And the faint, almost imperceptible tremor in his breathing.
He doesn’t argue.
He doesn’t defend himself.
He doesn’t justify it further.
He just sits there.
Shaken.
And I realize that for all the violence he prepares for, it’s the memory that still wins.
CHAPTER 19
VROK
The sensors start it—an almost imperceptible spike in the far-range grid. At first it feels like a breeze against the back of my skull, so slight I’m not sure it’s real. But then the warning tones rise, sharp and unfiltered through the bridge speakers, and the air around me thickens.
We’re not alone.
I swing into the pilot’s chair, boots dragging once before locking in place. Every nerve in my body goes wired and bright, like someone just turned the lights up in a room I thought was empty.
“Incoming contacts,” I announce, voice tight but steady.
Roxy is already on her feet, eyes wide, breath shallow. For a split second I see fear flicker in her pupils—quick, like a candle blown almost out—but then she sets her jaw and she’spresent, more here than she’s been in days.
Before I can shift thrust vectors, the long-range array coughs up three signatures—fast-moving, erratic, and definitely not local traffic.
Reaper.
Name alone makes my spine tighten. Not because I haven’t danced with these ghosts before—because Ihave—but because they brought their reputation with them like armor. If the sensor blips are right, we’ve got a full raiding vessel bearing down on us and it’s closing fast.
I don’t waste time.
“Evasive maneuvers,” I order.
Systems whine, the deck vibrates, and the ship shivers beneath us like it just woke up angry. I punch vector adjustments into the nav console. Thrusters squeal and we dip, weave, slip through space like a bruised animal trying not to makeanysound.
But the Reaper vessel doesn’t give half a rat’s ass about silence.
It punches through our wake seconds later, weapons glowing like angry suns. The first salvo slams into our starboard shield hard enough to send a shockwave through my ribs.
“Shields at fifty percent!” I growl.
Roxy doesn’t flinch. She just looks—eyes focused, body tight, jaw locked.
“They’re boarding,” she says.
“No shit,” I snap. “Seal all compartments and?—”
Before I can finish, the lights flicker. Gravity shifts. The air hums with an electricpopthat says something big and bad has just become bigger and worse.
We’re breached.
Reapers hit us at multiple access points simultaneously, like ghost dogs tearing through open windows. The warning klaxons start screaming.
I twist in my seat.
