"For what?"
"A real assault." He gestures to the damage reports scrolling past. "This was reconnaissance. Next time will be war."
I process that. The numbers. The probabilities. The cold mathematics of siege warfare.
"We need better intelligence. On their fleet positioning, their supply lines, their command structure."
"We have intelligence." Zane's eyes find mine. Pale, unsettling, exactly like our father's. "What we need is someone who can extract it from sources that won't talk willingly."
Ah. There it is. The reason he asked me to stay.
Zane leads. I enforce. Same division of labor we've hadsince we were children playing at running the station. Except now the stakes are measured in bodies instead of toys.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"Coordinate with Astra. She's identified potential targets."
The door chimes before I can respond. Zane's marks flare once, then settle into something warmer. I don't need to guess who's on the other side.
"Come in."
Talia St. Laurent enters like she owns every room she walks into. Interesting, that transformation. Three weeks ago she was property. Now she moves with the confidence of someone who's learned exactly how much power proximity to Zane provides.
She's smaller than I expected. Human-sized, compact, with brown skin and dark eyes that catalogue me in three seconds flat. The mark at her throat glows soft blue, pulsing in time with Zane's patterns. Bonded. Claimed. His.
Her emotions hit me before she speaks. Protective. Suspicious. Territorial. And underneath, something harder than I expected in a woman who was cargo last month. She's killed, I realize. Recently. The taste of it lingers in her emotional signature like gun oil you can't quite wash off your hands.
I approve immediately.
"Dexter." Her voice is sharp. "The brother who left."
Zane makes a sound that might be a warning. She ignores him. Her eyes stay locked on mine.
"The one who came back," I correct.
"Temporarily?"
"Permanently. If my brother needs me."
She considers that. Her emotions shift. Testing me,maybe. Deciding if I'm threat or ally. Smart. In her position, I'd be doing the same assessment.
"Good," she says finally. "Zane needs people he can trust not to abandon him."
The knife slips between my ribs so smoothly I almost don't feel it. Almost.
I let myself taste her emotions more carefully. Protective, yes. But not possessive. She's not trying to control who Zane keeps close. She's warning me. Establishing terms. Making clear that if I hurt him, she'll find a way to make me regret it.
Not the soft debtor I expected at all.
"Noted," I say.
She nods. Turns to Zane. Her entire demeanor shifts, softens. "The debrief's ready whenever you are."
"Go ahead and start. I'll be there in ten."
She leaves without another glance at me. The door closes. Zane is smiling, just slightly, his marks still glowing with whatever he's feeling for her.
"She threatened you," he says.
