I move to the kitchen, fingers brushing the counter where Voltar left his half-eaten protein bar and—of course—his anti-personnel grenade. Just sitting there like a casual centerpiece.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.
That’s when I see it.
The door.
Unlocked.
Ineverleave the door unlocked. Voltar neverletsit be unlocked.
And yet there it is, sealed shut, yes—but blinking with the faint blue hue that meansno active security seal. That would mean the guards didn’t arm the perimeter when they came on shift tonight.
Or they didn’t get the chance.
My throat tightens.
I turn slowly. Just enough to catch it out of the corner of my eye.
There, in the living room, casually lounging on my egg chair like he owns the lease—Tugun.
I freeze.
He’s not pretending to be a cat this time.
No—this time, he’s dressed like he just stepped out of a galactic couture editorial spread. Shimmering mesh wraps his long limbs like silver mist, layered beneath deep-indigo robes with patterns that shift when he moves—planets, comets, whole constellations scrolling across the fabric like an open sky. His high collar fans around his neck like the petals of some carnivorous flower. And thatlapel pin—stars above—it gleams with such arrogant intent it could blind a bishop.
He even has matching boots.
Galaxy tone.
Real leather, probably illegal.
My mouth goes dry. I grip the edge of the kitchen island to keep from screaming or throwing up or both.
“You really must admire my restraint,” Tugun says, smooth as silk and sin. He reaches up to adjust the ridiculous lapel pin with a dainty flick of his fingers. “I could’ve slit your throat hours ago.”
“Please,” I say flatly. “You’d never risk bleeding on those robes.”
He smirks. “You know me so well.”
I don't move. Don’t blink. Just… assess. The kitchen is maybe five feet from the breadbox. The blaster’s still inside. Assuming he didn’t disable it.
Assuming he evencares.
My voice comes out hoarse. “How did you get past the guards?”
He sighs. “Sable. Darling. Do you really think Alliance law enforcement is a match for me? I’m a shapeshifter with thirty-seven confirmed kills and impeccable taste. I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re wondering. Just… stunned. Discreetly. I respect your aesthetic too much to leave bodies on the rug.”
“Oh, so considerate,” I mutter.
He rises slowly, movements precise, and starts strolling toward me like this is some sort of runway and not my death scene.
I take a step back. “What do you want?”
He stops, cocking his head like a confused bird. “To talk, obviously. You’re not even offering tea? Hospitality really is dead on Novaria.”
“Tugun,” I whisper, my grip white-knuckled on the counter, “if you’re going to kill me, just do it. I’m done playing this game.”
