Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
F orty minutes later, Roan leaned against the doorframe, watching Julia move around the galley with the kind of casual confidence that was mesmerizing. The way she moved was calming, even soothing—graceful without effort. His eyes lingered for a moment longer than he intended.
“Something smells good,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Although that could just be you. You’ve got me so distracted I’ve forgotten the basics—like food, assassins, and weapons of mass destruction.”
Julia glanced over her shoulder, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “All in my job description,” she quipped.
Roan grinned, pushing off the doorframe and crossing the compact, but efficient galley. He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“And what exactly is your job description, Dr. Marksdale—besides driving me insane with desire?” he murmured, the warmth of her body pressing against him unexpectedly comforting.
“To make the impossible seem possible,” she replied, stirring whatever had been in the package she had heated. “It’s a skill I’ve picked up over time.”
Roan chuckled softly. “So, miracle worker it is.”
Julia gave a mock sigh. “Not quite. But I’ve had practice at making scary, complicated things seem less terrifying.” Her voice softened, taking on a more reflective tone. “That’s what made our crew special. We balanced each other perfectly. There was a chemistry between us that’s rare.”
Roan’s curiosity sharpened. He gently released her, leaning against the counter. “What kind of chemistry?”
Julia nodded and carried their food and drinks to the table. He followed her. Her face lit up as she thought about his question, and Roan found himself captivated by her expressions—so open, so honest.
“We each brought something unique to the team. It’s surprising in many ways. I think the second Project Gliese team was actually better suited for the mission than the first in many ways, especially considering what has happened since we went through the gateway,” Julia said, settling into her chair. “Josh was the serious one—grounded and steady. He could connect details that others missed and make them fit like puzzle pieces. He also made you feel like you could accomplish anything. And he cared. You knew he cared not just about the mission, but about those who were there with him.”
Roan nodded thoughtfully. A leader who inspired trust instead of fear. Not the usual training tactic for the Legion. The Legion inspired loyalty, but only because the consequences would be fatal to those who weren’t.
“Then there is Ash,” Julia continued, “He balanced Josh perfectly. More daring, willing to push boundaries and question everything. He was also the best pilot I’ve ever seen—always one step ahead, anticipating what others needed before they even realized it themselves.”
“Better than I am?” Roan teased, raising an eyebrow.
Julia chuckled. “I’ll have to see you in action before I decide, General. But Ash did set the bar pretty high.”
Roan took a bite of his food, filing that away as a challenge. “And Sergi? What’s his story?”
Julia laughed, shaking her head. “Sergi… He’s fearless. The kind of person who can make you laugh even when everything is falling apart. I swear he could build an engine out of a paperclip and a rubber band if that was all he had. His humor is a very deceptive shield, though. He’s deadly—one of the most skilled and creative people I’ve ever met.”
Roan had seen both characteristics in the man in the short time he had known him. His respect for Sergi grew. It was a rare combination of sharp wit and lethal precision that made him glad Sergi was on his side and not his father and uncle’s. Something told him that even a Turbinta assassin would be hard pressed to match the man’s skills.
“And your other companion. Mei?”
Julia’s expression softened, and a flicker of worry crossed her face. The shift was subtle but unmistakable.
“She’s the only one we haven’t found,” Julia said quietly. “The universe is a big place, but… I hope she survived. Sergi said they found her escape pod but it was empty—well, sort of. I guess there was an alien inside it. The video Sergi saw showed she was alive, but—” She shook her head. “I would like to know what happened to her.”
Roan’s chest tightened at the raw emotion in her voice. He made a mental note to ask Dorane if he’d heard anything about Mei. Dorane had connections in places most couldn’t even imagine. If Mei was out there, he’d know or could find out.
“She was our anchor,” Julia said, her voice full of warmth. “Quiet and brilliant. The only one of us who left a family behind. Mei reminded us why our mission mattered—she brought the humanity to everything we did. She kept us grounded.”
Roan watched her closely, intrigued by the depth of her connection to her crew. He’d never had that kind of bond with anyone, except perhaps Dorane.
Dorane LeGaugh… Roan’s thoughts drifted briefly to the enigmatic man. If anyone could help them now, he would be the one. Dorane had always been unpredictable—a mix of ruthless pragmatism and surprising loyalty. Their relationship was complicated, born out of mutual respect, shared battles, and a thread of common circumstances.
Inexplicably, Dorane’s eyes during their last visual conversation had unsettled him. The way they kept flicking off-screen, as if something—or someone—was commanding his attention. Roan’s instincts told him that Dorane was in deeper trouble than he was willing to admit.
“And you?” Roan asked, bringing himself back to the present. “What did you bring to the team?”
