7. Nyra #3
I jab at his chest plates. The metal is freezing, a sharp contrast to the heat I felt at the restricted doors earlier.
It feels like touching the surface of a frozen moon.
"Give me back my ship. Give me back my things.
Let me go, and we can both go back to our lives.
You can go back to being a terrifying relic, and I can go back to being a free woman. This doesn't have to be a war."
His hand moves then—a blur of obsidian. He grabs my wrist, his grip firm but careful, and holds it away from his chest. The contact sends a jolt through the etched mark, a sudden, electric heat that steals my breath.
More than just fear, it’s something else—a wild, frantic energy that makes my skin tingle where he touches me.
It’s as if the mark is trying to fuse my skin to his.
"The Harrow hails from a lesser species, and you have outgrown her." He locks his gaze onto mine. "You belong to Virex Prime now. There is no 'back,' Nyra. The universe has moved on while you were playing in the dirt of the fringe worlds."
Hearing him say my name feels like a sharp jab to my ribs.
It sounds like a claim. Like he’s tasting the syllables and deciding where they fit in his world.
I hate how much it affects me. I hate the way the mark responds to his voice, moving with a warmth that resolves into a connection I didn’t ask for.
"My name doesn't belong to you." I try to pull my arm back. He lets go instantly, stepping back as if the contact affects him just as much as it does me. He looks at his own hand for a second, his fingers flexing, before his gaze snaps back to mine.
"Eat your sustenance." His command returns to that cold, distant register. "The ship requires you to be at full capacity. Your weakness serves no one."
"Full capacity for what?" I shout after him, but he’s already moving toward the exit. He gives no explanation, leaving the question suspended in the heavy silence.
He turns and walks out before I can get another word in. The door slides shut, and the mag-lock engages with a final, heavy thud. The corridor’s violet effulgence fades into the dim, stagnant light of my room.
I’m alone again. I remain standing amid the emptiness of the room, my chest heaving, my wrist still tingling from where his fingers gripped me.
My heartbeat shifts into a frantic drum in my ears, racing at a tempo that diverges from the anger I’m supposed to be feeling.
A traitorous reaction unfolds—a total biological surrender that makes me want to scream.
"Idiot," I mutter, rubbing my wrist. "He’s an alien who wants to use you as a component. Get it together. He is a machine with a pulse."
Snatching the protein block off the table, I eat it angrily, tearing into the bland, dense material as if I’m trying to bite him.
Every swallow feels like a small victory.
I’m proving that I’m still in control of my own body, even if the room I’m in belongs to him.
I need my strength. Whatever he’s planning for my "capacity," I need to be ready to fight it with everything I have.
As I eat, I reflect on the way the ship reacted to me today.
I reflect on the doors opening and the lights guiding my path.
While I may be a prisoner, I'm also a part of the loop now. If I’m part of the loop, that means I have access to the system—even if it’s only because the ship is acting behind Draevik’s back.
Virex Prime follows its own agenda, and for some reason, it wants me out of this room.
I scan the locker again. My tools are in there.
K-Seven is in there. Tomorrow, I’m going to use what I learned today.
I’m going to find the terminal that controls the mag-locks in this wing.
I’m going to get my drone back, and then I’m going to find a way to make Draevik Rhyx regret the day he ever pulled me out of the void.
I finish the water, the cool liquid settling in my stomach but doing nothing for the heat still buzzing under my skin.
I lay down on the sleeping dais, staring up at the ceiling.
My heart rate finally starts to calm, but the memory of his eyes burns into my eyelids.
They are cold and piercing, as if he were trying to unearth a piece of history buried beneath my skin.
I’m one step closer. I can feel it. The ship is learning me, but I’m learning the ship, too.
Every mechanical sigh, every flicker of light, and every surge of heat fits into the puzzle.
And once I find the crack in the armor, I’m gone.
I'll take the Harrow; I'll take K-Seven, and I'll leave this ancient monster to his archives.
I just wish I knew why my heartbeat fills my body like static every time he looks at me.
It’s the mark, I tell myself. It’s just the mark reacting to him.
It is independent of the way his voice drummed in my chest or the way he stood just a little too close.
It’s a glitch—an unauthorized variable I will delete.
I close my eyes, Virex Prime’s undulating tone pulling me toward a restless sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, the scavenger wins. Tomorrow, I will find the way out.