Gray-green atmosphere swirledwith cloud bands, sparse settlements visible as scattered lights on the night side. The kind of place people went when they wanted to be forgotten. When they’d done enough, seen enough, and needed somewhere quiet to let the years run out.
I brought theTuretsaladown through wisps of cloud, running passive scans as I descended. The property sat alone in a stretch of farmland, kilometers from the nearest neighbor. Cultivated fields surrounded the buildings, rows of crops I didn’t recognize from this altitude. Someone had put real work into this place. Years of work.
I set down in an unplanted field half a klick out, wanting to approach on foot. Wanting to see what I was walking into before I committed. The landing struts sank slightly into soft earth. Rich soil. I wondered if Torek would have liked that.
Outside, the air tasted of growing things and distant rain. A breeze moved through the crops, making them whisper and sway as I walked by. Peaceful. Quiet.
But I’d been trained to see past surfaces.
The compound came into view as I crested a low ridge. Farm buildings arranged around a central house, weathered but well-maintained. Barn to the east, storage structures to the west, the main house set back with clear approach lines in every direction.
Defensive positioning I recognized immediately.
Clear sightlines that let a defender see threats from any angle. Natural choke points at each approach where an attacker would have to slow down, bunch up, become vulnerable. Open ground that looked innocent but would become kill zones if someone started shooting from the house.
Torek’s design. His philosophy made physical. Even after all these years, I knew his hand the way I knew my own.
I walked closer. Kept my hands visible, my movements slow and deliberate. If someone was watching from the house, I wanted them to see I wasn’t trying to hide. Wasn’t trying to be a ghost. Not yet.
Movement near the barn.
Something massive rose from the mud where it had been wallowing. I stopped dead, every instinct screaming at me to draw my weapon.
The creature stood nearly as tall as my shoulder, maybe two hundred kilos of armored hide and dense muscle. Its skin was the mottled brown of old leather, thick plates overlapping across its back and flanks. Tusks curved up from its lower jaw like fighting blades, yellowed and scarred from use. Small eyes fixed on me with an intelligence that made my skin prickle.
A Frangian boar. I’d read about them but never seen one in person. Rare this far from their native system. Expensive to import, difficult to raise, and absolutely lethal when provoked. Their hides could turn a blade. Their tusks could punch through light armor.
The way it held its ground told me everything I needed to know about its training. Weight shifted to its haunches, ready to charge. Head low, presenting those tusks. But it hadn’t attacked yet. It was waiting. Watching. Disciplined.
That was training. That was someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
I reached for my sidearm then stopped. The boar’s eyes tracked the movement. Killing it might be possible. Might not be. Either way, it wouldn’t help me find what I came for.
“That’s close enough.”
A woman’s voice, coming from the porch. I looked up and saw her standing in the shadow of the overhang, positioned so the light was behind her and in my eyes.
Smart. It would have worked on a human. But Vinduthi eyes cut through glare the way claws cut through flesh.
Human. Dark hair pulled back from sharp features, a face that might have been pretty if it wasn’t set in hard lines. Green eyes, steady and cold.
Something in my chest tightened. I ignored it.
Practical clothes, worn soft from use. And a pulse rifle aimed at my chest, held with the easy confidence of someone who’d fired it more than once.
The barrel didn’t waver. Her breathing was slow and even. Controlled.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said. “Someone who lived here with Torek.”
Something flickered across her face. Surprise, maybe. That I already knew he was gone. “You’re looking at her.”
“You’re the one who inherited the farm.”
“I’m the one who stayed.” Her aim didn’t shift. “Who are you?”
“Kallum. He trained me. A long time ago.”
She studied me. Seconds stretched. The rifle stayed even, her aim rock-solid. Behind me, the boar made a sound low in its chest. A rumble that vibrated through the ground. Eager. Hungry.
