The boy’s lips tremble. He smells like oil and blood and fear. “Docking bay—level five, under—under the auxiliary cargo hold! I swear! They took the kid there, said Vrek wanted—wanted leverage!”
My stomach knots. I grip his collar tighter. “Leverage for what?”
“Foryou!” he blurts, voice cracking. “He said—he said you’d come running if the brat screamed loud enough—please, lady, I didn’t sign up for this?—”
He breaks off with a sob, pressing his face against his arm. His entire body shakes.
I want to scream.
I want to break something—him, the wall, the godsdamn air for letting this happen.
But all I can do is breathe through my teeth.
“How many men at the dock?” I ask, quieter now.
“I don’t know. Maybe ten. Maybe more. Vrek’s got the kid guarded tight—no one goes near him. Not even the crew.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” He looks away. “Because Vrek said the boy’s bait. Forhim.”
He doesn’t need to say whohimis.
Garokk.
The air leaves my lungs in one sharp exhale. I drop the pirate. He crumples against the wall, sliding to the floor. His breath rattles.
I reach down and snatch his blaster from its holster.
He flinches again. “Please?—”
“Stay down,” I say. “And pray I don’t see your face again.”
Reflector’s voice trembles. “Isolde?—”
I turn to him, blaster still smoking faintly in my hand. “Map the route to Docking Bay Five.”
His optics flicker. “You’re not thinking rationally.”
“Neither is anyone else on this station.”
“This is not what Garokk would want.”
“Garokk’s not here.”
“Yes, but?—”
“Then you do it,” I snap, “or I’ll find it blind.”
He freezes for half a beat. Then the projection flashes onto the wall—three decks down, two sealed bulkheads, one cargo lift offline.
“Fastest route,” he says quietly, “will take you through the underwalks. But they’re dark. Unmapped. And full of… company.”
“Good.”
“Good?” he echoes, aghast.
I step closer and press a quick kiss to the cool glass of his lens—the same way I used to kiss Pyramus’s forehead before bed.
