Not Meyer. Too heavy. Too staggered.
Bokis.
I hiss low. “Frayvoyan.”
“Party animal?” she whispers.
I nod. “He’s looking for loot.”
We watch from the shadows as he stumbles through, humming off-key. He’s high on something. Maybe stim-dust or liquid joy. Doesn’t matter. He’s not a killer.
Still, I reach for the hilt at my back.
Isolde touches my arm.
“Wait. Let me.”
I glare.
“He’s not like the others,” she says. “He liked me. Sort of.”
“Sort of is not protection.”
“Just… trust me.”
She steps into the light.
“Bokis!” she calls, voice bright, cheery.
He jumps a full meter, fur puffing out in panic. His giant, flat face contorts in confusion—then relief.
“Isolde?! Woo! I thought you were, like, super dead!”
“Not yet,” she says. “But I will be if Meyer finds me.”
He glances around. “He’s… uh… not super chill right now.”
“Then help me,” she says, stepping closer. “Tell him I’m gone. Or misdirect him. Just keep him off me.”
Bokis fidgets. “I mean, Meyer gets real stabby when you lie to him.”
She touches his arm. “Please. Just this once. Be the guy who didn’t hurt someone.”
He swallows.
Then nods.
Isolde walks back to me, slow and proud.
“I handled it.”
I grunt.
But I’m impressed.
And maybe a little worried.
The ship watches her now, too.
