Chapter 18
KAGE
She’s curled against me, breath warm against my throat, hair smelling of smoke and salt and something faintly sweet—like the herbs she boiled in the bunker. Her hand is still tangled in my frill as if she fell asleep mid-grip, unwilling to let go.
It should make me uneasy. It doesn’t.
It makes me hopeful.
And hope is more dangerous than any blade.
I watch her, every rise and fall of her chest. I think about how easily she could have let me go. How easily she could still turn on me. One call on a secure channel, one flare to the sky, and the Alliance would rain down on me before I could blink.
But she didn’t. She ran. She lied. She chose.
And every time she looks at me now, I feel it clearer—the bond isn’t just biology. It’s choice. Hers. Mine. That terrifies me more than any enemy.
Her lashes flutter. She murmurs something incoherent and shifts, pressing closer. The heat of her seeps through the thin fabric between us, grounding me, pinning me to this moment like a blade through my palm.
I whisper to myself, in the old tongue: jalshagar. A word older than cities. It feels like a prayer and a curse at once.
By dawn we’re moving again, packs strapped tight. She walks ahead of me this time, scanning the ridges with her console. The canyon winds upward, cliffs rising like black teeth. Her voice comes over her shoulder, steady but soft.
“There’s an old listening post up ahead. Alliance left it years ago when the front shifted. If it still has power, I might be able to use it to send a private ping to an IHC vessel—no official channels, no tribunal.”
I grunt. “Hidden?”
“Deep in the cliffside. Masked signals. Perfect for ghosts like us.”
She doesn’t look back, but her hand brushes the hilt of the knife my father gave her. Like she’s remembering she’s wearing my family’s runes on her belt.
The wind picks up, whipping grit across our faces. I taste iron and ash.
Something’s wrong.
The listening post is half-buried in stone, its camo plating flaking off like old paint. Antennas jut from the cliff, bent but still humming faintly.
Bella slows, frowning at her scanner. “It’s active.”
I stop. “Active?”
“Yeah. Look—power readings. Fresh ones. This isn’t a dead node.”
Voices drift from the tunnel entrance. Not birds. Not echoes. Real voices—low, tense, muttering. And beneath them, a faint synthetic hiss like bad speakers.
I draw my blade, its edge glinting dull silver in the weak light. “Stay behind me.”
She snorts softly. “Not my style.”
“Do it anyway,” I growl.
We move inside. The air shifts instantly, colder, stale with old electronics and unwashed bodies. The walls sweat condensation, cables snaking across them like veins.
At the end of the hall, the source.
Not scavenger drones. Not soldiers.
Survivors.
There are a dozen of them—humans, Vakutan, a pair of Brall siblings with patchwork armor. Resistance fighters. Their eyes go wide when they see me. Guns twitch upward, claws flex, voices spike.
“Medic insignia,” one hisses, pointing at Bella. “She’s Alliance!”
“Non-combatant,” another snaps back. “Look at her gear!”
A grizzled human with a bandaged shoulder steps forward, gun lowered but ready. “You’re a medic?”
“Field medic, IHC,” Bella says quickly, holding her hands out. “I’m not here to fight. We’re just trying to send a signal.”
Their gazes flick to me.
“What about him?” the Brall growls. “Coalition? Raider? Monster?”
Bella doesn’t flinch. “He’s with me. He saved my life.”
The room hums with suspicion. A dozen bodies taut like bowstrings.
I stand still, blade down but ready. My claws itch to move, but I hold. For her.
The leader jerks his chin at a console on the far wall. “Make it fast.”
Bella moves to the comm array, fingers flying over cracked keys. The survivors keep a half-circle around me, weapons lowered but not lowered enough.
I can feel their stares like flies crawling over my scales. The smell of fear, sweat, old rations. I taste bile at the back of my throat.
Bella’s voice breaks the tension. “It’s patched in. Ghost signal on a tight beam. No Alliance tags. If it works, an IHC ship’ll come without questions.”
“Good,” I mutter.
She doesn’t look up. “Hold still. I’m—”
The speakers crackle.
A voice slides out.
“Bella…”
She freezes.
I bare my teeth, claws digging into the floor. “No.”
The voice isn’t like before. It’s smoother now, still metallic but layered with something wet, like a throat forming from wires.
“You are mine.”
The words vibrate through the room, low and intimate, like a whisper pressed to the back of the neck.
Bella jerks back, horror flickering across her face.
I move before I think. My blade slams down through the console, sparks exploding up my arm. The lights die. The hum cuts off.
Darkness swallows the post.
The survivors shout, weapons snapping up. “What the hell did you do?”
Bella grabs my arm. “Kage—”
I growl low, every hair on my body standing on end. “It was in the system. Watching. Talking to you.”
She swallows hard. “I know.”
The Brall steps forward, gun trembling. “You brought that thing here?”
I bare my teeth, frills flaring wide, voice a snarl. “It followed her.”
The room goes deathly still.
And now every survivor inside knows exactly who they just let in.