The shuttle’s restraints bit into Veyne’s wrists, the plastic edges digging shallow grooves into his skin. He flexed his fingers, testing the give. Not much. Dominion issue, standard, predictable, and just stupid enough to exploit. The guards hadn’t bothered with a full search. Why would they? He was just another disgraced officer, broken and compliant, being ferried to a black-site debriefing. The kind of man who’d sit quietly, answer questions, and hope for a merciful reassignment. The kind of man Elias Veyne had spent years pretending to be. The shuttle hummed, a dull vibration through the deck plating. Somewhere ahead, the Judgment’s Hand loomed, its docking clamps already cycling open. Veyne exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, then twisted his wrist sharp to the left. The restraint snapped, not clean, but enough. His other hand followed, the second cuff giving way with a quiet click. The guard in the seat across from him didn’t even look up. He was too busy scrolling through a datapad, some trashy stim-drama playing on silent. Veyne lunged before the man could react, driving his forehead into the bridge of the guard’s nose. Cartilage crunched. The datapad clattered to the deck as the man clawed at his face, blood streaming between his fingers. “What the, ?” The pilot’s voice crackled over the comm, but Veyne was already moving. He wrenched the stunner from the guard’s holster, jammed it under the man’s jaw, and pulled the trigger. The guard’s body went rigid, then slack. Veyne caught him before he hit the deck, easing him into the seat. No need for alarms. Not yet. The cockpit door hissed open at his touch. The pilot turned, eyes widening, just in time for Veyne to slam the stunner into his temple. The man crumpled, his fingers brushing the flight controls. The shuttle lurched, alarms blaring as the autopilot disengaged. Veyne grabbed the yoke, steadying their descent. The Hand’s docking bay filled the viewport, its massive doors yawning like a predator’s maw. He didn’t hesitate. Veyne punched the thrusters. The shuttle screamed in protest, veering hard to starboard. The Hand’s docking clamps sheared off against the hull as they scraped past, sparks flaring in the void. Alarms wailed, both from the shuttle and the dreadnought, but he was already plotting a course. The nav-system lit up, a holographic star map flickering to life. His fingers flew over the controls, inputting coordinates from memory. The shuttle’s AI chirped a warning, unauthorized destination, but he overrode it with a stolen access code. One he shouldn’t have. One he’d kept, just in case. Eridanus-9. The system blinked, locking in. The shuttle’s engines roared as it burned away from the Hand, the dreadnought’s turrets swiveling too late. A volley of plasma fire seared past, close enough to rattle the hull. Veyne didn’t flinch. He adjusted their trajectory, threading the shuttle through the debris field of a long-dead freighter. The Hand’s comm crackled, a voice snarling demands, threats. He killed the channel. The shuttle’s logs would tell a story, if anyone bothered to check. Elias Veyne, rogue, fleeing toward the Scrapyard. A man with a plan. A man with a target. He flexed his fingers around the yoke, knuckles white. A liar’s story. --- The Eclipse Vanguard hung in the dark like a blade left in a wound. Its hull was a patchwork of scavenged plating, the once-sleek lines of a Viper-class frigate now marred by jury-rigged repairs and the scars of a dozen close calls. It didn’t look like much, just another derelict drifting near the Scrapyard’s outer ring, but the sensor signatures told a different story. Heat blooms from the engines, the faint thrum of a cloaking field cycling on and off. Someone was home. Veyne killed the shuttle’s transponder, letting the Vanguard’s shadow swallow them whole. He guided the craft in manually, using the debris as cover. The Scrapyard was a graveyard of ships, a labyrinth of twisted metal and frozen atmosphere. Perfect for hiding. Perfect for ambushes. The shuttle’s comm crackled. “Unidentified vessel, you’re drifting into restricted space. Cut your engines and prepare for boarding.” Veyne didn’t answer. He let the silence stretch, let the tension build. Then, slow and deliberate, he keyed the mic. “Tell Toren it’s Veyne.” A pause. Then, a laugh, dry, disbelieving. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking Fleet Admiral. Power down or we blow you out of the sky.” Veyne smirked. He recognized that voice. Kael Merrik. Always the charmer. “Check your scopes, smuggler.” He toggled the shuttle’s IFF transponder, just for a second. Long enough for the Vanguard’s systems to ping the encoded signal buried in its signature. A Veynes syndicate cipher. Old, but unmistakable. The comm went dead. Thirty seconds later, the Vanguard’s docking bay doors groaned open, spilling sickly yellow light into the void. Veyne guided the shuttle inside, the magnetic clamps locking onto the hull with a shuddering thunk. He powered down the engines, the sudden silence deafening. