And now that someone might be coming back.
I look at the blood on my hands. Blue. Empri blue.
I should have cut deeper.
But there's time yet.
Chapter 1
Astra
I sheathe the knife.
The blade slides home with a sound like a promise kept—metal finding the throat of leather, precision honed through years of doing this exact motion until muscle memory makes it sacred. Blue blood streaks my palm. I don't wipe it off. Let the guards see. Let Dexter see what six years bought him.
Control.
The ability to hold a blade to his throat and choose not to finish what his abandonment started.
"Security Chief Venn." Zane's voice cuts through the bay's industrial hum, professional and careful in the way people get when they're pretending not to notice blood. "Thank you for receiving my brother."
Receiving.Like he's cargo. Like I didn't just draw blood from family.
Maybe that's exactly what he is.
"Sir." I don't look at Zane. Keep my eyes on Dexter, on the way his marks are still pulsing along his temples even though his face shows nothing. He's reading me. Tastingthe copper-ice frequency I've spent six years perfecting into something that cuts.
Good. Let him feel it. Let him know exactly what he's walking into.
"Dexter will be taking over military operations," Zane continues, and there's something under his words—a question he's not asking, an awareness that the air in this bay is wrong. "You'll need to coordinate on the Vex situation."
Coordinate.
The word sits in my chest like shrapnel.
Dexter's mouth quirks. Not quite a smile. Just the ghost of one, the kind of expression a man makes when he knows the joke is on him and finds it almost funny. "Of course."
His voice. That resonance. The echo living in his chest that all Empri carry, but his sounds different,sharper, harder. The voice that saidunable to retrievewhile I bled on a station floor and learned what it meant to be a number in someone's equation.
"Miss Venn has built an exceptional security apparatus," Zane says, diplomatic and smooth. "I'm sure you'll find her protocols comprehensive."
I finally look at Zane. Pale ice-blue eyes meet mine, and there's knowledge there. Sympathy I don't want. He knows. Not the details, but enough. His brother and his security chief have history that ended in blood and silence.
He's not going to interfere.
Professional courtesy or strategic calculation, I can't tell. With Torrences, it's always both.
"We'll manage," I say. Flat. The voice I use when I'm done negotiating.
Zane nods. Turns. Walks away toward the bay exit, his dark jacket perfect against the blue-tinted light that makes this station feel like drowning in slow motion.
I'm alone with Dexter.
No. Not alone. His guards are still there, two humans in tactical gear who look at me like they're not sure if I'm a threat or an officer. Both, I want to tell them. Always both.
"Dismissed," Dexter says without looking at them.
They hesitate. Glance at each other.
