REDEPLOYMENT ORDER.
SUBJECT: VOLTAR, VAKUTAN COMMANDER.
EFFECTIVE: IMMEDIATELY.
ASSIGNMENT: FRONTLINE WAR ZONE.
The world tilts.
I blink once. Twice.
“No,” I say. It comes out flat. Disbelieving. “That’s not—no. That can’t be right.”
Voltar doesn’t move.
He stares at the slate, jaw locked, golden eyes unreadable.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he says quietly.
The words don’t have any anger in them. That’s what scares me. They’re stripped bare. Statement of fact. A man looking at gravity and acknowledging it exists.
I swallow hard. My heart is in my throat, pounding so loud it drowns out the distant hum of transports and med crews.
“But you’re going anyway,” I say.
He looks at me then.
Really looks.
“I don’t want to,” he says.
The honesty in his voice is devastating.
“I know,” I whisper.
Lazarus clears his throat. “The order comes from High Command. Supreme Admiral authorization. Post-war tensions on the frontier escalated overnight. They’re calling in heavy assets.”
“Heavy assets,” I repeat. “You mean him.”
Voltar’s mouth quirks, but there’s no humor in it. “I do hit hard.”
I turn on Lazarus. “You said he was assigned to me.”
“He was,” Lazarus says evenly. “Until the threat level changed.”
“Iamthe threat level,” I snap. “The Nine?—”
“Are neutralized,” Lazarus finishes. “Thanks to you.”
That should feel good.
It doesn’t.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “We survive hell, expose a syndicate, and the reward is you tear him away?”
Voltar’s hand tightens briefly at my waist. Not a warning. A grounding touch.
“Sable,” he murmurs.
