Not mine.
Not yet.
But somehow... always was.
He looks back.
And this time, just faintly—just barely—he lifts his chin a little higher.
Not a challenge.
A mirror.
I turn and walk out without another word.
Not because I want to.
Because if I don’t, I might not be able to leave at all.
They lockme in a luxury cage.
Polished floors. Curved glass walls. Air perfumed like citrus and antiseptic. The kind of place designed to keep billionaires calm while storms rage outside. High-end panic room with better lighting. I'm supposed to feel honored. Safe.
I feel nothing.
The guards outside don’t talk. I count three—one at the main entry, two pretending to be shadows near the lifts. No weapons visible. Doesn’t matter. They’ve got neural-linked drones circling this wing, eyes baked into the walls. It’s not a prison, technically.
But a door’s still a door if you didn’t choose to walk through it.
I don’t argue.
I don’t pace.
I just sit on the corner of the low-slung couch, boots planted wide on plush carpet like I might crack the floor with my weight. My hands are still.
My crew is not.
The comm flares to life with a snarl. “Boss, this is garbage.”
Vrek’s voice is thunder fed through static. I lean forward, press the transceiver implant in my neck.
“Stand down,” I say.
“No.” His growl punches the signal hard. “You told us we were in, quick scope, no contact. Now you’re boxed and we’re circling like buzzards. Crik’s talking mutiny and Thresk’s too damn quiet. That meanshe’splanning something.”
“I told you to hold.”
“You told us to trust you.”
“I meant it.”
He lets out a low, guttural laugh. “You mean a lot of things lately. None of ‘em put food on the table or steel in the vault. What the hell are we doing here, Captain?”
He spits the title like it might not fit anymore.
I don’t answer right away. I let the silence bleed through the signal. Let him hear the quiet weight of everything I’m not saying.
When I finally speak, it’s low.
