He reacts to the unspoken change. His shoulders brace. His visor angles as if he’s tracking the change in me. The armor across his upper chest adjusts with a small, involuntary movement. It’s barely visible, but enough to tell me he felt it.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t look at me like that.”
His head tilts, curious in a way that’s too close to instinct. “Like what?”
“Like you can choose me.”
Everything in him goes intense—focused the way soldiers get when their next action matters.
“No choose,” Rythar says.
I sharpen my pace, boots biting into the packed ground like I can outrun the echo of his voice if I move hard enough. I pass one of the other women, then another. If I stray too far, a lowpressure in the air, like hands at my back, urges me back into line. I ignore it and push faster. Beside me, his stride matches mine with infuriating ease.
No choose.
The words settle around my throat like a collar. I walk faster.
CHAPTER 7
THE BRIDAL SPA
ELENA – THE GREEN REACH
We stopin a clearing where the jungle looks suspiciously symmetrical. Vast fan-leaves arc overhead, filtering the light into shifting bands of emerald and gold that make the air shimmer. It almost appears magical. I wish someone out there were looking for us. For me.
Thick trunks rise in a precise ring, each wrapped in vines etched with luminescent patterns that pulse like circuitry under living bark. It feels like a ritual site disguised as wilderness. The order here is unnatural, and silent expectation prickles my skin.
“More than just trees,” Maya whispers to me.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand up for a second. They settle again as sap drips from coiled vines in amber threads, perfuming the air with minerals and something floral, alien and intoxicating. The alien smell should unsettle me, but my worries fade.
Maya catches me breathing it in, looking at the sap. She leans closer to my ear. “It’s mildly sedative, right? It’s in the air.”
I nod.
Nothing moves inside this place. Not the insects. Even the humidity feels suspended. It’s as if this clearing has been prepared for us.
I glance at Rythar. He's standing upwind of the sap, I notice. Breathing through his mouth. He knows exactly what it does, and he's not letting it affect him.
“Where are we?” I say.
Rythar looks at the Ex O. The Ex O looks at Rythar. Some unspoken negotiation goes on about how much to tell me. Rythar gives the Ex O a slight nod.
“This is the site of the Claiming Ceremony,” the Ex O answers. The Xytheans begin removing their packs.
We women look around at each other. We’ve clustered together.
Rythar lifts a canteen from the bag he carries on his back. He holds it out to me.
“Drink,” he says.
I don’t move. My mouth is like sandpaper. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. But I don’t want anything from him, even if my body’s screaming for it.
He thumbs the clasp and tilts it just enough to let the water inside shift, the way I imagine he'd tempt an enemy prisoner of war. I smell minerals and crushed pine. The sound is cruelly tempting.
“Safe,” he adds.
I almost laugh. I’m not safe on Xytheos. I’m in the custody of alien males with thighs bigger than my waist, and they already stripped all my secrets from my data chip.
