Chapter 10
Niki
They were going to kill him.
Tomorrow. At dawn. They were going to end his life because they'd decided he was too broken to save.
Danny's face flashed through my mind—not as he'd been at the end, pale and bleeding out, but as he'd been before. Laughing. Alive. Whole.
I'd had no choice with Danny. I would have given anything—my career, my life, everything I had—for even the smallest chance to save him.
Just one chance.
That's all I'd wanted.
But there had been no experimental treatments left to try. No miracle cures. No last-minute reprieves. Just the slow spread of his blood on the pavement, and me kneeling there helpless, watching my brother die.
Enslak wasn't dying.
His body was healed. His heart beat strong and steady beneath my palm. He was alive, and they were choosing to end that life because it was inconvenient. Because he was damaged. Because saving him would be too hard.
"No," I whispered, finding his hand again. "No, I won't let them. I won't."
But what could I do?
I was nobody. A human detective who'd gotten lucky on one mission. What power did I have against the Alliance Prime and her family?
None.
I sank down beside the bed, still gripping Enslak's hand, and felt something crack open inside my chest.
The anger came first—hot and vicious, burning through my veins like acid. How dare they? How dare they look at this warrior, this male who'd survived horrors I couldn't even imagine, and decide he wasn't worth the effort? That his life was disposable because healing him would be too difficult?
My free hand curled into a fist against my thigh.
I wanted to scream at them. Wanted to grab Charick by his perfectly pressed uniform and shake him until he understood that the male lying here wasn't just some broken soldier to be discarded.
He was a person. He'd fought and bled and suffered, and he deserved better than this cold calculation of worth.
But the anger couldn't hold. It never could.
Grief rose up beneath it like a tide, drowning the rage in something deeper and more terrible. Because I knew this feeling. I'd sat before, holding another hand, feeling this same helpless fury at the universe's cruelty.
And I'd lost.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall, but my throat was so tight I could barely breathe.
"I couldn't save him," I whispered to Enslak's still face. "I couldn't save Danny. I tried—God, I tried everything—but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough."
His hand was warm in mine. Alive. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths.
"But you're not dying," I said, my voice breaking. "You're here. You're alive. And they want to take that away because it's too hard? Because they've decided you're too damaged?"
The anger surged again, tangling with the grief until I couldn't tell them apart.
"No," I said fiercely, leaning closer. "No. I won't let them do this. I don't know how yet, but I'll find a way. I promise you, Enslak. I'll find a way."
The door hissed open.
I turned, expecting Kavak or Charick, but it was George. He moved to the monitors, his expression carefully neutral as he checked the readouts.
"Have you tried everything?" I asked, my voice raw. "Is there really nothing else?"
George's hands stilled on the console. "I've tried everything within my capabilities, yes.
The Garoot Healer can mend flesh and bone.
We can repair physical trauma that would be fatal to most species.
" He turned to face me, genuine regret in his eyes.
"But psychological damage like Enslak has suffered...
that's different. The mind isn't tissue we can simply knit back together.
The conditioning he endured, the trauma—it rewrote neural pathways, created patterns that reinforce themselves. It's beyond what healing can reach."
"But he's still in there," I said, gripping Enslak's hand tighter. "I know he is. When he looked at me earlier, George, I saw him. Just for a moment, but he was there."
Something flickered across George's face—a strange expression I couldn't read.
"What?" I pressed, standing. "What is it?"
George hesitated, his gaze shifting between me and the monitors. "His brain wave patterns," he said slowly. "They were different this last time."
My heart stuttered. "Different how?"
He pulled up a holographic display, showing jagged, chaotic lines.
"This is what his patterns have looked like since the conditioning—erratic, fragmented.
" He zoomed in on a brief section where the lines smoothed out, became almost rhythmic.
"For exactly 1.3 seconds, when he saw you, his patterns stabilized.
That's not random neural firing. That's recognition. "
"Then there's hope," I said.
"There's a theory about Vaktaire bonding," George said, already moving toward the medical supplies.
"About mate connections that transcend normal psychological barriers.
When a Vaktaire finds their mate, the connection operates on a level deeper than conscious thought.
