Chapter 15
15
M etal bit deep into Maax's wrists. The chains forced him to balance on his toes, shoulders burning as they took his weight. Twelve warriors lurked at the edges of the communal cell. He'd counted them the moment the guards had thrown him in—assessing threats was as natural as breathing.
His ribs screamed with each inhale where the interrogators' fists had struck. Blood dripped down his arm in steady drops, the metallic scent mixing with sweat and desperation. The cell stank of unwashed bodies and fear. He forced his back straight despite the protest from his shoulders. A warrior never showed weakness, even at the end.
Harsh light threw shadows across predatory faces. Most bore the marks of long-term imprisonment… hollow eyes, tension-wire muscles, the desperate energy of caged animals. Each one was a warrior who'd fallen from grace. Each one looked for a chance at redemption. But, unlike him, they weren’t chained. The message couldn't be clearer. He was meant to die here tonight, torn apart by prisoners desperate to prove their loyalty. A convenient accident.
A massive warrior with shoulders as wide as a cargo bay door shifted to his left, testing the angles. Another moved behind him, just at the edge of his vision. He tracked their movements with practiced precision, using the chains to pivot slowly. The dance of predator and prey hadn't changed just because he wore chains instead of armor, and they wouldn’t find him easy prey.
He tested the manacles methodically. They were tight enough to damage but not to fully restrict motion—they wanted him to fight back just enough to make it look real.
The warriors circled closer with each pass. He kept turning, refusing to give them an opening. His shoulders blazed with fire, but he controlled his breathing despite his screaming ribs. The pain faded from his attention, acknowledged, and instantly compartmentalized.
The cell's systems cycled into night mode. None of the prisoners slept. They paced their orbits around him, each rotation bringing them fractionally nearer. The rhythmic sound of guard patrols marked time… the sound of booted feet on metal decking every five minutes during the primary shift. The intervals would stretch to fifteen minutes during the night cycle. And after the final patrol...
Movement flickered in his peripheral vision; another warrior testing his defenses. He wasn’t going anywhere, so they had no reason to rush. The chains clinked as he adjusted his weight, his shoulders burning again. Fresh blood traced familiar paths down his arms.
His throat tightened. He hadn't told Eira he loved her. The words had grown in his chest with each moment they shared, but he'd waited too long. Now she would never know how completely she'd claimed his heart. The sight of her with Emily had filled every empty space inside him.
Emily. His precious, brilliant daughter.
Leaving her alone again made him strain against the chains. Blood welled around the manacles, but he knew Eira would care for her. That certainty ran bone-deep. Eira would love Emily as her own, give her the mother she desperately needed. Grace would be the sister Emily had always wanted.
They would have each other, even if he couldn't be there to see it.
The cell's lighting dimmed further. The prisoners' movements sharpened with purpose. Heavy footsteps approached. The last patrol of the night shift.
Maax's heart slammed against his ribs as he tracked their measured steps. The prisoners stilled, muscles coiling. There would be no more delays after this. No more circling. He read the intention in every tense body.
He sent one final prayer to the gods. Not for survival—that chance had gone the moment they'd chained him up in here.
Instead, he prayed his death would be quick enough to spare Emily a long wait, that Eira would help her understand and heal. The steps drew closer, each step marking another heartbeat of life.
The cell door hissed open.
Massive shapes filled the doorway, and his muscles snapped tight, ready for the attack. But the males who stood there were ones he recognized: V'ash, Aaran, his entire training group. Their battle-hardened faces were set like steel as they filed in, Kirr at their head.
They moved with combat precision. V'ash took point directly before him. Aaran claimed his six. The others spread in a perfect circle, each warrior exactly three steps from his position. They settled into ready stances… their shoulders squared, feet planted wide, hands loose at their sides.
Waiting. Combat-ready. Lethal.
The cell's atmosphere transformed in a heartbeat. Most of the circling prisoners retreated one by one, predatory confidence crumbling into hesitation. These weren't station guards to bribe or manipulate. These were elite warriors, each one a veteran of countless battles. Honor-beads marked them as dangerous even without weapons. Perhaps even more so. Definitely in Kirr’s case.
A massive prisoner—the one who'd been on the edges of Maax's peripheral vision all night—made a final circuit. He paused before V'ash, drawing up to full height.
V'ash shifted to the balls of his feet, head tilting as a cold smile touched his lips. His fingers flexed once, crooking quickly, then relaxed. Bring it on… a warrior's invitation to violence. Everything in his posture promised death, like a weapon waiting to be drawn.
The prisoner's gaze dropped to V'ash's honor-beads, then back to that predator's smile. He must have seen his own death in V’ash’s eyes because he retreated step by step to the farthest corner, as though unwilling to turn his back on such focused menace.
A boot scraped metal behind Maax. Another prisoner had risen, measuring Aaran with clear calculation. Where V'ash loomed like a mountain, Aaran was compact, the smallest of Maax's honor guard. Someone who didn’t know him might think him an easier target than the massive forms of the others.
