21. Nyra #2
"Korr seeks a throne he can never sit upon.
" A dense, unyielding gravity hitches to the statement, the delivery pulling the air down toward the deck and making the flooring beneath us pulse with a dark, persistent energy.
"He comes for scrap metal, but he faces the architect of this vessel’s defense.
He will find only locked doors and lethal surprises. "
"He's persistent," I remind him, my thumb tracing a prolonged circle over a healing ridge on his skin. "He’s like a parasite. Once he latches on, he’ll tear the whole ship apart just to find the core."
"Then we shall remove the host," he declares, his gaze locking onto mine.
Communication feels different now. The words flow with a smooth lilt, free from the uneven edges of suspicion or the heavy weight of a captor’s demand.
We have a singular target, a shared enemy who dared to put me in a cage and him in a corner.
I find myself babbling about the layout of the maintenance ducts, and he listens with a quiet, focused intensity that makes the bunker feel even smaller.
"I can get us through the sub-floors." I pull the explanation down into my chest, letting the rough, level friction of the delivery act as a stabilizing anchor for us both.
"The sensors are old. They pick up only environmental shifts if we stay near the heat sinks.
We can reach the galley before they even realize we've left the reactor. "
"You possess a scavenger’s eye for the overlooked," he comments, a small, dark spark of something like pride flickering in his crimson eyes.
"I have a survivor’s eye," I reply, stepping closer until our chests almost touch.
I choose this proximity. I stay within the circle of his reach, watching the orange hue of his veins settle into an even, calm flow. The silence forms a bridge across the distance.
"You are healing well," I note softly, my hand sliding from his arm to his chest, near the mark.
"The Weave is efficient," he states, though his hand moves to cover mine, pressing my palm firmly against his skin. "But the focus is restored because the marker is secure."
“Stop calling me that,” I huff, stepping closer, though my words carry no bite.
"You are the priority," he corrects, his voice rumbling so deeply and with such absolute certainty that I feel the vibration settle directly into my very marrow.
I lean my head back to look at him, realizing that the monster has finally receded, leaving only the man in its place. We are stuck in a dying ship surrounded by killers, but standing here, tucked into the shadow of a Warlord, I feel a strange, fierce sense of belonging.
"We finish this together," I state, lifting my chin to meet his intense gaze. "Together," he agrees softly, closing the remaining distance to seal the promise.
Keeping my palm flat against his chest to absorb his heat, I forgo my usual habit of calculating the quickest exit route or checking my pulse, yet my focus remains entirely on the heavy, synchronized beating of his hearts.
This tether on my sternum feels solid. Something about standing this close to him makes the ship sound different—quieter, calmer—but I file the observation away for later.
There are more pressing things to think about than the way his breathing evens out when I'm near.
I accept the weight of whatever is happening. It feels solid, a grounding shift that sits alongside the survival instincts I've carried since the stasis pod opened.
"You're staring at the mark," Draevik mumbles in a rumble that I feel in my bones.
"I'm looking at you," I counter, keeping my hand on the base of his throat. "The mark is just a signature. You’re the one who followed it through a wall of fire."
A fierce light kindles in his eyes—a recognition of the altered space around us. He stays in my space, his massive fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a gentleness that seems at odds with his raw power.
"The path is clear now," he declares, his gaze locking onto mine. "The goal is the security of this vessel and the end of the vermin who touched you."
I nod, a cold, sharp resolve settling into my chest. I move toward the trauma kit one last time, checking the remaining supplies.
I grab a few extra Sovereign Weave canisters and a couple of those metallic nutrient bricks, cramming them into the pockets of my suit.
Draevik watches my movements, his posture upright and lethal as the Weave finishes its work on his side.
He reaches for the secured emergency cache on the bunker wall, overriding its ancient locks and pulling down a pair of heavy kinetic sidearms—relics from the Hegemony era that look as pristine as the day they were forged.
He checks the power cells with a metallic snap and hands one to me.
The weight is substantial, a cold, comforting promise of violence.
"Do you remember the manual bypass for the ventilation scrubbers?" he asks, regaining its tactical edge.
"I remember how to do it without venting myself into space," I reply, checking the sights on the pistol. "Korr’s crew will be blindsided. They’re used to easy salvage and cowering merchants. They’ve never fought a scavenger and a Warlord in a house that hates them."
"Then we shall introduce them to Virex Prime," Draevik announces, stepping toward the heavy dark door.
I take my place at his side, my shoulder brushing against the healing ridges of his arm. The mark flutters with a robust light, a silent connection I want to keep.
Draevik slams his palm against the door override. The heavy deadbolts thud open, the slab hissing as it retreats into the wall. The hallway beyond looks like a graveyard of flickering shadows and the iterative, distant scream of the ship’s alarms.
"Stay close," he commands, his eyes flaring with a predatory intensity. "Try to keep up," I respond back, my grip tightening on the sidearm.
We step out of the bunker and back into the hunt. The door seals behind us, locking away the heat and the quiet, leaving only the mission ahead. We move as a single unit, two runes ready to burn the intruders out of the ship.
The hunt is on.