Chapter 42
TAKHISS
I’m tearing the workshop apart, hunting for a signature, a tracker, anything, when the comms crackle.
I froze mid-motion, a heavy wrench in my hand. It hits—static first, sharp enough to sting my eardrums, then a voice.
Her voice.
“—Vex—”
Everything stops.
My heart goes still, like the sound sucked all the air out of the garage.
I fumble for the comm switch, twist the dial hard enough to shear it. “Ella? Say again.”
Nothing but the hiss of broken channels. Then—bangs. Shouting. A crash. And her voice again, barely a whisper through the distortion.
“Vex… taken… please—”
The feed cuts.
Dead silence.
For one heartbeat I stand there frozen, the wrench slipping from my numb fingers to clang against the concrete. Then the world narrows down to a single point of rage and fear so sharp it feels clean.
I check the signal origin. It’s faint, jittering through interference. Fringe zone. Novaria system.
That’s all I need.
I leave the ruins of the workshop behind. I override the jump protocols on the nearest transport I can hotwire. The nav display screams warnings I don’t even register.
I’m gone before anyone can stop me.
The jump drive howls through my bones. Space folds into threads of light.
My claws dig grooves into the throttle. My breath’s too shallow. I keep hearing her voice in the static—Vex… taken.
My son.
Gone.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. I burn through every hyperlane in reach, every jump corridor I know, until the panels rattle and the hull screams with heat.
When the drive finally spits me out into realspace, my gut twists.
Because I see it.
Hanging in low orbit, dark and sleek, her name stenciled in weathered white across the hull.
Aces High.
Her signature hum pulses faint on my sensors, like a heartbeat I remember.
Ella’s signal came from here.
They’ve got her.
My landing thrusters shriek as I set down hard beside her dorsal gangway. The airlock seal hisses.
The minute the ramp lowers, I catch the smell—gun oil, metal, burned coffee, and sweat. I know this ship. I’ve bled on her decks.
And there—standing in the hatchway, framed by flickering light—Clint Rogers.
He looks older. Not physically—he's still lean, still sharp—but in the eyes. The kind of tired that doesn’t sleep off.
He lifts a hand, wordless. A steadying gesture.
“Hey, scaly,” he says quietly. “We picked her up off the transit tower. She's frozen through, but she's inside.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s…?”
He nods once. “Alive. But you should breathe before you go in. She’s running on fumes.”
I don’t breathe. I move.
The gangway feels smaller than I remember—low ceilings, cables everywhere, the hum of engines vibrating through my soles.
Voices echo from deeper inside.
“…I don’t care about jurisdiction, Clint. They took him. That’s all that matters.”
Her.
I follow the sound down a narrow corridor until the door slides open into the main cabin.
Ella’s standing in front of the holo console, one hand braced on the table, the other gripping a mug like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
She looks wrecked.
Eyes red, clothes torn at the shoulder, hair a tangled mess of damp curls. There’s grease on her cheek and blood on her lip.
But she’s alive.
When she looks up and sees me, she goes still. The air between us tightens until it hums.
“Takhiss.”
Her voice cracks halfway through my name.
For a second, neither of us moves. I don’t know if I should go to her or keep my distance. My heart’s a hammer in my chest.
“What happened?” I finally manage.
Her throat works. “They took him. Coalition. Ataxian agents. The sterilizer residue was still fresh.”
My claws flex. The sound of metal scraping against metal fills the room.
“Autrua,” I snarl.
Ella nods, eyes bright with fury. “Who else?”
Clint steps between us before I can move. His tone’s calm, controlled. “We’re already running traces. Nefarious found faint subspace chatter out of Novaria—coded transmissions to a diplomatic freighter under Coalition registry. It left orbit six hours ago.”
“That’s him,” Ella says, almost whispering.
Her voice breaks on him.
I look at her, really look. She’s shaking. Not from fear. From exhaustion. From holding herself together too long.
I want to reach for her. I don’t.
Instead, I turn to Clint. “Tell me you’ve got an intercept route.”
He smirks faintly. “Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”
He flicks a control, and a star map flickers to life—a tangled maze of lanes and shadow routes. “They’re headed toward Klyros Drift. It’s neutral. Perfect place to disappear a kid. But if we cut through the black lanes, we can beat them there.”
“How long?” I ask.
“Eight hours.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“Fuel,” Honeybear mutters from somewhere behind a crate. “And maybe a sandwich.”
Clint glares. “Fuel first, sandwich later.”
Honeybear shrugs, chewing anyway. Spewey burbles happily from his shoulder, dripping something corrosive onto the floor.
Ella presses a hand to her forehead. “We can’t just storm a Coalition freighter. They’ll kill him before they hand him over.”
I turn toward her. “You think I care about their protocol?”
“I think you’d rather he be alive than avenged,” she snaps.
The room goes silent.
I take a slow breath. My claws curl tight enough that my palms bleed.
“You think I’d risk him?”
“I think you’d burn everything in your way,” she says softly. “And I think that’s exactly what Autrua wants.”
The truth of it stings.
She looks away first. “I didn’t want to call you.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I step closer. The air between us hums with old tension and new pain.
“You think I’m angry you called?” I ask quietly. “I’m angry you didn’t sooner.”
Her eyes meet mine. There’s a thousand things there—grief, guilt, fire.
Clint coughs from behind us. “If you two are done glaring holes through each other, I’d like to keep the kid alive, yeah?”
Ella pulls away, wiping her eyes. “Right. Work first.”
“Good,” Clint mutters. “Because we’ve got movement.”
Nefarious’ voice purrs through the intercom, smooth as silk over machinery. “Coalition ping confirmed. Diplomatic clearance code. Vessel designation Bright Mercy. They’re running cold, but the AIs onboard are whispering. I can hear them.”
“Creepy,” Honeybear mutters.
“I prefer gifted,” she replies.
Clint glances at me. “You in?”
I look back at Ella. She’s standing straighter now, shoulders set. Broken but unbent.
I nod. “I’m in.”
Hours later, the engines rumble to life. The Aces High surges into the black, cutting through the void like a knife.
I stand beside Clint in the cockpit, watching the stars bend.
Ella’s below deck, recalibrating the scanners, her hands moving like she’s keeping herself from shaking apart.
I want to go to her. To tell her we’ll get him back. That I’ll kill anyone who stands in our way.
But I don’t.
Because words won’t make it true.
Only action will.
Clint’s voice cuts through the hum. “You know, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“You still owe me for Horus IV,” I mutter.
He grins, tired but genuine. “Guess I do.”
He leans back, eyes on the stars. “We’ll get him, Takhiss. She’s tough. You’re mean. And I’m too stubborn to die.”
I almost smile. “Still cynical.”
“Still breathing.”
The comm light blinks once. Ella’s voice filters through, tight but steady. “We’ve got a lock on their trajectory. We’ll beat them to Klyros if we don’t stop.”
I glance at Clint. He nods, flips the throttle.
The stars stretch. The ship hums like a living thing beneath our feet.
The scent of ozone and oil. The vibration of the engines. The faint echo of Ella’s voice through the comm.
It feels like war again.
And this time, I know exactly what I’m fighting for.