Chapter 16
VOLTAR
The warehouse stinks of rust and old ghosts. It's the kind of place where secrets rot and bones don’t stay buried.
Perfect.
I walk the perimeter, boots echoing off the cold concrete, every step a check-in with the dozen cloaked drones we’ve planted. Tiny things, smart as hell. Motion-sensitive, auto-trackers, thermal-synced. A full defense net wired tight and silent.
I’m halfway through running the third scan cycle when Sable shows up.
“You weren’t gonna tell me?” she asks, arms crossed, leaning against a steel support beam.
I grunt. “Didn’t want you here.”
“Tough.”
She steps forward, eyes hard. Her jaw’s set the way it gets when she’s already decided to ignore me.
“You think I can’t handle myself?”
I scan the rigging over her shoulder. “I think I’d rather die than see you take a hit that was meant for me.”
She breathes out, sharp. “Then stop trying to do this alone.”
The silence between us crackles, heavy as storm tension. I hate how right she is. I hate that she knows it.
Lazarus blinks into view on the embedded wall-screen, that usual half-smirk dialed back for once.
“Intel’s solid,” he says. “Tugun's crew will ping the decoy signal. Once the data exchange happens, they’ll make a grab.”
I nod. “We intercept, extract, and flip the op.”
“And if they don’t come alone?”
I tap the pulse trigger at my hip. “They won’t leave breathing.”
Sable shoots me a look.
“What?” I mutter.
“You’re very reassuring,” she deadpans.
Lazarus cuts in. “Alliance will monitor all frequencies. But we're hands-off unless the roof caves in.”
“That’s a mistake,” I growl.
“Politics,” Lazarus shrugs. “They still don’t want war. Not yet.”
“I’m not asking for war,” I say. “I’m asking for backup.”
Sable steps in. “We have backup. Each other.”
Lazarus nods. “She’s more than a witness now, Voltar. She’s your partner.”
My jaw clenches.
That word. Partner.
It fits her too damn well.
“Fine,” I bite out.
But inside, I'm twisted up. Not from fear. From something worse—wanting to keep someone whole in a world built to shatter.
She joins me at the control terminal, brushing my hand as she links in her compad. “You okay?”
I don’t answer.
Because no. I’m not.
I’ve fought wars. Killed legends. I’ve watched worlds burn from orbit and kept walking.
But I’ve never had this.
Not something to protect.
Someone.
Someone who sees through the scars and the bluster and gives a damn anyway.
She’s here. In this. With me.
And that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt.
I glance at her—focused, fire-eyed, brilliant in the glow of the terminal lights.
If this goes south, they’ll aim for her first.
I swallow hard.
She looks at me. “We’ve got this.”
I nod.
But I don’t believe it.
Not fully.
Not when I finally have something to lose. I have some solace, though. The plan is simple. Dangerous, reckless, and stitched together with equal parts desperation and raw instinct—but simple.
We stage a data drop. Fabricate a conversation about Sable’s “new testimony location.” Pipe it through a feed we know they monitor. Let them think they’ve intercepted something golden.
Then we wait.
Which, for me, is worse than a firefight.
I prowl the warehouse like a restless beast. There’s too much air. Too much silence. Every creak of the beams, every hum of the drones, makes my skin itch.
I sit. Then stand. Then sit again.
My wrist-blaster’s already calibrated, but I disassemble it anyway. Fingers working without thought, muscle memory from a hundred wars. Click, slide, twist. Reassemble. Test the weight. Repeat.
Not enough.
So I sharpen the vibro-knives.
Not because they need it—but because I do.
The edge of steel. The clean bite of stone against blade. It steadies me.
Sort of.
Then I polish my armor. Slow, methodical. Each plate scrubbed to a dull gleam. My reflection catches in the chestplate—my own scarred face staring back. Eyes darker than usual. Mouth tight.
I hate waiting.
Footsteps behind me. Light. Sure.
Sable.
I don’t look up. Just keep wiping.
She kneels beside me without a word. Her hand finds mine. Warm, steady.
“Voltar,” she says.
I stop moving.
Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “You’re humming.”
I blink. Didn’t even notice. Low, guttural—a war chant from Varkar-9. Something we sang before breaching enemy gates.
I close my eyes. “Force of habit.”
She leans closer. “Whatever happens, we do this together.”
I finally meet her gaze.
So much fire in her. It steals my breath sometimes.
I nod. “You’re the bravest damn human I’ve ever met.”
She smiles, soft and crooked. “You say that like you’ve met a lot of humans.”
“I have.” I run my thumb along her wrist. “None like you.”
She swallows, lashes fluttering. “You scared?”
“Terrified.”
She laughs, just once. “Good. Me too.”
We sit like that, armor and skin, war and warmth.
Two broken things finding meaning in each other.
I’ve never wanted peace.
Never trusted it.
But with her hand in mine, I can almost believe it’s possible.
Almost.
Because right now, we’re not fighting for survival.
We’re fighting for something bigger.
Something worth bleeding for.
And that changes everything.