Page 54 of Alien Assassin's Heir

CHAPTER 14

KRAJ

The Combine attaches weight to everything they do—even their shadows fall heavy. I know it the second I step into the meeting chamber at Wildwood’s central hub. The air smells like sterilized steel and sharp citrus, the kind of artificial cleanliness that doesn’t belong on a frontier world. Too many uniforms, too much polish, not enough grit.

Relok greets me with a smile sharp as a blade. He’s Alzhon—slick skin the color of burnished copper, ridged cheekbones, and those damn eyes. Alzhon eyes never blink at the right time, always lingering too long, like they’re peeling back your layers.

“Kraj,” he purrs, his voice smooth and venom-laced, “trade liaison, yes? Howfortunatethat we have someone with your… experience in place.”

My scales itch under his stare, but I smile anyway, teeth bared just enough to warn without confirming. “Fortunate, yeah. Timing’s everything on Arkosh.”

We circle each other verbally for a while, his questions dressed in courtesy but lined with steel.

“How reliable is Wildwood’s output?”

“Solid,” I answer. “Droid labor keeps it efficient.”

“And the independent contractors?” His gaze sharpens, darting toward the console where Luna’s command logs would usually show. “Do they log shipments properly? No… errors?”

I feel the snare in his words, the way he wants me to stumble. My pulse hammers, but my mouth keeps moving. “Combine oversight makes sure of that. You know how it is—no shipment leaves without three signatures and a sensor sweep.”

He hums, low and satisfied, though his eyes still cling to me like burrs. He doesn’t believe me. Not fully.

The entourage behind him moves restlessly, sleek drones humming as they scan Wildwood’s systems, tapping into comm towers and logistics hubs. I feel the weight of their search like claws pressing against my back. I know exactly where those scans will go—through Luna’s command logs, through her manifests, through every line of data she touches day after day.

And if they find something out of place…

I keep my face impassive while my hand, hidden in my sleeve, sends a pulse down the datajack at my wrist. The falsified reports trickle through the back channels I rigged last night, replacing Luna’s logs with sanitized versions. Shipment numbers shifted. Energy spikes smoothed. Solie’s name, Luna’s ID—scrubbed clean.

When Relok finally steps back, his smile stretches wider. “Efficient,” he murmurs, as though testing the taste of the word. “Almost too efficient.”

“Better than sloppy,” I say, and force my shoulders to stay relaxed.

He chuckles, low and amused. “We’ll see. The executive expects loyalty. Discretion. You’ll deliver, yes?”

I meet his stare head-on, my own smile sharp. “Always.”

That night,back in my hideout, the walls feel closer than usual. The old vent rattles, the dust tastes bitter, and the only light is the terminal’s glow. I’m halfway through scrubbing the last traces of Luna’s logs when the holo-call sparks to life.

Targen’s face materializes above the console, his scaled features lined, his voice like gravel dragged over steel.

“You met the attaché?”

“Relok,” I grunt. “He’s sniffing harder than a starving scavenger. But the data’s clean. No trace of Luna.”

“Good,” Targen says. “Keep it that way. The Combine exec is on the edge. A push, and he’ll tip.”

I narrow my eyes. “Tip where?”

“Toward the Alliance,” he says flatly. “And if that happens, Arkosh goes with it. The Coalition cannot afford that. So you’ll nudge him the other way.”

I know what “nudge” means. I’ve heard it a hundred times, carried it out more than I care to admit. Threats. Blackmail. Blood on the walls if that’s what it takes.

But my stomach knots. My claws curl into my palms.

“And Luna?” The words slip out before I can stop them, rough and low.

Targen’s frown deepens. His golden eyes narrow through the static. “Irrelevant. Unless she becomes inconvenient.”