Chapter 14
KRAJ
The Combine attaches weight to everything they do—even their shadows fall heavy.
I know it the second I step into the meeting chamber at Wildwood’s central hub.
The air smells like sterilized steel and sharp citrus, the kind of artificial cleanliness that doesn’t belong on a frontier world.
Too many uniforms, too much polish, not enough grit.
Relok greets me with a smile sharp as a blade. He’s Alzhon—slick skin the color of burnished copper, ridged cheekbones, and those damn eyes. Alzhon eyes never blink at the right time, always lingering too long, like they’re peeling back your layers.
“Kraj,” he purrs, his voice smooth and venom-laced, “trade liaison, yes? How fortunate that we have someone with your… experience in place.”
My scales itch under his stare, but I smile anyway, teeth bared just enough to warn without confirming. “Fortunate, yeah. Timing’s everything on Arkosh.”
We circle each other verbally for a while, his questions dressed in courtesy but lined with steel.
“How reliable is Wildwood’s output?”
“Solid,” I answer. “Droid labor keeps it efficient.”
“And the independent contractors?” His gaze sharpens, darting toward the console where Luna’s command logs would usually show. “Do they log shipments properly? No… errors?”
I feel the snare in his words, the way he wants me to stumble. My pulse hammers, but my mouth keeps moving. “Combine oversight makes sure of that. You know how it is—no shipment leaves without three signatures and a sensor sweep.”
He hums, low and satisfied, though his eyes still cling to me like burrs. He doesn’t believe me. Not fully.
The entourage behind him moves restlessly, sleek drones humming as they scan Wildwood’s systems, tapping into comm towers and logistics hubs.
I feel the weight of their search like claws pressing against my back.
I know exactly where those scans will go—through Luna’s command logs, through her manifests, through every line of data she touches day after day.
And if they find something out of place…
I keep my face impassive while my hand, hidden in my sleeve, sends a pulse down the datajack at my wrist. The falsified reports trickle through the back channels I rigged last night, replacing Luna’s logs with sanitized versions.
Shipment numbers shifted. Energy spikes smoothed. Solie’s name, Luna’s ID—scrubbed clean.
When Relok finally steps back, his smile stretches wider. “Efficient,” he murmurs, as though testing the taste of the word. “Almost too efficient.”
“Better than sloppy,” I say, and force my shoulders to stay relaxed.
He chuckles, low and amused. “We’ll see. The executive expects loyalty. Discretion. You’ll deliver, yes?”
I meet his stare head-on, my own smile sharp. “Always.”
That night, back in my hideout, the walls feel closer than usual. The old vent rattles, the dust tastes bitter, and the only light is the terminal’s glow. I’m halfway through scrubbing the last traces of Luna’s logs when the holo-call sparks to life.
Targen’s face materializes above the console, his scaled features lined, his voice like gravel dragged over steel.
“You met the attaché?”
“Relok,” I grunt. “He’s sniffing harder than a starving scavenger. But the data’s clean. No trace of Luna.”
“Good,” Targen says. “Keep it that way. The Combine exec is on the edge. A push, and he’ll tip.”
I narrow my eyes. “Tip where?”
“Toward the Alliance,” he says flatly. “And if that happens, Arkosh goes with it. The Coalition cannot afford that. So you’ll nudge him the other way.”
I know what “nudge” means. I’ve heard it a hundred times, carried it out more than I care to admit. Threats. Blackmail. Blood on the walls if that’s what it takes.
But my stomach knots. My claws curl into my palms.
“And Luna?” The words slip out before I can stop them, rough and low.
Targen’s frown deepens. His golden eyes narrow through the static. “Irrelevant. Unless she becomes inconvenient.”
My chest tightens, breath grinding in my throat. The way he says it—it’s a knife hidden in silk. A reminder. A threat.
I don’t show him the snarl clawing its way up my throat. Don’t show him how close I am to tearing the terminal apart. I just nod once, sharp. “Understood.”
Fury is a fire that eats everything in its path.
