24. Garokk
GAROKK
I know Vrek’s up to something the second I hear the silence.
He’s never quiet unless he’s hunting—or planning to break something important.
The comm feed from Reflector chimes in one ear, encrypted, tightbeam, voice low like a whisper through static. It’s late. Station protocol says all allied crew are confined to quarters.
But some rules were made to be broken.
And some bastards were born to break them.
“They’re in a service hold on Subdeck Theta,” Reflector says, smooth as ever. “Your charming first mate and three of your more... impatient pirates.”
“Names,” I murmur.
“Snarl. Crik. And Savax.”
Snarl. Of course.
That tusked son of a voidbeast never could stomach peace.
Crik’s a wild card, always sniffing for power like it owes him something.
And Savax… she follows muscle. And right now, muscle means Vrek.
I clench my jaw, but I don’t speak.
Reflector pauses.
“I could pipe in the feed if you want to hear it firsthand.”
“Do it.”
A low buzz bleeds into my ear. Then?—
“She’s a liability,” Snarl grunts. “Pretty, sure, but she’s got the Captain twisted up like a plasma coil. You all saw it. He didn’t fight. He surrendered. "
“She’s got leverage, ” Crik hisses. “Kid’s his. No one’s said it, but it’s obvious. He’s making plays with his heart now. That’s how you lose a war.”
“Station’s soft,” Savax adds. “Soft and rich. We could carve it up in a week.”
“Three days,” Vrek says. Voice low. Steady. Too steady.
I feel it like a slap.
He’s already counted the routes. Already drawn the lines.
Reflector murmurs in my other ear, “He’s proposing full occupation. You’re out. He’s in. She’s hostage. They claim the ring.”
I don’t respond.
Because I knew.
Not in the bones, not just the instinct. I saw it in the way Vrek’s eyes lingered when I ordered the crew to stand down. In the way his fists curled at his sides when I walked away instead of drawing blood.
He’s not built for diplomacy.
He’s built for ruin.
The comm goes silent again.
“I can forward the footage to central command,” Reflector offers. “Security will terminate them before breakfast.”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“Let it breathe.”
“Garokk, with all due respect, this isn’t fermentation. It’s treason.”
“I know.”
I stare out the reinforced viewport at the sprawl of Orbimall One. The city-ring glitters like a gilded noose. Every light down there—every walkway, every skylane—it’s all built on illusion. On the belief that violence has a shape, a schedule, a rulebook.
But it doesn’t.
Violence is a whisper. A shift in temperature.
And Vrek just turned the air cold.
“You’re going to wait?” Reflector asks, tone edged with something I can’t quite name.
“I need to see how deep it runs,” I say. “If it’s just those three, I can carve the rot out clean. But if the whole crew’s splintering?—”
“You’ll need proof.”
“I’ll need time.”
“And what if you don’t have it?”
I smile. It's not a nice one.
“Then we bleed fast and loud.”
Reflector sighs. “You’re impossible.”
“Part of my charm.”
I kill the link.
My reflection stares back at me from the glass, moonlit and hollow-eyed. Not a hero. Not a king.
Just a pirate with a mutiny blooming in the dark.
And not enough allies to prune it.
Not yet.
But the thing about me?
I was forged in fire.
And fire doesn’t flinch.
I knock on her door like a man with no right to.
Three soft taps. No guards. No audience. Just me and the stupid pounding of my heart behind my ribs like it hasn’t learned better.
The chime hums. Then silence.
Then—
The door slides open an inch. Isolde’s eyes meet mine through the gap. No makeup. No command. Just her. And gods help me, she still looks like the only real thing in this polished metal tomb.
“What?” she asks, voice flat.
I rub the back of my neck. “I want a walk.”
She blinks. “That’s not a sentence I expected from you.”
“Not a raid. Not a heist. Just... one walk. With you.”
She doesn’t answer.
So I lean closer.
“No tricks. No weapons. No crew. You have my word.”
Her eyes narrow. “Your word means less than dirt right now.”
I nod. “Then I’ll give you more.”
I step back and put one hand to my chest.
“I swear. On his life. One walk. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Her jaw tics.
The silence between us buzzes like a live wire.
Finally, she sighs. “You pick the route.”
“No. You do.”
“Fine,” she says. “You get one hour.”
She disappears inside. A few moments later, she steps out in a long coat. No jewelry. Hair tied back. Practical. Controlled. But her eyes?—
They burn.
We walk in silence at first. Down the glimmering halls of the VIP tower, then onto the upper glidewalks. Nobody stops us. Either they know better or someone up high greenlit this.
The artificial park decks span six kilometers of green space: simulated gravity, real soil, synth-grown trees arching over winding paths. It’s a paradise that smells of damp leaves and ambition.
She walks two paces ahead.
I match her.
“You remember this place?” I ask quietly.
“I came here the night the first colony was approved.”
“You were wearing that purple dress.”
She glances at me sideways. “You remember the dress?”
“I remember trying not to rip it off you in the orchid garden.”
She snorts, but it’s not a laugh. “Of course you do.”
We keep walking.
The path curves beneath a bridge lit in bioluminescent blue. Soft artificial wind tousles her hair.
“I missed this,” I say.
“You missed the trees?”
“No. The way you walk like you own gravity.”
She stops.
Turns.
“That’s the line you open with?”
I shrug. “I’m rusty.”
She crosses her arms. “What do you want, Garokk?”
I stare at her.
Gods, she’s fire and steel and every mistake I ever made wrapped in skin I still dream about.
“I wanted to remember who we were before I wrecked it.”
“That person’s dead,” she says. “You helped bury her.”
“I know. But I thought maybe... if I could walk beside what’s left?—”
She steps forward.
Fast.
Sharp.
Her finger jabs my chest.
“I raised our son in silence. While you burned through the galaxy like a goddamn comet. You don’t get to rewrite that.”
“I’m not trying to.”
She narrows her eyes. “Then what is this? Guilt? Nostalgia?”
“Both. And maybe something I don’t have a name for yet.”
The wind picks up. Or maybe it’s just the silence again, howling.
We walk on.
Eventually, she says, “You still snore like a kraken?”
“I’ve upgraded. I purr now. Very regal.”
She smirks. “You’re still a liar.”
“And you’re still a flame.”
She pauses.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it feels too good.”
And there it is.
The crack.
Not big. Not wide. But there.
I don’t reach for her.
But I walk close enough that her hand could brush mine if she wanted.
She doesn’t.
We cross the orchid dome. It smells like memory. Pollen, heat, citrus blossom.
“This is where you kissed me the first time,” she says.
“No. You kissed me. I just survived it.”
She glances up at the petals glowing faint gold in the dark.
“You were gentler than I expected.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d let me try again.”
“I almost didn’t.”
We stand still.
Then—
“You gonna take the station?” she asks suddenly.
I blink.
“What?”
“I know Vrek. I know mutiny when I smell it.”
I exhale through my nose.
She’s always been ten steps ahead.
“Not if I can stop it,” I say.
“Can you?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
She turns toward me, face half-shadowed.
“I don’t want a war, Garokk. Not in front of him. ”
“I know.”
We’re too close now.
Not touching.
But close enough that it hurts.
“I should go,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
She turns.
Takes a step.
I whisper, “Flame.”
She stops.
Doesn’t turn.
“Don’t.”
Then she walks away.
And I don’t follow.