Chapter 2
HRASK
The first thing I notice about Myrza’s border is how small it feels.
Not physically. The fence stretches farther than my eyes care to track, a long, ugly scar of metal and current humming through the dust. The city presses in on both sides, stacked structures and worn-out infrastructure leaning like they’re tired of pretending this line matters.
But the air feels tight.
Like everything here is coiled up, waiting for someone to twitch wrong.
I roll my shoulders as I approach my assigned post, claws tapping idly against the plating on my gauntlet.
The sound is soft but steady, a quiet rhythm that matches the pace of my thoughts.
The air tastes like hot metal and scorched grit, dry enough to scrape the back of my throat with every breath.
Ground duty.
I flex my fingers once, feeling the familiar strength coil beneath scales and muscle, and try not to think about what I’m not doing.
Not boarding.
Not fighting.
Not being useful.
“Try not to start anything.”
I can still hear my handler’s voice, flat and irritated.
I had leaned back in that chair like I didn’t have a care in the galaxy. “Define anything.”
“Anything that gets reported,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “You’re here to observe.”
“Sounds boring,” I told him, letting a grin pull at my mouth.
“It is boring. That’s the point.”
I remember the way I tilted my head, studying him like he’d just said something profoundly stupid. “And if someone gets in my face?”
“Then you de-escalate.”
That’s when I laughed, low and rough, because we both knew that wasn’t happening.
Now, standing at the fence, I bare my teeth slightly at the memory.
Wrong assignment.
Or maybe the perfect one.
My gaze drifts across the Alliance side, cataloging movement out of habit. Smaller bodies. Tighter formations. Everything about them screams control instead of dominance.
Then I see her.
She’s already watching me.
She doesn’t look away when our eyes meet, and that alone tells me more than anything else could.
Most do.
Most flinch, even if it’s subtle.
She doesn’t.
I tilt my head, studying her openly now. She’s compact, built like tension has been carved into her frame and left there. Her stance is flawless—balanced, efficient, ready.
And her eyes—
Sharp. Focused. Alive with something she’s trying very hard to keep contained.
Volatile.
I grin.
Easy to provoke.
I step closer to the fence, slow enough to make it deliberate. The current deepens as I approach, vibrating faintly against my skin.
“Hey,” I call, my voice carrying easily as I plant my feet. I hook my thumbs into my belt, posture loose and careless on purpose. “You the one who threatened to vaporize someone’s eyes yesterday?”
Her expression doesn’t change, but her shoulders tighten just enough for me to catch it.
“Depends,” she says, her tone flat but edged. Her hand settles on her weapon, not drawing it, just reminding me it’s there. “You planning on volunteering?”
I let out a low chuckle, rolling my neck once. “Tempting,” I reply, glancing at her sidearm before meeting her gaze again. “But I’m attached to mine.”
“Then keep your distance,” she snaps, shifting her weight forward half a step. “Regulations aren’t optional.”
I take another step closer, slow, testing. The fence buzz spikes, the faint buzz crawling along my senses.
“Or what?” I ask, tilting my head, watching her eyes sharpen. “You going to follow through this time?”
A few soldiers nearby start paying attention now, their movements slowing just enough to signal interest.
Good.
Her grip tightens slightly on her weapon.
“Back off,” she says, her voice dropping lower, quieter, but sharper. “Last warning.”
I lean forward just enough to invade her space without crossing the line, my voice dropping to match hers. “You ever actually do it?” I ask, watching her pupils tighten. “Or do you just talk a lot?”
“There’s a line,” she says, each word precise. “You’re standing on the wrong side of it.”
“Feels pretty arbitrary from here,” I reply, letting a smirk tug at my mouth.
“It won’t when you’re missing parts.”
That earns a real laugh from me, a rough sound that pulls from deep in my chest.
Not because it’s funny.
Because she means it.
I straighten, rolling one shoulder as I step back just enough to ease the pressure.
“You’re tense,” I say, watching the way her chest rises with a controlled breath. “That’s not good for you.”
“Concerned?” she asks, one brow lifting slightly.
“Not even a little,” I answer easily.
“Then stop talking.”
I shake my head once, slow. “Can’t. I’m curious.”
Her eyes narrow. “About what?”
I hold her gaze, letting it linger just long enough to make the answer land.
“You.”
That hits.
Not visibly, not in any way most would catch, but I see it. A tightening. A flicker.
“Get a hobby,” she says, her tone sharpening again.
“I had one,” I reply, shrugging one shoulder. “They reassigned me.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It is,” I agree, my grin widening. “Which means I get to make it everyone else’s problem.”
She exhales slowly through her nose, like she’s forcing something down.
