They want the Crimson Raider?
They’re gonnaget him.
The bridge doors open with a hiss that feels like a blade drawn in slow motion.
He’s waiting.
Vrek stands dead center under the glow of the primary display, haloed by the galaxy map rotating above. It paints his scarred skin in blue and gold. Regal. Like hebelongshere. My ship, my command, my stage—and he thinks it’s his now.
In his left arm, he holds a blaster.
In his right?
Pyramus.
The boy’s tiny shoulders are squared like armor, but his eyes—those bright, stubborn eyes—dart across the room the second I step inside. He doesn’t cry. Doesn’t flinch. Just stares at me.
My blood, that one. All steel and flame and too much pride.
My throat tightens.
“Garokk,” Vrek sneers. “The fallen king finally graces us.”
I don’t answer.
I walk.
Slow.
Measured.
Unarmed.
The hiss of the doors behind me echoes like judgment.
Pyramus squirms—barely. Vrek’s grip tightens. The blaster shifts.
“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you,” he growls.
“That’s my son.”
The words don’t just come out—they rip free.
Vrek laughs. “Oh,nowhe admits it.”
“You put a claw on him,” I say, voice low, shaking not with fear but with the weight of a storm I’ve held too long, “and I will not just kill you.”
I step forward again.
“I willunmakeyou.”
His sneer flickers. “Big words from a leashed lizard.”
“Try me.”
The ship hums around us. The Crimson Raider isn’t silent. She remembers her true captain. She remembersme.
I raise my hands. Palms empty. Open. “You wanted this seat. You wanted command. Thentakeit. Let the boy go, and we settle this.”
