Chapter 16
JAV
The walls of the Redscale safehouse are gray durasteel, windowless, soundproof, and stink faintly of old oil and plasma burns—exactly the kind of place you want when you need to make someone talk.
The foot soldier sitting in front of me is shaking, and for good reason. He’s got a split lip, dried blood on his temple, and the sort of expression that says he’s weighing which kind of death will be faster—mine, or the League cartel’s.
“I’m only gonna ask you once more,” I growl, pacing slow circles around him. My claws are extended, not for show. “Where are they holding Lexit?”
“I swear, boss, I didn’t know they’d hit the depot!” His voice cracks. “I was just—just running pickups!”
“Then you’re useless.”
He flinches. “Wait, wait—wait! Okay! I heard them mention Level-Seven Docks on Tarskine Wharf. Industrial zone. Off-grid. No cams.”
I stop pacing. Turn slowly. Fix him with a stare that could crack ferrocrete.
“Who’s running the operation?”
“Uh… guy named Krex. League of Unaligned Species. Ex-pirate, now calls himself a ‘logistics commander.’”
I nod once, the motion precise and final.
“Garkin.”
My lieutenant is already standing by the door. His face is pale, sweaty, and tight with stress.
“Put together a quiet team,” I say. “Two shuttles, EMP rigs, and extraction pods. This isn’t a warning shot. It’s an autopsy.”
“You’re sure?” Garkin mutters. “You realize the Alliance barely looked the other way last time. You start lighting up cartel safe zones, they won’t ignore it.”
“I’m not giving them time to retaliate,” I snap. “Lexit’s one of ours.”
“You mean like I’m one of yours?”
My claws flex at my sides. Garkin holds my gaze.
I exhale hard. “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“No, you’re thinking like a male who just got kicked out of a warm kitchen with homemade waffles.”
I glare.
“You want to help her?” Garkin continues, voice softer now. “Then stop treating this like a damn turf war.”
I snatch the compad from the table and crush it in one hand. It sparks once, then dies.
“I have one week,” I hiss, pacing again. “One week to become a teacher, a father, and a man she doesn’t have to fear.”
Garkin groans, dragging a claw down his face. “We’re doomed.”
“Shut up and get me the strike team.”
He heads for the exit, muttering something about cupcake icing and plasma grenades.
I stare at the broken compad for a long moment.
And for the first time in years, I wonder if I’ve finally met a battle I can’t win by force.