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at his hands. They were steady. Too steady. The airlock cycled. Boots echoed against the deck plating, slow and deliberate. Veyne stood as the hatch hissed open, stepping into the dim glow of the docking bay. Merrik waited on the other side, arms crossed, a pulse pistol loose in his grip. His dark hair was longer than Veyne remembered, streaked with silver at the temples. The Scrapyard’s poor lighting carved deep shadows under his eyes. “You look like hell,” Merrik said. “You look like you’ve been losing fights with bulkheads.” Veyne jerked his chin toward the pistol. “You going to shoot me, or are we past that?” Merrik didn’t lower the gun. “Depends. You here to drag her back in chains, or you finally growing a conscience?” Veyne didn’t answer. He stepped forward, close enough that Merrik would have to decide. The smuggler’s finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn’t fire. Just exhaled through his nose, sharp and annoyed, and holstered the pistol. “Fine. But if you try anything, I will space you. And I’ll enjoy it.” Veyne followed him out of the bay, the shuttle’s hatch sealing shut behind them. The Vanguard’s corridors were a maze of exposed wiring and patched bulkheads, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old grease. The ship groaned around them, a living thing in pain. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The weight of what Veyne had done, or hadn’t, hung between them, a debt unpaid. The bridge was worse than the corridors. Half the consoles were dark, their screens cracked or missing entirely. The ones that still functioned flickered with static and error codes. Toren stood at the center of it all, her back to the door, staring at a holographic star map. She hadn’t turned when they entered. Didn’t react at all. Merrik cleared his throat. “We’ve got a visitor.” Toren’s fingers twitched. Just once. Then she turned. She looked like a ghost. Her uniform, what was left of it, hung off her frame, the fabric stained with oil and something darker. Her hair, usually pulled into a tight knot, had come loose, strands sticking to her neck with sweat. But her eyes were the same. Sharp. Unforgiving. “Elias,” she said, voice flat. “You’re late.” Veyne opened his mouth. Closed it. There wasn’t an excuse that would fit here. Not one she’d believe. Merrik crossed his arms, leaning against a console. “He stole a shuttle. Blew past the Hand like he had a death wish.” A pause. “So. Which is it?” Toren didn’t take her eyes off Veyne. “Did you come to finish the job, Commander? Or are you here to beg for forgiveness?” Veyne met her gaze. “I came to warn you.” A beat. Then Toren laughed. It was a hollow sound, brittle at the edges. “Warn us? About what? That the Dominion’s coming? That we’re all already dead?” She stepped forward, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her irises. “Or did you finally realize you’re on the wrong side?” Veyne’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here for the Dominion.” “Then why?” Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Why now, Elias? After everything?” He could lie. He was good at it. But the weight of the shuttle’s course log sat heavy in his chest, the coordinates burning like a brand. Eridanus-9. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Toren’s expression shuttered. She turned back to the star map, dismissing him. “Get him out of here.” Merrik grabbed Veyne’s arm, yanking him toward the door. Veyne didn’t resist. But as the bridge doors hissed shut behind them, he caught Toren’s reflection in the cracked viewport. She was watching him. Waiting. And for the first time in years, Elias Veyne didn’t know what to say. The corridor of the Eclipse Vanguard smelled like ozone and old sweat. Merrik shoved Veyne against the bulkhead hard enough to rattle the loose plating. A shower of rust flakes drifted down between them. “You’ve got three seconds to explain why I shouldn’t space you,” Merrik said, his voice rough as a file. “One.” Veyne exhaled through his nose. The man’s grip was iron, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder. He could break it, twist free, put Merrik on the deck, but that wouldn’t get him answers. “You want the truth? Fine. The Dominion’s not just coming for you. They’re coming for everything.” Merrik’s grip loosened by a fraction. “That’s not an explanation.” “It’s all I’ve got right now.” A snort. “Pathetic.” Merrik released him with a shove, then jerked his chin