Chapter 7
Torvyn waited in the hallway, arms crossed, patient as a statue. Once I reached him, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor at a brisk pace. I glanced at Kaedren. He nodded once, silently telling me to follow.
I did—until I realized I wasn't going to get very far on the carpeted floor in heels. With a sigh, I kicked them off and slung them over my shoulder.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked.
"On an official tour of the Starbreaker," Torvyn replied. "You have been aboard for several days now, and all you have seen are the bridge, the astrolabe, and the gym." His eye twitched at the last word. "It is time you see what this ship was truly built for."
"Why do I feel like I'm getting a one-way ticket to an airlock?"
Torvyn tutted. He actually tutted. "That is ridiculous."
"Isn't that, like, walking the plank? Or whatever pirates do to prisoners they don't like?"
"We are not pirates. And no—opening an airlock in deep space would cost us precious atmosphere. We would dump you in the recycler."
"Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
Torvyn turned, his expression hard—then it softened, and he winked.
"No harm will come to you, Doctor. In fact, I believe you will be pleasantly surprised by what you learn."
I exhaled and stepped toward him. "Okay. I'm listening."
"The Starbreaker is the flagship of the Zorathi Reach," he said as we continued. "I doubt you have heard of our organization. We prefer to operate clandestinely."
"Why?" I asked. "Clearly, you have money and resources. Building and operating a ship like this must cost a small fortune."
He stopped at a bulkhead door. "The people we help—and the things we do—are frowned upon by the corporations that exert extreme influence over the galaxy."
"Like the one I worked for."
He nodded.
"And that's why you are suspicious of me."
"That is why I was suspicious of you. The information Vaelix provided at dinner has… shifted certain assumptions."
"Shifted how?"
He studied me for a long moment. "It is not the right time to discuss that. He is convinced. I am not—at least, not yet."
He lifted a hand as if to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, then stopped himself at the last second. Our eyes met, his gold gaze intense enough to steal my breath.
Warmth bloomed in my chest—not my chest, deeper than that. Somewhere behind my sternum, where emotion and instinct tangled together. It spread through me like I'd just finished a second glass of wine in front of a roaring fire. Cozy. Content. Happy.
Then he blinked and looked away. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me cold and confused. I opened my mouth to ask what the hell that was, but Torvyn had already turned to the door.
"This next part will not be easy to see," he said quietly. "But you are strong. And it must be done."
I nodded.
He opened the door.
A sharp antiseptic smell punched me in the nose.
The sound hit me next—the rhythmic beep of monitors, the hiss of respirators, hushed voices speaking in a dozen languages I didn't understand.
At least fifty beds stretched from one end of the room to the other.
Bodies lay beneath bandages and glowing medical wraps, tended by men and women in scrubs.
The diversity of alien life was staggering—and among them, I spotted humans.
A human girl—maybe ten—lay in the third bed, her small body dwarfed by alien medical equipment. Burn scars traced her arms in patterns I recognized: shrapnel from a mining explosion. Her eyes were closed, but her fingers twitched, reaching for something that wasn't there.
My throat tightened. I'd seen these injuries before in corporate medical bays. They would stabilize the victims and then void their contracts, which cancelled their insurance. Then they had to pay the corporations back everything spent on their care. My fists balled.
"These," Torvyn said softly, "are the lives the galaxy has forgotten. Those discarded by society. Too weak to contribute. Too poor to afford care. Without our medical teams, these stories would have ended a long time ago."
We walked between the beds, my eyes stinging. I stopped at one bed, my hand hovering over a Xythrian male whose breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Radiation burns. Stage three, maybe four. I didn't know their physiology well enough to help, and the helplessness burned in my chest.
"Where do you find them?" The question came out rougher than I intended.
"Our intelligence network tracks corporate expansion. Wherever new resource harvesting begins, suffering soon follows. If we arrive before the corporate fleets, we evacuate whom we can."
"And if you arrive after?"
Torvyn gestured around us.
A technician approached and handed him a tablet. Torvyn scanned it, signed, and handed it back before turning to me with a faint smile.
"My apologies. Even pirate captains must contend with bureaucracy. Please—come with me."
We left the medical bay and moved through the winding corridors of the Starbreaker. Crew members passed us with purpose in their stride. The ship felt like a beehive—alive, organized, driven.