Julia laughed, shaking her head. “Out of the five of us, I was probably the naivest—and definitely the least qualified. No military training, no special combat skills… I was just the dreamer, the same as my father, with a PhD and a lot of book sense.”
Roan leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’re not doing half bad for a dreamer. You managed to escape both the Legion and the Gallant without military training. That’s impressive.”
Julia sighed, her expression turning wistful. “My dream was to find out if humans were alone in the universe. That’s what drove me, what got me through the tough times. And now that I’ve found my answer… I’m not sure what my next dream is supposed to be.”
Roan’s stomach twisted at her words. He couldn’t shake the thought that her dream might turn into a nightmare if they weren’t careful.
“Well,” he said after a moment, his tone deliberately light, “if you’re out of dreams, maybe it’s time to borrow one of mine.”
Julia arched an eyebrow. “And what’s your dream, General?”
“To survive,” Roan said simply, his voice low but steady. “To make sure you do, too.”
Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. Julia’s lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes warm and full of unspoken trust. “That’s a dream I can get behind.”
Roan chuckled, raising his metal cup in a silent toast. “Then here’s to survival—and to new dreams.”
Julia clinked her metal cup against his, the tension easing into something lighter, warmer—a quiet partnership forged in trust and shared purpose.
Dorane’s face flashed briefly in Roan’s mind again. He made a mental note to stay on guard. Whatever storm was brewing on Cryon II, they were walking straight into it.
And this time, there was far more at stake than just his own life.
* * *
Haul Barer II Freighter: Enroute to Cryon II
The storage room reeked of stale air and musk from the assorted containers, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the walls. Rows of metal crates were stacked in uneven piles, the labels faded and scratched beyond legibility. Steam hissed softly from a cracked ventilation pipe, curling upward like ghostly fingers before dissipating into the gloom.
Zoak sat on an overturned crate near the back of the hold, the only illumination coming from the dim light above him and the small display of the tablet in his hand. The combination of his black combat suit and his skin coloring absorbed the shadows, making him almost invisible against the dull metal bulkheads.
The door opened with a soft hiss. Zoak’s eyes snapped toward the entrance, his body still yet inwardly coiled with the kind of readiness that could explode into violence at a moment’s notice.
Hodge stepped inside, glancing around nervously before crossing the room, his boots clanging softly against the metal deck. He carried a small tray of food, which he set on a crate next to Zoak.
“Anything new?” Zoak asked, his voice low and gravelly.
Hodge nodded, wiping his palms on his trousers. The young Garian’s eyes darted around, never resting on Zoak for long. His molted blue and green scaly skin looked dull and grayish in the bad lighting.
“Word is that the Legion is making a move, but no one knows where yet. There’s been a lot of chatter, but nothing specific.”
Zoak leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing. “And Plateau?”
“The younger General Landais escaped,” Hodge said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “The Plateauans put up a fight. Rebel forces joined in. Word is that two of the Ancients were there and helped him.”
Zoak’s lips curled into a slow, feral smile. “Where are they now?”
Hodge swallowed nervously. “I don’t know. They disappeared. You should know that the captain was saying that Dorane knows there’s a bounty on him. Dorane’s being extra careful. Rumor is, he’s initiated new security protocols on Cryon II.”
Zoak’s smile didn’t falter. “He can hide behind his protocols and mercenaries all he wants. He’ll still bleed all the same.”
Hodge shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the tray. “The supply shuttle you requested is ready. Boil will have the last of the security clearances an hour before we dock. The clearances change regularly. It couldn’t be done sooner.”
Zoak nodded. “Make sure it is ready. If you and Boil mess this up, there won’t be enough of you left to find.”
Hodge paled but nodded quickly. “It’ll be ready.” He hesitated, then backed toward the door, keeping his eyes on Zoak the entire time. The door closed behind him with a soft hiss, leaving Zoak alone once more.
He sat in silence, staring thoughtfully at the door, his mind already moving several steps ahead.
Pulling up his tablet, he tapped the screen, bringing up a schematic of Cryon II. The artificial moon was an engineering marvel, with levels that spiraled deep into its metal core. The top levels housed docking bays, administrative offices, and merchant hubs, but the real heart of Cryon II lay far below.
The core—a labyrinthine maze of machinery and environmental systems—regulated the artificial atmosphere and gravity. The moon’s survival depended on it. Destroy the core, and Cryon II would collapse in on itself, imploding from within.
Zoak traced a path on the schematic with his finger, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“Kill Dorane first,” he murmured. “Then burn the whole thing to the ground.”
He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. The thought of the chaos that would follow sent a dark thrill racing through him. The destruction of Cryon II would send a message—one that couldn’t be ignored. That not even the most powerful person was invincible.
Not the great Dorane LaGaugh nor Director Andri Andronikos.