The prisoner took one step forward. Mistake.
Aaran's response came with brutal efficiency. One moment he was in position, the next his boot swept the prisoner's legs out from under him while his elbow drove up into his throat and jaw. Bone met bone with a sharp crack that echoed off cell walls. The prisoner crumpled without sound, blood streaming from his nose. He crawled back to his place, eyes fixed on the floor.
Not one word was spoken. And not one warrior broke protocol. The message rang clear in the absolute stillness. Size meant nothing to warriors of their caliber. The remaining prisoners pressed against the walls, suddenly fascinated by their own boots. Their predatory anticipation evaporated like atmosphere in hard vacuum.
Maax's heart clenched. Protocol forbade any communication with prisoners accused of his crimes. But they didn't need words. Every warrior who'd trained with him, fought beside him, now stood ready to guard his back one final time.
Even knowing the cost to themselves, the way they’d be viewed for aiding a warrior accused of purism, they'd come.
The night stretched endlessly. None of his brothers moved from their posts as hours crept past. They stood a silent vigil while he hung in his chains, their presence a shield against the death that had seemed so certain.
Dawn cycle approached, bringing the shift change that would force them to leave. V'ash shifted closer as the others prepared to depart, voice barely a whisper.
"Eira's mounted an appeal. We won't let you fall, brother."
The words kindled a spark in Maax's chest. These warriors had his back while Eira fought for him beyond these walls. Perhaps the gods hadn't finished with him yet. His chains might hold him, but his heart remained free to hope.
The corridors of Devan Station stretched ahead like a gauntlet, each step taking Eira closer to a day that could shatter everything. Emily's hand was clammy in hers, the little girl's fingers clutching so tightly they'd gone white at the knuckles. Red Dragon dangled from her other hand, his ribbon askew from being squeezed all morning.
"I still want to go with you," Emily whispered, her voice hoarse from crying through breakfast. "Please? I'll be good. I promise."
Eira's throat was thick with tears, but she couldn't break. Not now. Not when Emily needed her to be strong. "I know you want to help, sweetheart, but the appeal isn't a place for children. You'll be bored there. It’s better here with Grace and Kyle."
Leo walked a few steps ahead, his lanky frame tense with worry. He'd barely spoken all morning, but his quiet presence steadied her. He was so much like his father sometimes—the way he carried others' burdens without complaint, how he noticed everything but said little—that it was like James was still with them.
"But what if Papa doesn't come back?" Emily's bottom lip trembled as she looked up, seeking reassurance. "I want my Papa."
The question made Eira's heart ache again. She hadn't slept more than minutes at a time all night, her mind spinning with the same fear that filled Emily. Every time she'd closed her eyes, she'd seen Maax's face as security dragged him away.
"Don't cry." Grace squeezed closer to Emily's side. "Mommy's gonna fix it. She always fixes everything."
Kyle hugged his datapad to his chest as he walked behind them. "Having more people help makes things better," he said, his voice small but certain. "Like when we fix the recyclers. More people means it works faster." He chewed his lip. "I just wish I knew exactly how much better."
Emily sniffled. "Papa likes fixing things too."
"Yeah." Kyle managed a small smile. "He said he'd show me how the big engines work soon."
Eira's heart squeezed at the exchange, and her stomach churned with a mix of exhaustion and terror. The appeal would start in less than an hour. Tisshel had messaged updates throughout the night. She and Sheena had witness statements gathered, precedents researched, and defensive strategies planned. But would it be enough? From what they'd said, what Kirr had said, the empire took purist accusations seriously.
If the court ruled against Maax...
A burst of laughter cut through her spiraling thoughts. The sound carried from the nursery entrance ahead, sharp and theatrical. Emily's fingers tightened painfully on hers as a familiar voice rose above the general murmur of conversation.
"Oh, I always knew something wasn't quite right about him." Aisha held court among a cluster of women near the nursery door. "The way he was... just so intense. Like, borderline unstable, really. And that poor little girl... taking her in like that, when he clearly had no idea how to be a proper father. I tried to warn people, but no one would listen."
Rage burst through Eira. The fucking balls of the woman to stand there spreading poison after, by all accounts, she'd thrown herself at Maax for weeks... After she'd tried everything she could to break Maax and Eira apart. A red haze built up on her vision as she marched down the corridor, catching several of the nursery staff exchange looks. The nursery manager, Mrs. Harrison's lips pressed into a thin line as she ushered a group of children inside, getting them quickly away from Aisha's performance.
"And really," Aisha carried on, really warming to her theme now, "what does it say about the matching program if they didn't catch Maax? A purist, right here on the station! He could have hurt someone. Could have corrupted who knows how many vulnerable women with his toxic ideology."
Emily stopped dead in her tracks, Red Dragon slipping from her grip to the floor.
