Page 36 of Alien Assassin's Heir

Then I type the line I know Targen’s waiting for.

Asset Luna Desmond made contact. Observation continues.

I hover over the send command.

Then erase it.

Instead, I lock the terminal down. Encrypt the system so hard it’d take a top-rank slicer two cycles to crack it open.

Because screw the Coalition.

Screw Targen.

If I send that file, if I keep playing the part—they’ll use her. Again.

They’ll see her as leverage, not a person.

I can’t let that happen. Not again.

I head for the comms relay in the west quarter. It’s quiet this time of morning. Dust drifts like ash across the road, and the distant whir of harvest drones is the only sound. The building’s unguarded—Helios runs their ops lean out here—but the tower still pulses with energy, each status light blinking its own lazy rhythm.

I crouch behind a storage crate and watch.

It’s not just about Luna.

It’s not even just about Solie.

It’s about redemption.

Mine.

Because somewhere along the line, I forgot who I was. I became what they needed—a blade. A saboteur. A shadow.

And for a while, I liked it.

I liked the thrill. The clarity of orders. The simplicity of a target.

But last night changed everything.

Her breath in my ear.

Her whisper of my name like it still meant something.

I feel the phantom press of her lips against mine.

She gave me a piece of herself.

After everything.

After all the betrayal.

She let me back in.

A rustle to my right.

I tense, claws half-unsheathed, but it’s just a feral groundbird, feathers puffed and eyes gleaming with mistrust. It hops off into the brush. I exhale, slow, and let my claws retract.

I check my chrono.