead of a prelude to bloodshed.
“What does ‘protect’ mean to you?” I ask finally.
Tugun taps the side of his case thoughtfully. “It means I don’t kill anymore.”
I bark a laugh before I can stop myself. “You expect me to buy that?”
“No,” he says. “I expect you to understand it.”
My claws flex involuntarily. “You’re a murderer.”
“Yes.”
“You enjoyed it.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re telling me you’re done.”
“I’m telling you I found something better,” he replies. “Also—” He pauses, considering his words. “Murder is terrible for brand optics.”
Despite myself, a sharp huff of laughter escapes me.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Thank you.”
I step in close again, close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. “You fail her, and there won’t be a corner of this galaxy you can hide in.”
His expression doesn’t change. “I wouldn’t try.”
Something in his posture shifts—not fear, not submission, but… acceptance. Like he understands the terms and has already signed the contract in blood.
I step back.
“Get out of my sight,” I tell him.
Tugun inclines his head once more, smooth and formal. “Commander.”
He turns and walks away, disappearing into the bustle of the port like he was never here at all.
I stand there longer than I should.
Then—something pulls at me.
Not physically. Something deeper.
I turn.
The balcony above the port is narrow, reinforced glass curving along its edge. It’s meant for observers. Families. People who don’t want to stand on the deck and breathe fuel fumes while their lives leave without them.