It can break through walls nothing else can reach. "
I stared at him, my breath catching. "Wait—are you saying you think we're... mates?"
George paused, his hands hovering over the medical equipment. "I don't know," he admitted. "The science on Vaktaire bonding is still largely theoretical, especially when it comes to human-Vaktaire pairs. But the brain waves don't lie. Something about you reaches him in a way nothing else does."
He turned to face me fully, his expression serious.
"It might be the mate bond. Or it might be what you both faced together on Merisalle—trauma can forge connections that run deeper than anything else.
Shared survival, shared pain... those experiences create neural pathways that mirror bonding patterns. "
"But you think I can reach him," I said, needing to hear it clearly.
"I think you might be the only one who can," George said quietly.
The door opened again. Binwee stepped inside, her expression fierce and determined.
Since coming aboard the Bardaga, we'd become friends—or something close to it.
She'd found me in the corridors those first few days when I'd been lost, both literally and figuratively.
Sat with me in the observation deck when the silence became too heavy.
Brought me food when I forgot to eat, and never once asked questions I wasn't ready to answer.
"Niki." Her voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. "I heard what the family decided. Are you okay?"
"No," I said immediately. The word came out raw, honest. "No, I'm not okay. They want to kill him, Binwee. They want to—" My voice cracked. "He's still in there. I know he is."
Binwee's eyes searched my face. "How can you be sure?"
"His brainwaves," I said, turning to George desperately. "Tell her. Tell her what you saw."
George nodded slowly. "When Niki speaks to him, when she touches him, there's measurable neural activity. Specific patterns that indicate recognition, response. It's not just random firing—it's targeted, purposeful."
"He knows I'm there," I said, my hands clenching into fists. "He's trapped, but he's fighting." I couldn't finish the sentence.
Binwee's jaw tightened. She looked at George. "You're certain about this? The brainwaves?"
"As certain as I can be with the equipment I have," George said.
Binwee was quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant. Then her expression hardened into something resolute, almost dangerous.
"Then we're not letting them do this. We're getting him out."
My heart lurched into my throat. "What?"
"I didn't risk my life on Merisalle to watch his brother chop his head off," Binwee said firmly. "If you can reach him—and I think you can—then we're stealing him."
I stared at her, my mind reeling. Stealing him. Stealing the son of the Alliance Prime—the most powerful being in the known universe. The woman who commanded fleets, who'd unified a thousand worlds, who could end civilizations with a word.
"Binwee," I said slowly, trying to process what she was suggesting. "Do you understand what you're saying? This isn't just... we can't just take him. His mother is—"
"I know exactly who his mother is," Binwee interrupted. "I've served under her for close to a century."
"Then you know this is insane." My voice rose despite myself.
"Probably," Binwee agreed, maddeningly calm.
George cleared his throat. "Niki's right. The Prime's reach is extensive. If we do this, we're not just committing a crime—we're declaring ourselves enemies of the Alliance itself."
"I know," Binwee said.
"Even if we get away," I said, my voice breaking, "even if we somehow evade the most powerful military force in existence, what then? We hide forever? We spend the rest of our lives running?"
"Maybe," Binwee said. "Or maybe you reach him. Maybe he wakes up. And maybe—just maybe—when the Prime sees her son alive and whole, she'll forgive us."
"And if she doesn't?"
Binwee's smile was grim. "Then at least we tried."
I looked at Enslak, at his peaceful, beautiful face. At the body that had been tortured and broken and somehow healed. At the man who'd carried me through sewers and held my hand in the darkness.
"He protected you through that entire escape," Binwee reminded me.
"He made tactical decisions. He carried you through the sewers to keep you safe from the filth.
He fought a dozen guards while bleeding out because he understood you needed to survive.
" She leaned forward. "That's not a mindless animal. That's a warrior who's still fighting."
I looked at Enslak's still face. At the male who'd spoken one word to reassure me even as he was dying.
This was madness. Absolute madness.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. Let's do it. Where do we take him?"
"A planet called Allacesarayre." I could see her mind spinning behind her bright blue eyes. "Remote. Beautiful. No settlements. If anywhere can help him heal, it's there."