"No! My Papa's not bad! He's not!" Her whole body shook as tears spilled down her cheeks. "He reads me stories and fixes my hair and, and... and he makes the monsters go away!"
The circle of women around Aisha turned, gasping as they noticed Emily for the first time. Mrs. Harrison moved faster than Eira would have thought possible for someone her age, crossing the space between them in quick strides.
"Emily, sweetheart!" The grandmotherly woman's voice was warm as she crouched down in front of the crying girl. "I was just about to start building models. Remember those engineering blocks your papa brought in last week? We're going to use those today."
Emily pressed herself against Eira's legs, sobbing harder. "I want my Papa!"
Grace picked up Red Dragon and brushed off his ribbon. "Look, Emily! He needs his special chair. The one we made yesterday?" She tugged at Emily's hand. "We gotta finish it before Papa comes back."
"That's right," Mrs. Phillips nodded. "And Miss Diaz just brought in some new ribbons for decorating. Beautiful sparkly ones."
Two other staff members appeared as if summoned, positioning themselves between the children and Aisha's group. Miss Diaz knelt down to Emily's level, her voice gentle. "Would you like to see the ribbons? There's a gold one that looks just like your papa's honor beads."
Emily hiccuped, her sobs quieting as she looked up at Eira. "Can... can I save one for Papa?"
"Of course you can, sweetheart." Eira brushed tears from Emily's cheeks gently. Every part of her wanted to gather Emily up and never let go, to protect her from every cruel word and sideways glance. But Emily needed normalcy right now, needed the comfort of routine and friends. "Why don't you and Grace go pick out the perfect one?"
Kyle stepped forward, his datapad forgotten at his side. "I'll help too. We can make it extra special."
Mrs. Phillips smiled warmly. "What thoughtful siblings you have, Emily. Come along then, all of you. This chair won't decorate itself!"
Emily allowed Grace to lead her inside, still sniffling but distracted by the promise of ribbons, with Kyle following close behind.
Eira waited until the door sealed behind them before turning to face Aisha. The rage she'd been containing all morning hardened into something cold and sharp. "Quite a change from your behavior at dinner the other night," she said, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "When you were so desperate for Maax's attention."
"I never—" Aisha started, but another voice cut her off.
"Oh please." A redheaded woman Eira remembered from the mate program orientation meeting stepped forward. "We all watched you chase him for months. Showing up at engineering, trying to get assigned to his projects?—"
"And what about the night you tried to get into his quarters," added another woman, her eyes narrowing. "Remember that? When you claimed you had an 'urgent engineering issue' at midnight?"
Color flooded Aisha's cheeks. Several women in her audience exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from rapt attention to something more calculating.
"I was just being friendly," Aisha's voice wavered. "Trying to help him adjust?—"
"Oh fuck off!! Is that what you call stalking now?" The redhead's laugh held no humor. She turned to Eira. "She's been like this since the mate program started. When she couldn't get matched herself, she started targeting specific warriors. Maax was just the latest."
"That's not—" Aisha sputtered.
"Tell me something," Eira asked, looking around. "Why are you always here? I've never seen you with a kid. No reason to lurk around a nursery except to cause trouble for others."
The women around them shifted uncomfortably. One of them took a deliberate step back from Aisha's side. Others followed, the tight circle around Aisha beginning to dissolve.
"I volunteer—" Aisha started, but another woman cut her off.
"Actually, you don't." The speaker was one of the mothers Eira had seen at drop-off before. She had two cute little boys. "I checked when you kept trying to get information about my sons' schedules. The volunteer roster shows no record of you."
Murmurs rippled through the group. Another mother spoke up, her voice sharp with dawning realization. "You told me Marcus was asking for playdates with your nephew. I didn't even question... but you don't have a nephew here, do you?"
"I think," said the redhead slowly, "we should speak with security about unauthorized nursery access."
Aisha's composure cracked. Her gaze darted around the group of women who'd been hanging on her every word moments ago but found no allies in their hardened expressions. "You can't—I would never—" She spun toward Eira. "This is your fault! You and that purist?—"
"That's enough." Leo's quiet voice carried unexpected authority. He stepped up beside Eira, his father's steady strength in every line of his young face. "Mom, we need to go. The appeal starts soon."
Something in her son's tone cut through the rage clouding Eira's mind. He was right. They were wasting precious minutes on Aisha when Maax needed them.
"You know what?" Eira turned her back on Aisha despite her spluttering protests. "You're not worth another second of my time. I have more important things to do than deal with a petty, jealous woman who gets her kicks from terrorizing children."
She strode away, Leo matching her pace. Behind them, she heard the redhead speak again: "Security? Yes, I need to report concerns about unauthorized nursery access..."
The lift arrived with a soft chime. As the doors closed, Leo's hand found hers and squeezed. "You were great back there, Mom. Maax would be proud of you."
She nodded, forcing back the tears that threatened. There would be time for crying later. Right now, she had a warrior to save.