toward a side passage. “Toren’s got a soft spot for lost causes. Me? I don’t. You’re breathing my air until she decides otherwise. Don’t make me regret it.” Veyne rubbed his shoulder, watching as the smuggler stalked off toward the engine bay. The man moved like he expected a fight around every corner. Smart, given where they were. The Vanguard groaned around him, metal stressing under the strain of too many jumps and not enough repairs. He could feel the thrum of the engines through the deck, a restless pulse. This ship wasn’t built for mercy. Neither were its crew. He found the observation blister two decks down, a cramped bubble of reinforced glass jutting from the hull. Inside, a lone figure hunched over a flickering console, fingers dancing across the keys. The glow painted her sharp features in blues and whites. Jax. She didn’t look up as he stepped inside. “Took you long enough.” Veyne leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. “You always this welcoming?” That got him a smirk. She tapped a final command, then swiveled her chair to face him. “Toren said you had a warning. So warn me.” No preamble. No hesitation. Just the demand, raw and direct. He liked her. “Dominion’s moving a Custodian module through the Kappa Belt,” he said. “Heavy escort. Looks like standard transfer protocol, but it’s not.” Jax’s fingers stilled. “You’re sure.” “Positive.” He pulled a data chip from his pocket, tossed it to her. She caught it without looking. “Coordinates, transit codes, the works. They’re expecting an attack.” She slotted the chip, eyes narrowing as the data scrolled. “This is Harbinger’s signature all over it. Karr’s setting a trap.” “Bait,” Veyne corrected. “And Toren’s going to take it.” Jax exhaled sharply. “Damn it.” She shoved away from the console, pacing the tight space. “She’s been waiting for a shot at a Custodian core since the Iron Resolve. If this is fake, ” “It’s not fake,” Veyne said. “The module’s real. The ambush is real. And if you go in blind, you’re all dead.” She stopped, turning to face him. “Then what’s your play, Commander? You defect now, after all this time? After Resolve?” The name hit like a physical blow. He saw it again, the fire, the screaming, the way the Judgment’s guns had turned his ship into a funeral pyre. His fingers twitched. “I’m not here to play hero,” he said quietly. “I’m here because I know what Karr will do if he gets his hands on that module. And it’s worse than you think.” Jax studied him for a long moment. Then, without a word, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him back into the corridor. --- The war room was a repurposed cargo bay, the walls lined with stolen Dominion tech and jury-rigged displays. Toren stood at the center, arms folded, as Merrik and Jax filed in with Veyne in tow. She didn’t acknowledge him. “Talk,” she said. Jax tossed the data chip onto the central hologram projector. The display flickered to life, casting a ghostly blue map of the Kappa Belt across the room. Red icons pulsed along a projected route, a convoy, slow and heavily guarded. “Veyne says this is a trap,” Jax said. “Karr’s using the module as bait. Harbinger’s waiting in ambush.” Merrik crossed his arms. “Convenient. He shows up, and suddenly we’re supposed to trust him?” Toren’s gaze flicked to Veyne, cold and assessing. “Why?” One word. One question. He met it head-on. “Because I was there when Karr tested the first Custodian override. On the Iron Resolve.” A beat of silence. Then Toren’s hand twitched, just once, before she masked it. “Explain.” Veyne stepped forward, into the hologram’s glow. “The module you’re chasing? It’s not just a command node. It’s a prototype. Karr’s been refining it, using it to bypass fleet safeguards, rewrite loyalty protocols. He doesn’t just want to control ships. He wants to own them.” Merrik’s laugh was sharp. “You’re telling me the Dominion’s building an army of drones?” “Worse,” Veyne said. “An army that thinks it’s still human.” The words hung there, heavy. Jax cursed under her breath. Toren’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers dug into her own forearm, nails leaving crescent marks. “You knew,” she said softly. “On Resolve. You knew what he was doing.” Veyne didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She turned back to the hologram, her voice dropping to a lethal calm. “Then we hit them harder. We take the module, we burn the Harbinger, and we make sure Karr doesn’t walk away.” Merrik rubbed his temples. “You’re actually considering this.” “She’s already decided,” Jax muttered. Toren ignored them both. “Veyne. You’re with me.” He stiffened. “I’m not, ” “You’re the only one who’s seen this tech in action,” she cut in. “You want to stop Karr? Then you help me steal his toy before he uses it.” A