“Move,” she says. “Before I decide you’re worth the paperwork.”
I hold her gaze for a moment longer, then give a lazy half-salute and step back.
“See you around, Lieutenant,” I say, letting her rank roll off my tongue just enough to make it sound like I’m enjoying it.
“Stay on your side of the fence,” she replies, her voice tight.
“No promises.”
I turn before she can respond, feeling her stare burn into my back for a second longer than necessary.
I don’t look back.
I don’t need to.
—
“Vardo.”
I glance sideways as my commanding officer approaches, his boots kicking up small puffs of dust with each step.
“You lasted all of five minutes,” he says, stopping beside me, his tone flat with expectation.
“Closer to four,” I reply, glancing back toward the fence. “You’re being generous.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Didn’t take it as one.”
He folds his arms, studying me. “What did I tell you?”
“Don’t get reported,” I say.
“And what do you think that was?”
I shrug slightly, claws tapping once against my gauntlet. “Conversation.”
“You call that de-escalation?”
“No,” I admit, glancing back at him. “But it wasn’t escalation either.”
His eyes narrow.
“You’re walking a line.”
“I like lines.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
He watches me for another moment, then exhales sharply through his nose.
“Stay within parameters,” he says. “We don’t need incidents.”
“Then they shouldn’t have put me here,” I reply.
“They put you here because you’re effective.”
I glance back toward the fence again, where she’s resumed her patrol, every movement controlled, deliberate.
“Not at this,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
He leaves it at that and walks off, clearly done.
I don’t move.
I just watch her.
She’s disciplined.
More than I expected.
The anger is there—I can see it in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her hand hovers near her weapon—but it’s contained. Directed.
That makes her dangerous.
And interesting.
The wind shifts slightly, carrying dust and heat across the fence as the patrol cycles continue. Time passes the way it always does here—slow and grinding, marked by movement patterns and the subtle shift of shadows across the ground.
By the next duty shift, I’ve already made up my mind.
I take position early, planting myself directly across from where I know she’ll be assigned. The ground is warmer now, heat radiating up through my boots, the metal of the fence shimmering faintly in the distance.
I hear her before I see her.
Measured steps. Controlled pace.
Then she comes into view, and for a fraction of a second, something in her expression tightens when she sees me already there.
Recognition.
Annoyance.
Maybe something else.
“Miss me?” I call out, letting my tone carry just enough amusement to needle her.
She doesn’t slow as she approaches, her gaze locking onto mine.
“Relocating you isn’t in my job description,” she says, her voice cool. She stops opposite me, stance already set. “Unfortunately.”
I spread my hands slightly, casual. “I’d take it as a compliment if you tried.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, her lip curling faintly.
“Hard not to,” I reply. “You keep coming back.”
Her jaw tightens.
“I go where I’m assigned,” she says.
“Sure you do,” I murmur.
Her hand twitches again on her weapon, not drawing, but close enough.
“You’re testing boundaries,” she says. “That’s going to end badly for you.”
“Maybe,” I admit, stepping just a fraction closer. “But not today.”
“And you’re so sure of that because…?” she presses, her eyes narrowing.
I smile slightly. “Because you haven’t shot me yet.”
Her gaze sharpens, something calculating settling behind it.
“Don’t mistake restraint for inability,” she says.
“Oh, I’m not,” I reply, my voice lowering. “I can tell you’re capable.”
That lands differently.
She doesn’t answer right away, and in that space, the tension thickens, stretching tight between us.
“Then act like it,” she says finally.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask.
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
I meet her gaze fully.
“Figure you out.”
Her expression hardens.
“Don’t.”
“Too late.”
She exhales slowly, shoulders rising and falling with her respiration.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she says.
“I know enough,” I reply.
“No, you don’t.”
“I know you’re angry,” I say, watching her reaction closely. “I know you’re disciplined enough to hide it. And I know you’re waiting for an excuse.”
Her eyes flash.
“You’re projecting.”
“Maybe,” I concede.
“Definitely.”
I shrug. “Still right.”
Silence settles again, thick and charged.
“You should request reassignment,” she says. “This isn’t going to go the way you think.”
I grin slowly.
“I hope not.”
Her gaze hardens further.
“You’re going to regret this.”
“Probably,” I admit. “Still doing it.”
“Doing what?” she presses.
I lean in slightly, just enough to close the distance without touching the fence.
“Standing right here,” I say. “Every time.”
Her lips press into a thin line.
“Then I’ll be right here too,” she replies.
“Good.”
We hold eye contact, neither of us backing down, the space between us humming with something that isn’t just tension anymore.
Because whatever this is—
It’s not routine.
And I’m not done with it yet.