I try to laugh. It comes out as a hiss. “Ow. Okay. Don’t make me laugh.”
Lonari’s eyes flick to my side wound, then back to my face. “Stop doing things that get you shot.”
My eyebrows lift. “I was literally restrained.”
“Stop doing things that get you restrained,” he corrects.
I roll my eyes carefully. “Sure. Next time I’ll simply decline capture.”
Lonari exhales through his nose, almost a laugh, then catches himself like humor is a weakness he can’t afford.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Lonari’s gaze shifts, scanning the room like he’s checking for listening devices out of habit. “Back toward Gur’s vector. But we’re not docking until we decide how to hand Morazin off.”
“Hand him off?” My stomach tightens. “To who?”
Lonari’s voice is flat. “Whoever shows up first with enough authority to keep him breathing.”
“IHC will want him,” I say.
“So will Alliance,” Lonari replies.
“And Nine-adjacent will want him dead,” I add.
Lonari’s eyes darken. “Yeah.”
I swallow. “What about Clint?”
Lonari’s gaze sharpens. “You want to contact him.”
I hesitate. The painkillers make honesty slippery, and I hate that too.
“I need to know he’s alive,” I admit.
Lonari watches me for a long beat. Then he nods once.
“Renn’s trying to locate his ship,” he says. “Aces High. If he’s smart, he went dark.”
I exhale, shaky. “He is smart.”
“Stubborn too,” Lonari says, and there’s grudging respect in it. “I like stubborn.”
I snort. “You would.”
Lonari leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m a puzzle he keeps wanting to solve with his hands.
“You planned that trigger,” he says. “Even in cuffs.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I don’t do helpless very well.”
“I noticed,” he murmurs.
Silence stretches between us. The ship hum continues, steady, like the universe pretending everything is normal.
Then Lonari’s voice goes softer—not soft-soft, but… less armored.
“When your beacon hit,” he says quietly, “I stopped everything.”
