Page 15

Abby gave a tight nod and vanished into the crowd like vapor.

Moving fast, she tracked down Leiko and handed down instructions.

General Arasteh was already moving to the exit and was most likely done with the event.

Savvine raced and intercepted him by the pillar near the buffet, where the wall panels pulsed with soft amber lighting.

He took one look at her face and slowed his roll.

‘I can tell from that slight tic in your right eye that shit’s going down. Talk to me.’

‘Sir,’ she said under her breath, eyes on the revelers. ‘I’ve received word of a confirmed hit onTheOdalon. Abby ran the damage analysis. The frigate’s venting atmosphere. Also, Captain Therros is MIA.’

Arasteh’s expression remained unreadable, calm, but she recognized the tension behind his eyes. She’d worn the same face too many times.

His jaw flexed, just once. ‘The Lombardis?’

Savvine gave the slightest nod. ‘The shockwave’s about to hit. You need to make a brace announcement.’

He exhaled through his nose. ‘Fokk.’

Without another word, he pivoted onto the center platform where the musicians had just finished their set.

The micro-mics in his collar activated before he even cleared his throat.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Arasteh said, voice firm but measured. ‘Apologies for the interruption. We’re experiencing a minor skirmish outside the safe zone. Stay calm, no need for panic. However, for your safety, I advise you to activate your maglev boots and brace if you have them now.’

A ripple of movement passed through the ballroom. Beneath flowing skirts and pressed dress slacks, the hum of activation buzzed in dozens of soles.

Silver fastenings locked to the magnetic flooring. Savvine did the same, her foot gear hissing as they synced to the ship’s inner grid.

The first tremor was faint, a distant vibration like a passing train.

Then, a second wave rolled through the hull like a great sigh from the stars.

Glasses toppled. Prosecco bottles slid off trays.

Someone yelped.

The seven-tiered wedding cake, impossibly ornate and frosted in pearl swirls, swayed like a drunk ballerina.

Everyone held their breath.

It wobbled. Tilted and then righted itself.

One of the crowd started clapping. Laughter and cheers burst out like champagne corks. The music struck back up.

Savvine let out a long, slow exhalation.

‘Lucky cake,’ Arasteh muttered as he stepped back beside her, his utterance a hushed snarl now, meant only for her ears. ‘Shame we can’t say the same for theOdalon.’

‘Such freakin’ cowards,’ Savvine muttered. ‘They made it personal.’

‘Oh, it’s always been personal. The Lombardis are escalating.’

She sliced her eyes at him. ‘Fokkthem.’

He gave a small grunt, and his jaw clenched as if he suppressed the urge to let out a tirade of curses. ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘This is all about an age-old vendetta they won’t let go of. Nor their pride.’