Chapter Thirteen
Malvoraxis Veil, on the edge of the Tri-Spiral Galaxy
The ship shuddered as it broke through the upper atmosphere of Malvoraxis Veil, the viewport bleeding from star-streaked black into a dim, ashen twilight.
Madelaine felt it first. Not the gravity, which seemed iffy as they descended toward the planet. And not the atmosphere, which was rather depressing so far.
Perhaps it was expectation. Or maybe it was the wild and mysterious anticipation of the coming package retrieval on this desolate and unforgiving planet.
Whatever it was pressed firmly inside her chest like a warning.
Now that they had crossed the upper atmosphere leading to the planet surface, Madelaine needed to remain completely silent.
Not a word. It took a certain mindset in order to instruct one’s brain to basically shut up and try to be invisible for the foreseeable future.
Madelaine knew this might be the toughest challenge she faced on this journey. As if to thwart her before she’d even stepped foot on the planet, the mental chant she’d been practicing voiced itself without her permission.
“Don’t speak,” she said under her breath—
Then promptly stopped herself. For space potatoes’ sake, pay attention!
Too late to take it back, but quiet enough that maybe—maybe—the ship’s systems swallowed it.
Jack didn’t look at her. His hands tightened on the control yoke, knuckles whitening just slightly.
“I heard you,” he murmured, voice steady. “So, you’re done talking now, right?” She’d made him clearly understand the gravity of her speaking in this realm. He sent her a quick side glance that was not angry, but definitely worried.
Madelaine nodded, swallowing hard.
Done.
The landing platform rose to meet them like a slab of polished bone—wide, circular, and carved with lines that pulsed faintly blue beneath the surface.
Symbols, maybe. Or warnings. There were no welcoming lights or signals.
Given what little she knew about this planet, anything welcoming was certainly not an expectation she had.
The ship settled with a soft, final hiss on the platform they’d been directed to before their descent into this dark, misty world.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Jack exhaled audibly. “Remember, stay behind me, half a step when we’re walking. And don’t make eye contact if you can help it.”
Madelaine nodded again. Still silent. She was good.
The hatch opened with a low mechanical sigh, and the air that greeted them was colder than it should have been—dry, metallic, carrying the faint scent of stone long untouched by sunlight.
The ship’s ramp lowered and extended until it touched the stone surface of the platform. Black spires pierced a dim, ash-colored sky on all four corners of the structure behind the landing pad.
Jack walked down the incline and out of their ship. Madelaine paused a beat or two before following him, a half step behind, as was required here, until they both stood on the flat surface. Jack put a hand in his front pocket and pressed a button on the remote to let the ramp retract.
They did not want any unwelcome visitors looking around inside their ship during this visit.
In the distance, Madelaine saw more dark, solemn, towering structures dotted across the harsh landscape. Malvoraxis Veil was an ancient, gothic world wrapped in perpetual twilight, with mist rising unexpectedly here and there without rhyme or reason.
Their architecture was cathedral-like, but instead of worship, it exuded control. Her research had told her its whispered name was The Silent Dominion. It was considered a place where voices were measured—and some were never heard at all.
Like Madelaine’s, because she was female.
Don’t speak, she reminded herself silently.
It wasn’t long before they both realized the platform wasn’t empty. It only looked that way at first.
Figures emerged from the shadows as if the dim light had decided to give them shape—tall, draped in dark, structured garments that fell in sharp lines. Their faces were uncovered, but expressionless. And their eyes motionless, but missing nothing.
All of them men. All of them watching Jack. None of them acknowledging her. Not even a flicker. Was this the welcome wagon? If so, they had a lot to learn, in her not so humble opinion.
Madelaine’s skin prickled. It wasn’t just rudeness. It wasn’t even deliberate avoidance. It was as if she didn’t exist. Suck it up, buttercup. You knew this coming in.
A single figure stepped forward, his garments marked with thin, metallic threading that caught the low light like veins of silver.
“State your purpose, off-worlder,” he said.
His voice carried easily across the platform. Not loud. Just absolute.
Jack stepped forward, boots striking the surface with a controlled, deliberate weight. He didn’t rush, but he also didn’t hesitate to speak.