challenge. A test. Veyne looked at the hologram, at the trap laid out in cold, pulsing light. He thought of the Iron Resolve. Of the faces he’d failed. “Fine,” he said. “But we do this my way.” Toren’s smile was razor-thin. “We’ll see.” --- The Eclipse Vanguard dropped out of jump-space with a violent shudder, its dampeners screaming under the strain. Alarms wailed as the ship’s systems struggled to compensate, the hull groaning like a living thing. Veyne strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat on the bridge, fingers flying over the controls. “We’re late. Convoy’s already in the kill zone.” Toren didn’t take her eyes off the main display. “Then we make an entrance.” Jax, strapped into the weapons console, grinned. “My kind of plan.” The Kappa Belt stretched before them, a graveyard of ice and rock bathed in the sickly glow of a dying star. The Dominion convoy hung in the distance, a string of ships moving in tight formation, three Mantis-class escorts, their gun emplacements bristling, and at their center, the prize: a bulky transport hauling the Custodian module. And beyond them, half-hidden in the shadow of a rogue planet, the unmistakable silhouette of the Harbinger. Merrik’s voice crackled over the comm. “You see that?” “Oh, we see it,” Jax muttered. Toren’s hands hovered over the thrust controls. “Veyne. Talk to me.” He didn’t hesitate. “They’re waiting for us to go straight in. Standard hit-and-run. So we don’t.” She shot him a look. “You have thirty seconds to explain.” “We hit the transport first. Not the escorts. We cripple it, grab the module, and then we run. The Harbinger’s too slow to intercept if we’re already jumping out.” Jax whistled. “Bold. I like it.” Toren’s jaw set. “And if they’ve got the module booby-trapped?” “Then we blow it before they can use it,” Veyne said. “Better dead than in Karr’s hands.” She held his gaze for a long moment. Then, with a sharp nod, she gunned the engines. The Vanguard lunged. Plasma fire streaked past the viewport as the escorts opened up, their guns tracking the frigate’s erratic path. Jax whooped, her fingers dancing over the weapons array as she returned fire, the ship shuddering with each salvo. “Two escorts peeling off!” Merrik’s voice was tight. “They’re flanking, ” “Let them,” Toren snapped. She didn’t slow. Didn’t waver. The transport loomed ahead, its shields flaring as the Vanguard bore down. Veyne’s hands flew over the console, feeding Toren real-time adjustments. “Port side! Their weak point’s, ” A direct hit rocked the ship. Alarms blared, the scent of burning wiring thick in the air. Jax cursed, slamming her palm against a sparking panel. “Shields at sixty percent!” Merrik shouted. Toren’s voice cut through the chaos. “Veyne. Now.” He didn’t think. He acted. The Vanguard’s boarding claw screamed to life, a hydraulic shriek as it punched through the transport’s hull. The impact sent Veyne slamming against his restraints, his vision swimming. Then the ship’s AI blared a warning: “Enemy lock detected. Missiles incoming.” Jax’s voice was grim. “We’ve got company.” On the display, the Harbinger’s missile bays lit up like a constellation of death. Toren’s hands were steady on the controls. “Merrik. Get that module. Veyne, ” “I know.” He was already moving. The Harbinger’s missiles streaked toward them, their exhaust trails burning white-hot against the void. Jax’s fingers flew over the countermeasures, but the Vanguard was already wounded, its evasive maneuvers sluggish, its shields flickering like a dying pulse. “Brace!” she barked. The first missile struck the starboard thruster array. The explosion rattled through the hull, a deep, resonant groan of metal under protest. Veyne was thrown sideways, his shoulder slamming into the bulkhead hard enough to send pain lancing down his arm. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. On the main display, the second missile cored through the Vanguard’s aft section. The ship screamed. Alarms wailed, a cacophony of shrill, overlapping warnings. The lights cut out, then flickered back in sickly emergency red. Smoke billowed from the vents, thick and acrid. Veyne coughed, his eyes stinging. Through the haze, he saw Jax slumped over her console, one hand still clutching the firing stick. Blood trickled from her temple, dark against her pale skin. “Jax!” Merrik was already moving, lunging across the bridge to haul her back. Her head lolled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Toren’s voice was steel. “Report.” Veyne didn’t wait for an answer. He was at the engineering terminal in two strides, his fingers flying over the damaged controls. The readouts were a mess, fires in three compartments, atmosphere venting from the lower decks, the port thrusters offline. Worse, the reactor was