Hopeful.
My throat tightens.
I look at Garokk.
At the war still written on his skin. At the grief and guilt and fury barely stitched together behind his eyes.
And I see something else too.
Something I remember.
Love.
Garokk reaches out.
Not to me.
To the boy.
And Pyramus doesn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
He slides into Garokk’s lap like he was born for it. Like every molecule in his little body has been waiting for this. His hands find Garokk’s face. His head rests against his chest.
And Garokk?—
Garokkbreaks.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
But real.
Tears fall. Unashamed. Unhidden.
He wraps both arms around his son like he’s afraid the boy will vanish if he blinks.
I don’t speak.
I don’t move.
Because for the first time in years, I feel something I forgot I had the right to feel.
Whole.
They cuff the last of them right in front of me.
Vrek’s scum—those who didn’t die in the fight or crawl away like cowards—are dragged from the docking bay in chains. Blood on their collars. Smoke still clinging to their clothes. Some scream innocence. Others curse us like it’s a spell that might save them.
It won’t.
I watch, silent, arms folded, Reflector hovering just behind me like a loyal ghost. Pyramus stands at my side, holding my hand with a grip stronger than it should be. Garokk is three paces behind us, like some damned shadow—wounded, quiet, burning.
And the entire station is watching.
The holonet lenses are already floating in place like vultures. Feeds streaming live. Subtitles scrolling beneath my face. The headlines are brutal.
CRIMSON RAIDER RETURNS – BLOOD IN THE SKY.
ISOLDE OF THE NINE: HOSTAGE OR ACCOMPLICE?
