Now, I’m with enemies. And Drenz and the other warriors are lying on the landing pad with blood running from their eyes.
I breathe. Count to five. Assess. Three delegates, two in front, one beside me. No weapons visible, but the one they just used dropped all of Rythar’s warriors.
"You lied." I say. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Drenz was supposed to come with me. You killed him.”
The delegate beside me remains impassive. His eyes are cold and indifferent.
“Drenz did not follow protocol. No biome ruler would allow his second-in-command to travel with his mate. We merely deployed a pacification measure to correct his error. The shield is keyed for female biological signatures," he says calmly. "We turn the shield on after we are within its boundaries, and then it allows passage only for females."
My mouth goes dry at his casual explanation.
"A safety feature," he continues with the same infuriating detachment. "Designed to prevent escalation. To separate fertile females from a hostile male presence."
A laugh escapes me. "Convenient," I say.
"It served its purpose well.”
"They'll come for me," I say tightly.
"And do what?" he asks. "Shoot us down? With you on board?"
"They won't give up," I say.
"You're right. And that's why Rythar will fall, and his biome will pass to a new ruler."
“So that’s your plan? It won’t work,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice.
He scowls. “We’ll keep you safe while the transition happens.”
I look away from him, out the window, thinking about the weapon they just used on Rythar’s warriors. I’m not certain what it will do to Rythar. Or if he can get through their special shield. We’re moving fast. Below us, I watch as the jungle blurs, the green giving way to darker stretches. The once-lush canopy is now broken by black rivers and long scars of dead trees.
Safe, I think numbly, as a cold dread settles in my stomach like dead weight.
Safe while Rythar's biome burns. Safe while the men left behind are forced into a war they didn't choose. I have to find a way to fix this.
Casually, the delegate adjusts something on his console. "We have a brief detour," he informs me curtly. “It would be best for you if you cooperate.”
"Where are we going?" I ask warily.
"Reach's End."
Vorak’s territory. Not the Astral Spire. Not the High Lord. Not Maya.
I turn back to the window, numb.
The landing pad comes into view. It’s a desolate island surrounded by decay and shadows. No med teams rush forward. No guards stand at attention. There are no signs of activity at all. Almost like this is a secret.
The shuttle sets down with a thunk.
The three Concord reps stand as the straps holding me release. The lead gestures for me to go first.
I pause, one foot on the deck, then step out.
There’s no escort waiting.
No sign of the High Lord.
Instead, a figure stands at the end of the platform, backlit and broad-shouldered. Even from this distance, the posture is familiar. The same self-certainty, the same tilt of the head.
