I sprint through it anyway—barefoot, robe flapping around my legs, heart clawing against my ribs like it’s trying to escape before I do.
“Reflector,” I hiss, nearly tripping over a body slumped against the wall. “Scan the elevators again—he might’ve slipped through!”
“I—I’m trying!” Reflector stammers. The droid zips ahead of me, optics sputtering with static. His voice—normally crisp, almost smug—is fractured now. “They’ve overridden subdeck junctions. Signals are bouncing like mad. It’s—it’s chaos.”
“Welcome to motherhood,” I snarl.
I jump the body. The security officer isn’t dead—his chest rises in shallow bursts—but his badge is gone and his commlink’s fried, the housing melted clean through. Vrek’s monsters took him down fast.
Just like they took my access.
My wristband flashes red every time I slam it against a sealed door: Access Revoked. Command Override. Like the station’s turned on me, siding with the invaders. Traitor metal, traitor code.
Pyramus is out there somewhere.
He’sout there.
My fingers twitch like they’re searching for him on instinct—grasping air, gripping memory. I had him in my arms six hours ago. Whispered goodnight. Smoothed his curls.
Now I don’t even know if he’s breathing.
I shove through a barricade of overturned furniture—barricade or shield or pathetic excuse for resistance, I don’t care. The promenade decks are a maze of shadows and steam now. Half the station’s powered down, venting pressure to cover the coup. Reflector glows ahead of me like a firefly trapped in a hurricane, his voice clipped and cracking.
“I’m rerouting visual feed. Cameras are offline in sectors six through nine. Dockside elevators are down. Secondary lifts rerouted.Someone’s watching us.”
“I don’t care.”
“Youshould.”
I push harder.
Turn corners like they owe me blood.
Every hallway smells like smoke and coolant. Somewhere behind the walls, power couplings scream under the strain. The hum of life-support stutters. My lungs taste recycled heat, and sweat clings to my skin like glue.
“North junction’s open,” Reflector blurts. “Hatch 417—go now!”
I don’t wait. I run.
And when the dooractually opens—no red lockout, no override—I almost fall through it.
The corridor beyond is dead quiet.
Too quiet.
I stop. Breathing hard. Listening.
A faint buzz. Pipes groaning. Somewhere distant—a scream.
Then—
“Reflector?” I whisper.
He hovers beside me, almost trembling. “I don’t like this. It’s too open. Too...inviting.”
I nod. “Trap.”
He scans again. “No motion signatures. But ambient heat spikes. They were here.”