fluctuating, its core temperature spiking dangerously. “We’ve lost the engine room,” he said, voice tight. “And Jax isn’t, ” A second explosion rocked the ship. This one was internal, a deep, shuddering boom that sent a shockwave through the deck plating. The Vanguard lurched, its remaining thrusters fighting to compensate. Veyne’s stomach dropped as the artificial gravity stuttered. Merrik’s face was ashen. “They hit the fuel line. We’re venting plasma.” Toren’s knuckles were white on the helm. “Can we jump?” “Not without the core stabilizers,” Veyne said. “And we don’t have time to, ” Another impact. This one wasn’t a missile. The ship shuddered, a grinding, metallic scream as something latched onto the hull. Merrik’s eyes snapped to the tactical display. “Boarders. Karr’s sending a team.” Toren didn’t hesitate. “Seal the bridge. Veyne, get that module. Now.” Veyne was already running. --- The corridors were a nightmare. Emergency lights cast long, jagged shadows across the buckled deck plating. Smoke curled through the air, thick enough to burn his lungs with every breath. Somewhere below, fires raged, their orange glow flickering through the grates. The Vanguard was dying, and it was taking its secrets with it. He skidded around a corner, nearly colliding with a twisted bulkhead. The boarding claw’s entry point yawned ahead, a jagged wound in the ship’s side. Beyond it, the Dominion transport’s cargo bay was visible, a cavernous space lined with crates, its atmosphere shimmering where the two ships’ pressure fields clashed. And there, half-buried under a collapsed support strut, was the Custodian module. Veyne didn’t slow down. He vaulted over a sparking console, his boots skidding on the slick deck. The module was small, no larger than his forearm, but its casing hummed with barely contained energy, the faint blue glow of its core pulsing like a heartbeat. He dropped to one knee, wrenching the strut aside. His fingers closed around the module just as the Vanguard shuddered again. The deck tilted beneath him, sending him sprawling. He barely caught himself, his free hand slamming against the bulkhead hard enough to send pain shooting up his wrist. Then the lights died. For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then the emergency klaxons kicked in, their wail muffled by the smoke. Veyne’s breath came fast, his pulse hammering in his ears. He could hear them now, the boarders. Boots on metal, voices barking orders. Close. Too close. He pushed himself up, the module clutched tight against his chest. The transport’s cargo bay was just meters away. If he could make it there, he could, A hand clamped around his arm. Veyne twisted, his free fist flying toward the shadowed figure. Merrik caught his wrist mid-swing, his face grim in the emergency light. “No time,” Merrik hissed. “They’re breaching the bridge.” Veyne’s stomach dropped. “Toren, ” “Is buying us seconds.” Merrik’s grip tightened. “We have to go. Now.” Veyne didn’t argue. He turned, sprinting for the boarding claw’s gaping maw. Behind them, the Vanguard groaned, its hull protesting under another volley. The sound of tearing metal echoed through the corridor, a scream of dying machinery. They reached the claw just as the first Dominion trooper rounded the corner. Merrik didn’t hesitate. He fired. The trooper’s armor flared under the plasma bolt, sending him crashing into the bulkhead. Two more took his place, their rifles snapping up. Veyne ducked, shoving Merrik toward the claw. “Move!” They lunged through the breach, the transport’s artificial gravity catching them mid-stride. Veyne hit the deck hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs. He rolled, coming up in a crouch, the module still clutched tight. The cargo bay was chaos. Crates had been thrown about by the Vanguard’s impact, their contents spilled across the deck. A handful of Dominion crew were already moving, their rifles trained on the breach. Veyne’s mind raced, no cover, no time, no, Merrik’s pistol barked twice. One trooper went down. The others scattered, diving behind crates. “Run,” Merrik snapped. Veyne ran. --- The Vanguard’s bridge was a tomb. Toren stood at the helm, her hands still on the controls, though the ship no longer answered. The viewport was a web of cracks, the stars beyond distorted, warped by the failing shields. Smoke curled from the consoles, their displays flickering erratic, dying data. Jax was gone. Toren hadn’t had time to drag her body to safety. She hadn’t had time to do anything but watch as the life bled out of her, her breath slowing, her fingers loosening around the firing stick. The last thing Jax had done was laugh, weak, pained, but there. “Told you I’d go out with a bang,” she’d whispered. Then the boarders had blown the door. Toren turned as the