By the time the holo sputters out and Targen’s scaly face disappears into static, my whole body trembles with it.
I don’t salute. I don’t even nod. I just end the call mid-flicker, a breach so dangerous I can already feel the shadow of it hanging over me.
They’ll notice. They always do.
My claws flex and clench, the tips cutting into my palms until blood wells up hot and slick between my fingers. I welcome the sting. Pain is honest. It doesn’t lie the way Targen does, the way I’ve been forced to.
I storm out of the hideout, the door slamming against rusted hinges. The night air slaps my face, sharp with desert dust and the faint sweetness of nocturnal blooms. My lungs burn with it as I walk, fast and aimless, boots crunching against broken cobblestones.
Every corner I turn feels the same: shadowed alleys, flickering lamps, the low hum of Wildwood’s generators. I keep moving, trying to outrun the voice in my head that repeats the word irrelevant.
Luna. Solie. Irrelevant.
The Coalition will never see them as anything but obstacles. Loose ends to cut. That’s how I used to see people too. Until her.
A growl rattles in my chest, deep enough to vibrate my ribs. My fists ache, blood dripping onto the ground in small, dark spots that the dry dirt swallows whole.
I can’t stop moving. Hours stretch. The dual moons climb and drift, their pale light spilling over rooftops, making the world look brittle and strange.
I’m a soldier, a spy, a killer. I’ve been all those things so long I don’t know who I am without them.
But none of it means a damn thing if I can’t keep her safe. If I can’t keep them safe.
By the time I circle back to her building, the sky is bleeding into gray at the horizon. My body aches, my claws are sticky with dried blood, but the fire hasn’t dimmed. It’s only settled deeper, like molten stone waiting to erupt.
I scale the outer stairs two at a time, silent despite my size. Her door is locked, but that never stopped me. I slip inside, shutting it behind me with a care that feels almost obscene after the violence roaring through me.
The apartment smells like her. Warm skin, faint lavender, the sweetness of Solie’s blankets mixed with something distinctly Luna—sharp and soft all at once. It hits me harder than any battlefield, this fragile domesticity I don’t deserve.
I move down the short hall, claws dragging lightly against the wall, until I reach her bedroom.
And there they are.
Luna curled on her side, hair spilling like gold across the pillow. Solie tucked against her chest, small hand clutching the fabric of her mother’s shirt, their breaths synced in the rhythm of sleep.
For a long moment, I just stand there, the sight of them slamming into me with more force than any war machine ever managed. My chest tightens, my throat closes. This is it. This is what I’ve been circling, what I’ve been trying to deny.
Mine.
Not because the Coalition told me to protect them. Not because it’s part of some mission. Not even because blood might tie me to the child.
But because the bond is already there, fierce and unshakable.
I cross the room slow, careful, every step deliberate. I don’t want to wake them. I don’t want to break the fragile peace stretched over this moment. I ease myself down onto the bed beside Luna, curling my body around hers without disturbing her hold on Solie.
She stirs faintly, murmuring my name in her sleep, the sound so soft it cuts me in half. My claws hover over her arm, afraid to touch, then finally settle against her skin with a gentleness that feels foreign to me.
The fury ebbs, replaced by something deeper, heavier. Possessiveness, yes, but not the ugly kind. The kind that says: these are mine to protect. Mine to bleed for. Mine to keep breathing in a galaxy that wants to chew them up.
I lower my head, breathing in the scent of her hair. My lips brush the back of her shoulder before I can stop myself.
A vow carves itself into me, wordless and absolute.
No more lies. No more secrets.
But not yet.
First, I have to finish this game. Complete the mission… or twist it so hard it collapses in on itself, leaving no one able to use it against me. Against us.
I’ll burn every bridge the Coalition built. I’ll slit every throat Targen sends my way. I’ll dismantle this web strand by strand until there’s nothing left to snare her.
And when it’s done, when the war stops clawing at my heels—I’ll tell her everything.
Until then, I hold her tighter, my body wrapped around both of them like a shield, eyes wide open in the dark.
Watching.
Waiting.
Vowing.