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She leads me from the chamber, her presence both a balm and a brand against my fevered skin. And as we make ourslow, unsteady way through the Haven’s shadowed corridors, my mind races, trying to reconcile the urgent need to protect the Brotherhood with the equally urgent, terrifyingly compelling need to protect her. Two conflicting desires, two impossible burdens, both threatening to consume me entirely.

In the quiet solitude of the Haven’s oppressive embrace, I can’t help but wonder which will destroy me first—the bond-sickness burning through my veins, or the growing certainty that I’m falling for the one person who holds the power to break everything I have fought so hard to protect. Or perhaps...the one person who holds the power to save me.

Chapter 11

Neon Valkyrie

Thelowerdeckofthe Void Reaver thrums with a subdued rhythm, even while docked within the Obsidian Haven’s cavernous berth. The ship’s drive sits idle, but damaged power couplings emit a high-pitched whine that echoes off scarred metal walls. Emergency lights cast rippling patterns across makeshift repairs and exposed circuitry, their red glow a stark contrast to the Haven’s cold, obsidian surfaces visible through the hull breaches.

My neural implants automatically catalog the extent of damage from our desperate escape—hull breaches in sections three and five still waiting for proper repairs, shield generators limping along at 67 percent efficiency. The Brotherhood’s limited engineering team has done what they can, but some wounds take more than quick patches to heal. Not great, but we’re still here. For now.

I crouch behind a row of power conduits, fingers dancing across a hidden access panel while my enhanced vision mapsthe complex web of data streams flowing through the ship’s systems. Most of the crew is still at the Obsidian Haven, leaving the engineering deck eerily quiet except for the occasional hiss of venting steam or crackle of exposed wiring.

“You always hide in the darkest corners of the ship, or is today special?”

I flinch, instinctively reaching for the blade strapped to my thigh before recognizing Zara’s voice. She leans against a nearby bulkhead, russet fur catching the emergency lighting in ways my enhanced vision finds oddly beautiful. Her tail sways gently, betraying her casual posture with its alert movements.

“I’m not hiding,” I say, returning to my work. “I’m reconfiguring the shield harmonics to better withstand Eclipse energy weapons.”

“Of course.” Her ears twitch forward with interest. “And choosing the most isolated maintenance junction to do it is purely practical.”

I glance up, ready with a sharp retort, but pause when I catch her expression. There’s no mockery there—just understanding, and something that looks uncomfortably like concern.

“I work better alone,” I mutter, turning back to the panel.

“Most people do,” she agrees, sliding down to sit beside me. “Until they don’t.”

Her proximity makes my implants twitch with discomfort—not because of any threat assessment, but because I’ve spent so long keeping people at a careful distance. Having someone deliberately bridge that gap feels like an invasion, even if it’s well-intentioned.

“Did Cirdox send you to check on me?” I ask, my fingers continuing their work even as my attention splits.

“The Captain rarely needs to send me anywhere.” Her tail flicks with what I’m learning to recognize as amusement. “I go where I’m needed.”

“And you think I need you?” I can’t keep the defensive edge from my voice.

“I think you need someone.” She shrugs, the movement rippling through her fur. “And right now, I’m available.”

Her bluntness catches me off guard. I’ve grown accustomed to Cirdox’s intensity, his direct approach tempered by the mate-bond’s complexity. Zara offers something different—straightforward concern without the weight of destiny attached.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

“You’re not.” She says it matter-of-factly, without judgment. “And that’s okay. None of us are ‘fine’ right now.”

My hands pause over the control panel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zara studies me for a moment, her vulpexian features giving little away. “It means I’ve been watching you run yourself into the ground trying to save everyone else. Fortifying our systems, strengthening our defenses, keeping Kira at bay—all while pretending you don’t care about any of us.”

“I don’t—” I begin, but the lie sticks in my throat. When did that happen? When did these people stop being just a means of escape and start being something more?

“You do.” Her voice softens. “And it’s terrifying, isn’t it? Starting to care when you’ve spent so long convinced that caring is a death sentence.”

The accuracy of her observation hits like a physical blow. My enhanced vision catches the subtle changes in my own physiology—elevated heart rate, pupil dilation, microscopic muscle tensing. Fight or flight kicking in, not from external danger but from someone seeing too much.

“You don’t know me,” I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.

“I know enough.” She leans back against the bulkhead, giving me space even as her words close the distance between us. “Iknow you’ve probably lost people. I know you blame yourself. And I know you’re terrified of it happening again.”

“Congratulations on your basic observational skills.” The sarcasm is a shield, thin but necessary.