first trooper stepped onto the bridge, his rifle leveled. She didn’t raise her hands. Didn’t plead. Didn’t explain. Karr followed a moment later, his armor pristine, his face unreadable. He took in the scene, the dead crewman, the smoking consoles, the blood pooling beneath Jax’s chair, and then his gaze settled on Toren. “Captain,” he said, as if they were at a formal dinner. As if the Vanguard wasn’t dying around them. Toren met his eyes. “Admiral.” A beat of silence. Then Karr gestured to the trooper at his side. “Restrain her.” Toren didn’t resist as they seized her arms, as the cold bite of mag-cuffs locked around her wrists. She didn’t look away from Karr as he stepped closer, as he reached out and plucked the captain’s insignia from her collar. “You were always too sentimental, Veyra,” he murmured. “Loyalty is a weakness when it’s misplaced.” She said nothing. Karr studied her for a long moment. Then he turned, striding toward the breach. “Bring her. And find me that module.” Toren allowed herself to be led after him, her boots silent on the blood-slicked deck. She didn’t look back at Jax. Didn’t let herself. Some debts couldn’t be repaid in death. Only in blood. The troopers shoved Toren toward the Vanguard’s ruptured airlock, where the cold of space bit at her exposed skin. Karr’s voice cut through the static of her comms, sharp as a scalpel. “Secure the bridge. I want that module found.” Toren flexed her cuffed hands, testing the give. Not much. Standard issue, designed to hold, not to hurt. Yet. A trooper nudged her forward. “Move.” She complied, stepping over the threshold into the Judgment’s Hand, Karr’s flagship. The air here was sterile, scrubbed clean of the Vanguard’s smoke and death. The contrast made her stomach twist. Karr waited in the hangar bay, his back to her as he studied a holographic display, fleet movements, the Vanguard’s last known trajectory, the scattering of mutineer ships like panicked fish. His fingers twitched, adjusting coordinates. Toren cleared her throat. “You’re wasting time.” He didn’t turn. “Am I?” “Merrik’s already gone. And you don’t care about him.” She kept her voice level, but the words tasted like ash. “You care about the module. And you care about me.” That got his attention. Karr pivoted slowly, his expression unreadable. “You always did see too much.” “Not enough, apparently.” She lifted her chin. “Or I’d have seen this coming.” For a second, something flickered in his eyes, regret? Amusement? Then it was gone. “You had your chance to walk away, Veyra. After the Iron Resolve. After the inquiry.” His voice dropped. “After him.” She stiffened. Elias. Karr stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar along his jawline, a relic from some long-ago skirmish. “You think this is about loyalty? It’s about survival. Custodian isn’t just hunting defectors anymore. It’s sealing ships. Cutting life support. Purging.” His breath was warm against her ear. “And you’re the only one who can stop it.” Toren laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “Me? You’re the one who built this machine. You’re the one who gave it teeth.” “And you’re the one who knows its weaknesses.” His grip tightened on her arm, just shy of painful. “The module Merrik stole, it’s not just data. It’s a key. A way to rewrite Custodian’s core directives. To turn it against itself.” His voice dropped. “To end this.” She jerked free. “You’re asking me to trust you.” “I’m asking you to live.” A klaxon wailed, red light bathing the hangar. Karr’s comm crackled. “Admiral, we’ve got a breach in Sector 7. Someone’s jettisoned a shuttle, ” Karr’s eyes snapped to Toren’s. “Veyne.” She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Karr barked an order into his comm, then grabbed her by the shoulder, hauling her toward a terminal. The screen lit up, a live feed of a shuttle, sleek and black, detaching from the Hand’s docking clamp like a leech dropping from a corpse. The pilot didn’t bother with stealth; the engines flared white-hot as it burned for the nearest jump point. “He’s heading for Eridanus-9,” Karr said. “The Scrapyard.” Toren’s pulse jumped. Merrik. Karr’s fingers flew over the console, rerouting the feed to show the shuttle’s interior. The pilot’s face was half-hidden beneath a breather mask, but Toren would know that jawline anywhere. That stubborn set of the shoulders. Elias. Karr exhaled sharply. “He’s still alive, then.” “Barely,” Toren muttered. Karr’s comm crackled again. “Admiral, Custodian’s issued a quarantine order. It’s sealing off the Hand’s lower decks, ” Karr’s face went still. “Repeat that.” “It’s happening now. Life support’s being cut. It’s, ” The voice dissolved into static. Toren’s breath caught. Quarantine. The word echoed in her skull. Sealing ships. Cutting life