Page 76 of Reaper Said Mine

“The room has been this temperature since you entered.”

“Then I am retroactively warm.”

He gives a low sound that might be laughter if it belonged to anyone less dangerous. “A fine answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting on that subject during an active interview.”

“Very well, little journalist.”

I look up. “Careful.”

His eyes sharpen, but not with anger. “With what?”

“With making that sound affectionate.”

“It was.”

That should not knock the air out of me. It does anyway. I sit there with my fingers on the edge of my compad, surrounded by the hum of his station and the heat of his quarters, while my mind tries to reconcile exclusive interview, warlord, soulmate, and affectionate into one sentence that does not sound like a nervous breakdown.

I clear my throat. “Let’s move to the Helios Combine.”

The softness leaves his face so fast that I almost regret the pivot. Almost. Then I remember the raw footage of the Combine executive calling workers assets, and regret becomes something colder.

“Ask,” he says.

“Your attacks on Combine holdings are often described as vengeance raids. Is that accurate?”

“Yes.”

The word is quiet, brutal, and absolutely useless from a media strategy perspective.

I lean forward. “Do you want to expand on that before my editor has an aneurysm of joy?”

“Your editor may choke on his joy.”

“He’d monetize that too, but answer the question.”

Gnash’s claws tap once against the metal table. The sound is soft, yet it seems to travel through the whole room. “The Helios Combine destroyed ships, colonies, families, and then filed losses under operational necessity. They strip worlds and call it development. They chain workers with contracts and call it employment. They starve refugees slowly enough that no one has to call it slaughter. When I raid them, I do it because they taught me that power only respects cost.”

“That sounds like revenge.”

“It is revenge.”

“And policy?”

“Sometimes.”

“That distinction matters.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His nostrils flare, and I feel the temperature of the room change though nothing mechanical shifts. “You ask that as if I am stupid.”

“I ask it as if you’re dangerous.”

His anger pauses, caught by the precision of the answer. Then he sits back, eyes narrowed. “Explain.”