Chapter 19 #2
The three of us fell silent, watching the shimmer in the air. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between myself and that clearing as possible. But running wouldn't solve anything. Declan had found me once; he'd find me again.
"Someone needs to get closer," Ahrick said finally. "See what we're dealing with."
"Too dangerous," Nansar replied immediately.
"It won't be dangerous for me." Ahrick met Nansar's gaze steadily. "Hewes isn't looking for me. Neither is anyone else, as far as I know. I'm just another prisoner trying to make it on this rock."
My stomach dropped. "Ahrick, no. We can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm volunteering." He gave me a small, reassuring smile. "I'll play it casual. Just a prisoner out hunting. If it's the Alliance, we'll find out. If it's not..." He trailed off, the implication heavy in the air.
Nansar studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing the risks. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Stay alert. At the first sign of trouble, you run. Understood?"
Ahrick nodded and began methodically removing his weapons. First came the axe from his back harness—a well-worn blade that had clearly seen its share of battles. He handed it to Nansar with a meaningful look. "Keep this safe for me."
Next, he pulled two knives from sheaths at his belt, then another from his boot. The blades clinked softly as Nansar accepted them, his expression growing more troubled with each weapon Ahrick surrendered.
Finally, Ahrick unholstered his blaster, checking the charge one last time before passing it over. "Can't walk in there armed to the teeth. Need to look harmless. Just another scavenger."
Nansar's jaw tightened as he secured the weapons. "You're making yourself vulnerable."
"I'm making myself believable." Ahrick's voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "A prisoner with this much weaponry would raise questions. One with nothing but his wits? That's just survival."
I watched the exchange with growing dread, realizing Ahrick was stripping away every means of defending himself. If things went wrong, he'd have nothing.
Ahrick checked the single short blade still attached to his belt, then straightened, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a casual stroll rather than walking into danger.
As he started to move away from our hiding spot, I grabbed his arm. "Be careful."
He squeezed my hand briefly. "Always am."
Then he was gone, stepping into the clearing.
We watched from our concealed position as Ahrick made his way across the uneven ground, each step deliberate and unhurried. For a moment, nothing happened—just the whisper of wind through dead grass and the distant cry of something predatory. Then reality itself seemed to shudder.
A low hum built in the air, making my teeth ache. The empty clearing rippled like water disturbed by an unseen hand, and suddenly a ship materialized before us—the cloaking technology disengaging in a cascade of distorted light that made my eyes water.
Nansar's hand shot out, gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Trogvyk. That's a Trogvyk vessel."
The ship was smaller than I'd expected but infinitely more menacing—sleek and predatory, all angular lines and dark metal that seemed to drink in the light.
It looked like something designed by someone who understood that death could be beautiful.
A hatch opened with a pneumatic hiss that sounded like a serpent's warning, and figures began to emerge.
They were massive—easily seven feet tall, with thick, hairless skin that gleamed a sickly green-gray in the dim light.
Trogvyk. To me they looked like hairless cats, if cats had been stretched on a rack and pumped full of muscle and malice.
Each one carried a blaster and they moved with the coordinated precision of trained soldiers.
They surrounded Ahrick in seconds, a closing circle of weapons and hostile intent.
"Easy, easy!" Ahrick raised his hands, his voice carrying back to us with just the right note of nervous surprise. "Just out hunting. Didn't mean to stumble onto anyone's territory."
One of the Trogvyk barked something guttural and sharp—a language that sounded like rocks grinding together. Ahrick shook his head, playing confused with an actor's skill. "Just a prisoner, trying to survive like everyone else on this hellhole."
The Trogvyk exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. Then the ship's hatch opened wider, and another figure stepped out.
My heart stopped.
Declan.
He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, with that same cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth like a private joke only he understood.
His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore clothing that probably cost more than most people earned in a year, absurdly out of place on this prison planet.
But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold.
Those calculating, predatory eyes that had looked at me like I was property to be appraised and acquired.
The eyes that had haunted my nightmares.
It took everything in me not to scream.