I was also acutely aware that I was barefoot, padding along beside Torvyn's polished boots like some kind of rescued stray.
"You mentioned you are Knights," I said.
He nodded. "We have sworn an oath to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Corporations make promises they never intend to keep. Governments refuse to hold accountable those who break their laws. Distress calls go unanswered."
"Like my beacon."
"Exactly. The Reach believes the only right choice is the moral one. If someone needs help, it is the duty of the Zorathi Knights to assist."
"That's kind of like the knights on ancient Earth," I said. "Only they had horses and swords."
Torvyn chuckled. "We lack horses. We do not lack swords."
My gaze drifted down past his chest, past his belt. I shook my head hard.
Snap out of it, you hornball. This is important.
"So how does someone become a Knight?" I asked.
"You do not become one," he said. "You are chosen at birth. Our clerics perform a ritual on every newborn. Either you are a Knight—or you are not. Those chosen spend their childhood training."
"That sounds… intense."
"It is," he said, opening another door. "And it is the greatest honor our people can earn. Not all survive the training. Those who do face one final test."
The room beyond was a residential bay—modest living spaces arranged around a communal area. In the center, a teacher read to a group of children, the words of the story glowing in the air as each page turned. A small boy laughed at something, his brown eyes bright with wonder.
"What's the final test?" I asked.
"It measures compatibility with the tether."
"The tether,” I said.
He nodded. "The tether is a sacred bond all Zorathi Knights must join. It connects us to our lifemates. Strengthens us. Completes us."
Something clicked.
Torvyn—the morality.
Vaelix—the mind.
Kaedren—the shield.
Lyrin—the heart.
"That's why the four of you react together," I said slowly. "Your bond is mental and physical."
"Yes. The four of us were bonded when we passed the test. But no tether is complete at four. We require a fifth—someone who brings the whole together."
My chest tightened. "Is that why you saved me?"
"I saved you because you needed saving."
So much for feeling special.
"But," he added, "the Zorathi have an old saying: That which you seek will always find you."
I snorted. "I wasn't looking for you. I was looking for my next paycheck."
"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps you were looking for us without knowing it."
"What would that even look like?" I asked. "What is tethering?"
Torvyn stopped and faced me fully.
"The tether is everything," he said. "When Vaelix is injured, I feel his pain.
When Kaedren stands guard, his vigilance becomes mine.
When Lyrin laughs—" His expression softened.
"I feel joy even when I have no reason for it.
" He met my eyes. "Beginning and end. Life and death.
The transformation from one to many—for all eternity. "
"That's a lot to dump on someone you haven't even taken on a real first date," I said.
"What if I like my oneness? I've spent my entire adult life focused on research.
Emotional attachment was a liability. Either your theories are right, or they are wrong, and you definitely don't let anyone close enough to steal from you.
To hurt you." I forced a smile. "Give me a book and a cat, and I'm happy.
I definitely don't need four alien knights tied to my hip. "
"No invitation has been extended."
"Good. Because I'm perfectly fine on my own."
He smiled. "I did not realize how funny you are, Kira. May I call you Kira?"
"I'm not funny. You're funny. And yes—you may."
"Do you now understand why we are not pirates?"
"Fine," I muttered. "You're not pirates."
"I must return to the bridge," he said—and then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me.
His embrace was warm and solid, like being wrapped in a heavy, muscular blanket that smelled incredibly good. I closed my eyes and leaned into him.
"You are special, Kira," he murmured. "Vaelix believes you may one day complete our tether. You may—but not yet."
I looked up. "Why not?"
"You still have questions," he said softly. "About us. About the tether. About whether you can trust any of this." His thumb brushed my shoulder. "And doubts I cannot erase. You must answer them yourself."
I buried my face against his chest. He was right.
He released me but kept his hands on my shoulders. "Get some rest. I've asked the crew to place a bottle of Solaris Nectar in your quarters."
My eyes widened. "The same one from dinner?"
He nodded.
"Are you sure you can't read my mind?"
He smiled. "Perhaps I can—just not in the way you think."
Torvyn turned and walked away.
Kaedren stepped forward, silent as ever, and offered me his arm. When I took it, he covered my hand with his—just for a moment—before releasing it.
I smiled at him. He smiled back.
And for the first time since I'd woken on this ship, I didn't feel like cargo.