Now there was something else. Something that intrigued him even more than Dorane’s death or the destruction of the moon.
The Ancients.
He tapped his finger against the edge of the crate, a slow, deliberate rhythm. He’d heard the stories—warriors with skills that defied explanation, leaders who had brought empires to their knees. If even half the stories were true, they were the kind of opponents he’d dreamed of facing—and conquering.
Roan Landais. The Ancients. Dorane LaGaugh. Director Andronikos. Each name would be a notch toward elevating his prominence among the elite. Zoak’s smile turned predatory. He had no preference. He’d face any of them. All of them, if the opportunity arose.
He could almost hear the clash of blades in his mind, feel the adrenaline surging through his veins. The idea of testing his skills against theirs made his blood hum with anticipation.
“I wonder how good you really are,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s find out.”
Zoak closed the schematic, rising to his feet with a smooth, fluid grace, ignoring the food Hodge brought. He never ate anything he didn’t pick out. His movements were almost too quiet, too controlled, those of a predator stalking its prey.
The freighter shuddered beneath him, a reminder that they were nearing Cryon II. He would only have to wait a little longer. Soon, Dorane would die.
And if he was lucky…
He would get to face an Ancient Knight before the whole moon imploded.
* * *
Three hours later, Zoak crouched on the edge of the supply crate, his breathing slow and even, his sharp eyes following every flicker of movement. He had always thrived in the shadows, where every action had to be precise, every breath calculated. Patience had been drilled into him from the first day of his training on Turbinta—discipline, silence, and death in a single breath.
Hodge and Boil weren’t disciplined. They weren’t killers. They were opportunists, greedy and careless. The kind of men who could be useful, but only for a short time.
Zoak had no tolerance for short-term tools. They became liabilities far too quickly.
He tapped the side of his thigh, fingers grazing the hidden knife tucked beneath his sleeve. He didn’t mind cutting loose ends. In fact, he preferred it.
Memories flickered across his mind. His training in the black spires of Turbinta, where survival meant turning on your closest ally before they did the same to you. The nights spent in the labyrinthine city, crawling through shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Turbinta had raised him to be a ghost, a hunter, a weapon wielded by the highest bidder.
He’d killed his first target at nine. His mentor had laughed when Zoak slit the man’s throat and said, “Remember this—no one is indispensable.”
It was a lesson he’d taken to heart—as he slit his master’s throat.
Hodge and Boil would learn that lesson now, too.
The door opened with a hiss, and Hodge entered first, his steps hesitant. “Zoak, we’re almost there,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked nervously around the room, already sensing something wasn’t right.
Boil followed behind him, lugging a small data pad. “Security clearance updated,” Boil muttered, tapping on the screen. “We’re good to go in ten minutes. The shuttle is prepped.”
Zoak smiled faintly. “Ten minutes. That’s all I need.”
He moved fast—a blur of motion. His knife flashed in the dim light, the sharp edge slicing cleanly across Hodge’s throat. The man barely had time to gasp before he collapsed, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath him.
Boil’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening to scream, but Zoak was already on him. He drove the knife into Boil’s chest, twisting it with practiced precision. Boil crumpled, his data pad clattering to the floor.
Zoak wiped the blade on Boil’s shirt, his expression calm, almost serene. He crouched, retrieving the data pad and scanning the updated security clearance. Everything was in order.
No loose ends.
He straightened, tossing the bodies into a nearby crate and sealing it. The freighter’s engines rumbled beneath his feet, signaling their imminent arrival.
The timing was perfect.
Zoak strode toward the shuttle bay, the data pad tucked securely under his arm. His boots echoed in the empty corridor, the sound a steady, deliberate beat. Each step brought him closer to his target.
Twenty minutes later, the shuttle landed with a soft thud, the hiss of the hydraulic systems filling the small cabin. Zoak rose smoothly, his movements fluid and controlled. He adjusted the collar of his coat, his hand briefly brushing the hilt of the knife hidden beneath it.
The door slid open, revealing the interior of Cryon II. The docking bay was vast, a labyrinth of steel and shadows. Rows of supply crates lined the walls, and a cluster of freighters rested on the far side of the hangar, their hulls gleaming under the dim overhead lights.
The hum of the station’s environmental systems filled the air, blending with the distant clatter of machinery. Zoak inhaled deeply, his eyes scanning the area with practiced precision.
A small, satisfied smile played on his lips.
Dorane thought Cryon II was a fortress, impenetrable and untouchable—just as he considered himself.
Dorane was wrong.
Zoak stepped out of the shuttle, his boots clicking softly on the metal floor.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Dorane LeGaugh would die.
And if the Ancients were here, Zoak would be more than happy to deal with them, too.
The shadows welcomed him, and Zoak disappeared into them with a deadly grace, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.