Chapter 38
JAV
The dropship doesn’t touch down—it hovers just long enough for me to jump. Boots slam into damp gravel. The sky above Glimner is a bruise of violet and steel, thick with static. Lightning spiderwebs across the clouds, and I let the rumble settle into my bones.
Behind me, Garkin’s voice crackles in my earpiece. “Jav, this is stupid. You need backup. You’re walking into—”
I rip the comm out and toss it into the mud.
No distractions. No hesitation.
This isn’t a mission.
This is retribution.
The League compound rises out of the Trenell cliffs like something grown, not built—obsidian slabs fused into rock, glowing lines of heat venting from beneath. There’s a shimmer over the roofline—a cloaking field, old tech, easily bypassed if you know the code.
I know the code. I helped install it back when I still wore the Nine’s mark like a badge of honor.
I crouch at the edge of the ridge, wind biting through the seams of my armor. My hand rests on the hilt of my vibroblade. On my hip, the plasma pistol hums softly, synced to my bio rhythms. Each heartbeat sharpens my vision.
I descend through a hidden vent—old Redscale smuggler tunnel carved decades ago and long abandoned. Or so the League thinks.
They forgot who made these shadows.
I am the shadow.
The tunnels reek of mold and recycled heat. My boots hit the floor without a sound. Ahead, two guards—Tilkan brutes, big but slow. One has a slouch; the other shifts too often. Bad discipline.
I move in close. Fast. Efficient.
One throat slit. One nerve bundle crushed.
Bodies drop. No sound.
Their weapons remain holstered. They never saw me coming.
The compound interior is a maze of steel and firelight. I navigate by memory—past the old cell block we used for debtors, down the forgotten mess hall where executions once played out over dinner.
I count my breaths. One. Two. Three.
Another patrol. Another three bodies.
I don’t fire the plasma pistol unless I have to. Too loud. Too bright. The blade is cleaner. More personal. And right now, I need personal.
I pass through the lower corridor and feel the shift in energy—colder, more sterile. Detainment level. There’s a hum here. Power cells lining the walls. A heartbeat beneath the floor. The League has moved operations underground—paranoid, secretive.
Cowards.
Good.
It makes this easier.
I take out the next guard mid-sentence. His comm fizzles as he gurgles on his own tongue. I drag the body into a supply alcove, strip the access key.
The door reads Sector 6: Civilian Intake. The kind of euphemism you only use when you’re doing something unforgivable.
I tap the panel.
It opens.
And my world stops.
She’s there.
Kairo.
Sitting on the cold floor, back against the wall. Her wrists are bound, her cheek bruised. But her chin is lifted. Her eyes—those eyes—are sharp. Alive. Watching everything.
In her lap—Ben.
He’s curled into her side, small and brave and shaking. He looks up at her like she’s the only star left in the galaxy.
For a second, I can’t move.
My hand drops from the blade. My breath catches in my throat like I’ve been sucker punched.
She feels me before she sees me. Her head turns—slow, deliberate.
Our eyes meet.
And for the first time in days, something fragile and raw flickers between us.
She whispers my name.
Not Mr. Kuraken. Not Redscale. Not Jav the warhound.
Just—
“Jav.”
It breaks me open.
I take a step forward—then the alarms shriek.
Red lights strobe across the walls. A voice booms over the intercom in Tilkan and Standard. Breach. Detainment level. All units engage.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Kairo doesn’t flinch. She lifts her chin higher.
“Took you long enough.”
I kneel in front of her, hands working fast on the bindings. Ben stares at me with wide eyes. “You’re real,” he whispers. “You came.”
“I said I would,” I murmur. “You okay, little man?”
He nods once, fierce.
I unlock Kairo’s cuffs. Her wrists are raw. I press my forehead to hers, just for a second.
“We’re getting out,” I say.
Her voice is hoarse but steady. “You came alone?”
I nod.
She doesn’t ask anything else. Just grabs Ben’s hand and says, “Then let’s go.”