The blade. Too theatrical.
The armor. Too heavy.
The ghost can’t go to Marj.
ButIcan.
I reach for something shoved in the back of the shelf—an old canvas jacket. Faded green. One of the sleeves still bears my mother’s unit patch, though the stitching’s gone loose. I never thought I’d wear it again.
I slide it on. Feels like truth.
Then the boots. Scuffed. Solid. I cinch the laces tighter than necessary and slip a single knife into the side sheath.
Not a weapon. A tool.
That’s all I need.
I move back to the main console, fingers flying over keys. Locking down communication channels, setting encryption firewalls, disabling open comm relays. If Marj wants to sendanother broadcast, she’ll need more than a tech-hack and an ego.
Final step: the town’s uplink code.
I punch it in. The system blinks once.
ACCESS TERMINATED.
“Let them come,” I whisper.
No theatrics.
No ghost.
Just me.
CHAPTER 27
VROK
The cell smells like old blood and damp concrete.
Not fresh. Not dramatic. Just stale violence baked into stone.
They put me beneath the main yard—sublevel holding. Reinforced steel bars, not energy fields. Chains bolted into the floor and walls. Smart choice. I can short a field with brute voltage and patience. Steel requires time I don’t have.
My wrists are shackled above shoulder height now. Ankles too. Spread just wide enough to strain the hips. Not painful yet.
Just uncomfortable.
Deliberate.
They want me upright.
On display.
The first time they drag me out, it’s not subtle.
Four Hooves soldiers. Two on chains. Two with shock batons just itching for a reason. I don’t give them one. I let them haul me up the stairs, boots scraping over concrete, each step sending a dull vibration through my ribs where Skip’s punches landed.
Sunlight hits like a slap.
