Energy pulses crackle across the barrier as the station attempts to reinforce the seal. The current burns across my forearms, but I refuse to release.
With a final violent wrench, the door gives.
It rips free in a cascade of sparks and debris.
Beyond it lies the inner detention wing, stark and blindingly lit.
“Go,” I say.
We charge through as security drones flood the ceiling and automated turrets swivel toward us.
“Extraction time minimal,” Rethan says. “Alliance fleet closing fast.”
“Then we are faster,” I reply.
The corridor forks.
“Elara’s biometric signature ahead,” Rethan confirms.
I run.
The station trembles under distant explosions as external fleet combat intensifies. The air fills with smoke and the bitter tang of scorched wiring.
A final barrier slams down ahead of me.
I do not slow.
I slam into it shoulder-first, cracking reinforced plating.
Behind me, my remaining warriors engage incoming operatives, holding the corridor open despite overwhelming pressure.
“Captain,” one of them shouts over comm, “we cannot hold much longer!”
“Hold,” I respond.
The barrier fractures.
I force my way through.
The detention wing stretches ahead in sterile lines and flashing red emergency lights.
Retreat options evaporate behind me as additional blast doors seal in cascading sequence.
Extraction windows collapse.
I do not look back.
Whatever survival demanded before, it demands something else now.
I move forward into the flashing red glow of the inner wing, knowing full well that every path behind me is closing and that I have chosen this willingly.
If this is the point where authority bleeds and war ignites fully, then so be it.
I did not come here to survive.
I came to take her home.
CHAPTER 23
