Chapter Ten
Gemma found a quiet alcove just off the main corridor, half-shaded by a carved archway and with enough distance from the clamor of scientists to make the silence feel real.
She sat down, letting her backsack slide off her shoulder, and it hit the stone floor with a dull thud.
Her head was still buzzing from Doctor Liebher’s revelation.
She tapped the comm on her wrist. “Send message to Christian Holm. ‘Hope all is well down there. I found the spot where the orb used to be. They’re already crawling over it like savage beasts. I’m okay. I think.’ ”
Several minutes passed with no answer. Her leg bounced as she began to worry. He’d been quick to answer the last time she’d messaged him.
Gemma tapped her comm again. “Call Christian Holm.” The repetitive beep of the outgoing call rang in her ear, but Christian wasn’t answering.
She exhaled, sharp and shallow, pressing her palms to her eyes until white stars flickered in the dark. He’s busy on a mission. Or resting. Or dealing with something urgent. He’s totally fine.
She lowered her hands, leaned forward, and stared out at the scientists and archaeologists running to and fro.
What had she really done by touching that orb?
Had she awoken something ancient, or just broken herself in a way no one could fix?
There were so many questions churning through her mind, and she couldn’t answer any of them.
Footsteps approached, quiet and unhurried. Gunner dropped into a crouch a few feet away, his arms resting on his knees. “You don’t look like someone who just made a massive archaeological discovery.”
Gemma gave a humorless smile. “And what does that person usually look like?”
“Usually, it’s a cheer followed by a round of Moran whisky and gloating for days. But you look like you’re spiraling.”
She huffed a quiet breath. “I don’t know how I’m not supposed to. I mean, it’s not every day you learn you touched a random alien object and got infected because it wanted to corrupt you.”
“You know,” he said, sitting next to her, “many people spend their lives trying to get corrupted by ancient alien artifacts. You should count yourself lucky.”
Gemma snorted. “I’ve never been lucky. I’d really rather not start now.”
Gunner offered a lopsided grin before stretching his legs out in front of him and looking up at the glowing nebula in the ceiling.
“I’ve spent the better part of ten years chasing ghost stories and forgotten glyphs.
Cataloging fragments. Translating guesses.
Hoping—praying, even—that something like this still existed. And then I got the call about you.”
She blinked at him. “Wait. You’re the Revarian lore specialist?”
“I am. But I typically don’t go around gloating.” He winked. “Not what you expected?”
“Not at all.”
He shrugged. “Good. Keeps people on their toes.”
For several moments, they sat in silence. Gemma hugged her knees to her chest, trying to make sense of everything—of herself. If anyone was able to give her answers, it’d be Gunner.
“So,” she said slowly, “if you’re the expert, what was that thing I touched?”
Gunner tilted his head back and sighed like she’d asked him to summarize the cosmos in a sentence. “Honestly? I don’t know exactly. But based on the carvings, the radiation pattern, and that nifty little cellular rewrite you’ve got going on, I think it was a memory vault. Or a conduit. Maybe both.”
She blinked. “That’s . . . not helpful.” The sarcasm landed hollow, because, truth was, she wanted a clean, clinical, explainable answer. Half-guesses like “conduit” and “cellular rewrite” were none of those things.
“I said I was an expert, not a miracle worker,” Gunner replied, giving her a half-grin.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Whatever the orb was, it wasn’t just decoration.
It was built to do something. My guess? It stored the Revarians’ knowledge or essence.
Some would say ‘power.’ And when you touched it, it recognized something in you and transferred what was inside to you. ”
Heat burned up her neck. “I’m human. What could it possibly have recognized?”
Gunner shrugged. “I’m not saying you were destined or chosen or any of that space-destiny, fluffy stuff. But artifacts like that don’t survive thousands of years by accident. They’re protected. Hidden. Usually sealed with triggers. You grew up on this planet, right?”
She nodded as she wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Then you descended from the first humans to inhabit Reva. That was approximately two-hundred years ago. Something in your very DNA could’ve been altered by generations living and growing in this environment.
Even when our ancestors were still on Earth, you could determine where they lived by looking at their genetic makeup.
So, maybe whatever was in that orb found something familiar in you. ”
Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. “And if it didn’t find someone familiar? If it just . . . needed someone?”
Gunner gave a thoughtful hum. “Then I guess you were the first one who showed up.”
Gemma rested her forehead on her knees. Why—why—did she have to touch the blasted alien artifact? Even if Gunner was right, and she had indeed inherited some special gene, she could’ve ignored it. She didn’t have to palm the bloody thing.
A thought tickled the back of her mind. The moment she’d neared the orb, it had drawn her in like it was metal and she was a magnet. Maybe she’d had no choice but to touch it. Maybe it had found something familiar in her.
Her eyes burned. What had she inherited from Reva other than scars? Was she carrying something ancient, something buried so deep in her bloodline that no one had thought to look?
The walls pulsed faintly violet when she took too long to blink. She shut her eyes and focused on her breaths as unease wormed into her bones.
Gunner patted her arm. “I think you need to rest. I’ll make sure no one bothers you. That’s the one good thing about being Phoebe’s younger brother. Everyone’s so afraid of her, they’re willing to do whatever I ask.”
The humor in his voice should’ve made Gemma smile, but fear had gripped her heart in a vise.
She waited until he’d walked off before pushing herself to her feet and dragging her backsack closer to the wall, deeper within the inlet.
Then she began to set up her shelter, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward as she recalled the night Christian had shown her how to use it.
Her heart hit her feet as tears filled her eyes. She really wished he was here right now.