"Nansar," I whispered, my voice shaking so badly I barely recognized it. "That's him. That's Declan."
The change in Nansar was immediate. Every muscle went rigid, his body transforming into something coiled and deadly. When I looked at his face, I saw something I'd never seen before—pure, murderous rage.
"I'm going to kill him," Nansar said, his voice so low and deadly it barely sounded like him. Each word was a promise carved in stone. "I'm going to tear him apart with my bare hands."
I grabbed his arm, holding him back even as my own fury threatened to overwhelm me, even as part of me wanted to let him go, wanted to watch Declan suffer. "Not yet. There are too many."
Down in the clearing, Declan circled Ahrick slowly, a smug smile playing at his mouth. "Well, well. What do we have here?" His voice was smooth, cultured—the same voice that gave speeches on freedom and justice while keeping people as slaves. "You're a long way from Fange City, friend."
"Just hunting," Ahrick repeated, maintaining his casual demeanor despite the blasters pointed at his head. "Didn't realize this area was claimed."
"Everything on this planet is claimed by someone." Declan stopped in front of him, tilting his head curiously. "You look familiar. Have we met?"
"Doubt it. I keep to myself mostly." Ahrick shrugged, the picture of unconcerned indifference.
Declan studied him for another long moment, and I held my breath, terrified he'd see through the act.
Then he smiled—that same cold, calculating smile I'd seen hundreds of times, the one that never reached his eyes.
"You know what? I believe you. You're just an unlucky prisoner in the wrong place at the wrong time.
" He waved to the Trogvyk. "Bring him. He'll fetch a nice price in the gladiator pits. "
My stomach lurched. The gladiator pits. If they were anything like the gladiators of ancient Rome, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
More figures emerged from the ship like ants from a disturbed nest. A dozen total—half hairless cat aliens, and the other half Romvesian. There had been one on the Alliance shuttle, with kind eyes and a gentle manner. My heart clenched, knowing that nice alien no longer existed, thanks to Declan.
Two of the Trogvyk grabbed Ahrick's arms, and he didn't resist, still playing the part of a confused prisoner who'd stumbled into bad luck.
Nansar's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with barely controlled fury.
"We can take them," he hissed, his tactical mind wrestling control from his rage.
"Trogvyk and Romvesians—they're mercenaries, not warriors.
They rely on their weapons like crutches.
Ahrick could cut through half of them before they even drew their blasters. With the element of surprise..."
"There are twelve of them," I whispered back, reality check delivered with a heavy dose of dread. Thirteen if you counted Declan, but he didn't count. Declan had never gotten his own hands dirty in his life.
My mind betrayed me, flashing back to the Welati games—Nansar's body broken and bleeding, his pale skin a canvas of purple and black. The memory made my chest tighten with protective instinct.
But when I looked at him now, really looked, I couldn't find a single trace of those injuries. The bruises that had painted his torso like a violent watercolor? Gone. The cuts that had wept blood? Vanished, as if his skin had never been broken at all.
He wasn't human. He didn't heal like a human. And watching him now, coiled and ready to strike, I knew he didn't fight like one either.
"Twelve overconfident mercenaries who think they've already won." His eyes tracked every movement below. "If I can circle around, come at them from behind... but we need something to split their attention. A distraction."
"A distraction," I echoed, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. Because I already knew what—or rather, who—would make the perfect bait.
"No." Nansar's voice was steel. He'd read my face like an open book. "Absolutely not."
But the plan was already forming, inevitable as gravity. Declan hadn't come all this way, hadn't risked landing on a prison planet crawling with the galaxy's most dangerous criminals, for Ahrick. He'd come for me. If I showed myself...
"It's the only way," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
"Chloe—"
"He wants me, Nansar. That's the whole reason he's here. If I walk out there, every single one of them will forget Ahrick exists. You'll have your opening."
"And you'll have a dozen blasters aimed at your head."
"Not if you're as fast as I think you are." I met his gaze, channeling every ounce of confidence I could muster, even as my pulse hammered against my ribs. "You'll protect me."