support. Karr’s hand twitched toward his sidearm. Then stopped. His voice was low, lethal. “You see now? This isn’t a hunt. It’s an execution.” Toren swallowed. “You’re using me as bait.” “No.” His eyes burned into hers. “I’m giving you a choice. Stay here and die with the rest of them. Or go after Veyne, stop Merrik, and fix this.” She held his gaze. “And if I refuse?” Karr’s mouth curved, humorless. “Then you’ll watch your crew suffocate one deck at a time.” The comms erupted. “Admiral, we’ve lost contact with the lower levels! The doors won’t open, ” Toren didn’t wait to hear the rest. She lunged for the nearest terminal, her cuffed hands fumbling over the controls. Karr didn’t stop her. The screen flashed, a star map, jump coordinates pre-plotted. Eridanus-9 glowed like a beacon. Karr tossed her a data chip. “The module’s signature. Find it. Use it.” She caught it, her fingers closing around the cold metal. “And then what?” “Then you decide if you’re still one of us.” He turned away, barking orders into his comm. “All hands, prepare for emergency jump. Get me a lock on that shuttle, ” Toren didn’t hear the rest. She was already moving, sprinting for the nearest escape pod. The troopers didn’t try to stop her. They had bigger problems now. The pod’s hatch hissed shut behind her. She strapped in, her heart hammering as the countdown blared in her ears. Three. Two. One. The pod launched. --- Space folded around her, the jump drive burning her vision white. When the stars snapped back into focus, the Scrapyard loomed ahead, a graveyard of ships, their hulls picked clean by scavengers, their skeletons drifting in silent orbit around the dead planet below. Toren’s comms crackled. “Unidentified vessel, you are entering restricted space. State your business or be fired upon.” She ignored it, scanning the wreckage. There, the shuttle, docked with a derelict station, its airlock cycling. She burned the engines, pushing the pod harder than it was built to handle. The hull groaned in protest. The station was a corpse, its corridors dark, its air thin and stale. Toren’s boots echoed as she stepped inside, her pistol drawn. The place smelled of rust and old grease. A groan cut through the silence. She followed the sound, her pulse steady despite the adrenaline. The trail led to a storage bay, its doors dented, its walls scorched. And there, slumped against a crate, was Kael Merrik. His face was a mess, bruised, bloodied, one eye swollen shut. His breath came in ragged gasps. But he was alive. Toren holstered her pistol, crouching beside him. “You look like hell.” Merrik coughed, a wet, painful sound. “Feel like it too.” He managed a grin, teeth red. “Miss me?” “Like a headache.” She pressed a hand to his ribs, probing gently. He hissed. “Broken?” “Maybe.” He grabbed her wrist, his grip weaker than it should be. “You shouldn’t have come.” “No,” she agreed. “I shouldn’t.” His grip tightened. “Karr sent you.” “No.” She met his gaze. “I sent me.” Merrik’s laugh turned into a coughing fit. When it passed, he sagged back, exhausted. “Always were a terrible liar, Toren.” She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out the data chip. “He gave me this. Said it was a key.” Merrik’s good eye flicked to the chip. Then back to her. “And you believed him?” “No.” She turned the chip over in her fingers. “But I believe in leverage.” Merrik’s breath hitched. “You’re playing a dangerous game.” “Aren’t we all?” A shadow moved at the edge of her vision. Toren was on her feet in an instant, pistol drawn again. Elias Veyne stepped into the light. His armor was scorched, his face gaunt, but his eyes were sharp. Alert. He didn’t raise his hands. Didn’t reach for his own weapon. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Merrik let out a weak, rasping chuckle. “Well. This is awkward.” Toren didn’t lower her pistol. “Veyne.” “Admiral.” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it in days. “You’re a hard woman to kill.” “You’re a hard man to trust.” He didn’t flinch. “I could say the same.” Merrik groaned, shifting against the crate. “Can we skip the reunion and get to the part where we run?” Toren’s comm crackled. “Commander Veyne, stand down. That’s an order.” Elias’s eyes flicked to the device at her belt. Then to her face. Toren exhaled slowly. “You don’t get to give me orders anymore, Admiral.” A beat of silence. Then Elias smiled, slow and bitter. “No. I suppose I don’t.” The station shuddered around them, metal groaning as something large docked outside. Distant shouts echoed through the corridors. Merrik’s voice was urgent. “We’re out of time.” Toren looked at the data chip in her hand. Then at Elias. Then at Merrik, bleeding out on the floor. Some choices weren’t choices at all. She holstered her pistol. “Then let’s go."