When she finally crawled into the shelter and lay on the mat, she expected her mind to spin, to replay every second since finding the orb’s location. But her body was too tired to care. The moment she found a comfortable position, exhaustion claimed her.
Christian tapped on his comm. The biochip behind his ear had signaled both an incoming call and message while he’d spoken with Philip.
Gemma. Fuck.
“Call Gemma Proctor.”
A repetitive beep, but no answer. When it ceased ringing out, he tried her again. He’d promised he’d be there when she needed him, and he hadn’t answered. What if something had happened? What if he was too late?
“Hello?” she answered at last, and an audible sigh of relief left him.
“Hey, love. Sorry I missed your call. You all right?”
She murmured something incoherent, and there was a ruffling of blankets. She’d been asleep, and he’d woken her. Stars, he was two for two.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she mumbled as if her face were in a pillow.
The tension in his neck released. “All right, you go back to sleep. I’m on grave shift, so I’ll be lying down here soon, but I’ll call you when I’m up.”
“M’kay. Lovnyou.”
He smiled at her half-awake inability to form coherent words. “Love you too.”
Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. At least Gemma was safe. And still herself. He could breathe a little easier.
But just a little. He still had to face his teammates.
In the breakroom, Lysa sat curled into an armchair, a blanket wrapped around her small frame. She looked exhausted but alert, watching the room like a beast too used to danger to fully rest.
Hawk was at a table, nursing a drink, while Imara lounged on the floor with her legs stretched out, chewing what looked like jerky with dramatic disinterest. Next to her was the drone she was learning to pilot, like a pet curled against her while it slept.
Claude and Yosef half-whispered over an electropad.
Here goes nothing.
The floor creaked when Christian stepped inside the room. Five sets of eyes shot in his direction, and the warning in them shifted to surprise as they took him in.
Lysa sat up straighter. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Christian replied, his voice rough. He tried to smile but fell short.
“What happened?” Hawk asked, his brows lifted.
Christian exhaled and closed the door behind him. The click echoed. He moved to the nearest wall and leaned against it, his arms crossed. “My dad and sister were targeted by someone from my past. They’re safe now. That’s what matters.”
Lysa gave him a look of disbelief. “That’s seriously all you’re saying?”
His jaw tightened. He looked at the others. Their confusion wasn’t masked. Hawk stared quietly. Imara’s eyes had narrowed. Claude shifted position, his gaze shifting to his husband. They were trying to piece it together.
Christian sighed. If tonight had taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t hide behind his past anymore. The people he fought alongside deserved more respect than that. If roles were reversed, he’d want to know the truth. And if they chose to hate him for what he did . . . well, he deserved it.
“I used to be part of a group called the Falaichte,” he began. “Most people don’t know about them. They’re a black-market training syndicate of sorts. Real off-the-books. Real brutal.”
“You what?” Imara shouted, sitting up straighter. Of course she’d have heard of them. Her old clientele would’ve thrived on whispers like that.
He held up his hands. “I joined when I was a kid. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I thought it would help me survive the Trials, which was my mother’s dying wish.”
Lysa frowned, her eyes glassing over.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Hawk asked.
“Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that,” he snapped, gesturing to Imara. He pinched the bridge of his nose when her nostrils flared. “Sorry. I just . . . couldn’t. I wanted to leave it buried.”
“But it’s not buried,” Lysa said, her voice quiet. “They came after you—after us.”
Christian sighed. “Yeah, they wanted revenge for me leaving. Cho—the one we captured—she was part of it. Still is. She’s the one that warned me that the Falaichte would use you and Dad as bait to get to me.”
Yosef cursed under his breath. Claude swore louder.
“So, we’re just supposed to act like it’s no big deal that our friend has a secret assassin cult past?” Imara snarked.
Christian raised a brow. “Would you prefer I’d been part of a knitting club? And they aren’t assassins. You know that.”
After a beat, she groaned. “Okay, fair. I just . . . I mean, for fucks’ sake, Christian. You should’ve told us.”
His shoulders drooped. “I know.”
“Are they still coming?” Lysa asked, gripping the blanket.
Christian shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. Probably not, now that you’re here.”
The pause stretched long.
“You know, man, I gotta say,” Hawk started, “despite being really pissed, your past is your past. None of us—well, none of us from Perileos anyway—came in here unscathed. I just wish you’d trusted me enough to share.”
“And me,” Lysa said, her voice sad. “I’m your sister, for stars’ sake.”
His chest pinched. Silence was the only way he’d been able to keep his family safe. But what did it say about how much he respected Lysa and his friends when he hid the truth?
“You’re right,” Christian said at last. “I’m sorry.”
“How much does Gemma know?” Imara asked. The edge in her voice was impossible to miss.
“Enough. She knows I was involved and some of what went on. She just doesn’t know all the details.”
Imara nodded, seeming pleased with his answer. “You should tell her, though, before she hears it from someone else. You don’t have to tell us the nitty gritty, but she deserves to know.”
Christian frowned. Imara was right. Gemma had been nothing but open and honest since the night she failed to poison Rami. And he loved her. Completely. She had a right to know the full truth and decide whether or not she truly wanted to love him back. Stars knew he wasn’t worthy of it. Or her.
Another long, awkward silence filled the room. He needed to break it.
“All right, well, I’m going to bed,” he said. “Thanks for . . . I don’t know. Not walking out.”
Imara flipped her long, black hair. “Too late. You’re stuck with us now. Even if you were a secret assassin.”
“I was not—”
Imara winked, cutting off his argument, and he exhaled a breath that might’ve been the first real one he’d taken all day.