I step closer, voice low enough that only he hears. “You’re not a savior. You’re not even a villain with style. You’re a clerk who learned to enjoy killing.”
Morazin’s nostrils flare. “Say whatever helps you sleep.”
“I don’t sleep,” I murmur. “It’s bad for business.”
He laughs once, sharp. “You’re protecting her. That’s your weakness.”
My eyes flicker. “Careful.”
Morazin’s smile widens. “Ah. There it is. The monster. You can pretend you’re strategic, but you’re emotional. You’ll burn Gur to save one woman.”
I lean in until my breath fogs faintly against the containment hood.
“Listen,” I say softly. “If you say her name again like she’s leverage, I’m going to remove your tongue. Not kill you. Just… take your favorite tool.”
Morazin goes still.
For the first time since I met him, I see real caution.
Good.
I straighten and turn to Renn. “Prep the public custody handoff protocol. I want a corridor with shared jurisdiction and open feeds.”
Renn nods. “Copy.”
Morazin’s voice rises behind me. “You think you can manage narrative with cameras? The Nine will—Baragon will?—”
I glance back, bored. “Scream into your cuffs. It’s all you’ve got left.”
Morazin bares his teeth. “You’re not the hero of this story.”
I pause, letting the words sit.
Then I answer without looking at him. “I’m not trying to be.”
And I leave him in the cold.
Back in thecorridor outside the medbay, I hear Jordan’s voice before I see her.
It’s raspy, pain-softened, but sharp with attitude.
“—No, Clint, I’m not dead. I’m just… aggressively annoyed.”
Clint’s voice comes through a small speaker module—grainy, low, shipboard. “You sound like hell.”
Jordan: “I look like hell too. You should see your face right now, though. Ten out of ten guilt.”
Clint: “You are not allowed to die on me, kid.”
Jordan: “Stop calling me kid. I’m literally an adult with trauma.”
Clint: “That’s what makes you a kid.”
I pause outside the doorway, listening for a beat longer than I should. The sound of Jordan alive—talking, arguing, insulting—loosens something inside me I didn’t realize was clenched.
Then I push the door open.
Jordan is propped up slightly, medical wraps visible, color still pale. Her eyes snap to me immediately—sharp, assessing. Clint’s voice crackles from the comm unit on her bedside.