“I’m here for a sanctioned retrieval,” he replied. “An authorized exchange. I seek the Obsidian Reliquary and the Archivist of Silence within.”
The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your designation?”
Jack gave it—an alias, a forgettable name and one they had conjured up on their way here—smooth and practiced. No one needed to know their true identities, even though she was fairly certain they didn’t care one iota about her name.
The man’s eyes slid past Jack.
Not to her but through her.
Madelaine held her breath. Instantly, she dropped her gaze to the stone platform.
One wrong movement. One wrong sound. They’d be done before they even got started. And Jack’s life might possibly balance on it.
“Your conveyance carries two life signatures,” the man said.
Madelaine’s pulse stuttered.
Jack didn’t miss a beat. “It carries what is required.”
There was a pause on the platform. The kind that stretched. The air itself seemed to lean in. Don’t speak.
Madelaine shifted her weight slightly, the unfamiliar gravity catching her equilibrium just enough to put her off balance.
Her boot scraped against the platform before she was able to correct and keep from falling on her face.
She wasn’t supposed to draw attention to herself.
That was one of the other rules for women on this planet.
Her boot had made very small sound. Barely anything. But in the stillness around them, it echoed like a vast crack in a sheet of glass.
Every figure on the platform stilled. And yet no one turned toward her. No one acknowledged her existence.
But something changed and their attention sharpened.
The man in front of Jack tilted his head just a fraction.
“Your vessel,” he said slowly, “produces…irregularities.”
Madelaine’s lungs burned. Really? Your vessel? Did that mean her? Was she the vessel? Probably. Stop it. Don’t forget your purpose or why you’re here.
Also, don’t breathe. Don’t move. And for the love of all the space potato farms in the universe, don’t speak, call attention to yourself and, most of all, try not to exist.
Jack took another step forward, just enough to pull focus back to himself.
“It is only atmospheric interference,” he said calmly. “Your veil disrupts standard systems. You know that.” In other words, this place had wonky gravity. They knew it and she was only human after all—well, Alpha, but in this instance, she felt it was the same thing.
The man studied Jack for several seconds. Long enough that Madelaine’s pulse roared in her ears. Were they about to be cast aside and kicked out for something that was technically their own planet’s fault or, worse, eliminated?
Then—
“Correct.”
The word dropped like a verdict. The tension didn’t disappear.
It simply shifted and then it seemed the egregious matter of her imbalance because of their erratic gravitational anomalies was no longer an issue.
Awesome, she thought sarcastically.
“You will proceed to the lower corridor,” the man continued. “You will be escorted. You will not deviate.”
Jack inclined his head. “Understood.”
A beat.
Then—
“Maintain control of your vessel.”
And this was not a suggestion. It was definitely a warning.
Jack didn’t respond to that. He didn’t have to. His vessel understood clearly her role here, whether she liked it or not. And she did not.
“Follow me and do not deviate from the path.”
“Of course,” Jack said. His fingers at his side signaled once more for her to stay right behind him.
Madelaine followed Jack carefully, taking slow, measured steps, doing her best to match his cadence as they moved along. She pressed her lips together as if that would help her remember she needed to remain absolutely silent.
Every instinct in her screamed to assess, to catalog, to participate—but participation here might mean death. For Jack. For them both. She would keep that front of mind at all times.
The remaining figures on the landing pad parted just enough to create a path. It was a very narrow one and likely deliberately so.
The man who’d “greeted” them walked slowly, seeming to glide along.
They walked in silence through the dark, craggy opening of the foreboding structure.
Ten steps. Twenty. She kept count. Only when the platform edge fell behind them, swallowed by shadow, did Madelaine release unconsciously the smallest, most controlled breath she had ever uttered. It barely made a sound. Barely.
Jack’s hand moved—quick, subtle—brushing against hers for half a second.
A warning. Or reassurance. Or perhaps both.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t dare.
Ahead, the entrance to the city yawned open like a mouth of black stone and something inside seemingly waited for them, judging them before they even arrived. Well, likely only judging her.
Madelaine pressed her lips together tighter.
There were others in the cavernous space. Men only. All of them seemed to turn and watch the procession of three. Two of which were off-worlders. She was not acknowledged, but she doubted she was unseen. Not really.
And for the first time since they landed, she wasn’t sure that was better.