Page 58 of Alien Assassin's Heir

CHAPTER 16

KRAJ

The message pings through my secure channel at dawn, sharp as a blade to the gut. I know it’s the one before I even open it. My claws flex against the console, scraping faint grooves in the cheap alloy.

Encrypted text resolves across the holo:

Final directive: Assassinate Helios Combine executive. Ensure Alliance signature. Delivery window: 72 hours.

My chest feels too tight for air.

I slam the acceptance key harder than I should, and within seconds Targen’s face flickers into existence above the console. He looks like hell—always does—creased scales, a mouth set in a permanent grimace, eyes gleaming like worn brass.

“You can’t be serious,” I snarl before he even opens his mouth. “This isn’t an assignment. It’s suicide. The Combine may be neutral, but they’re not stupid. They’ll trace blood back faster than you think.”

Targen doesn’t flinch. He takes a long drag from the thick cigar smoldering between his claws, smoke curling around his head. “Don’t be dramatic. You’ve ghosted bigger ops with less prep. Plant the evidence right, and the Alliance will take the fall.”

“Why him?” I demand. My tail lashes, rattling the vent cover behind me. “Why this executive? He’s just numbers and contracts.”

“Because numbers and contracts keep wars alive,” Targen replies coolly. “The Combine teeters. They could tip either way. Our job—your job—is to make sure they don’t lean toward the Alliance.”

I bare my teeth. “And if they collapse into open war instead?”

He exhales a cloud of smoke, slow and uncaring. “Not our concern. The order is simple: remove him, make it messy, leave Alliance fingerprints. Do this, Kraj, and you walk away. You’ve earned that much.”

Something inside me twists. I hear the promise in his words, the lure I’ve chased through years of blood and fire. Freedom. Out. No more handlers, no more directives, no more leash.

But then I see Luna’s face in my mind—her eyes soft when she whispered she was scared, her lips trembling when she kissed me like the world was finally right. I see Solie’s tiny hands clutching pebbles by the canyon pools, her laughter ringing in my ears.

And suddenly “walking away” doesn’t sound like freedom. It sounds like betrayal.

“I need time,” I rasp. “Seventy-two hours. Minimum. I’ll do it right, or not at all.”

Targen studies me for a long moment, smoke curling from his nostrils. He nods once. “Seventy-two hours. Fail me, and there’s no walking away at all.”

The holo cuts.

I sit there in the dim glow, claws dripping sweat against the console, breath dragging rough through my throat.

Seventy-two hours to decide who I am.

The day vanishes in a blur of shadows and lies. My body moves on instinct, every step an echo of the soldier, the spy, theweapon I’ve always been. But my heart drags like lead in my chest.

I splice into the undernet, rerouting data trails. I plant Alliance chatter in the comms archives, a fake cell discussing sabotage ops. I seed a shipping manifest with equipment that screams black-ops sabotage. I pay a smuggler to run a beacon tagged with Alliance encryption near the Combine executive’s quarters.

Every keystroke is a betrayal.

Because while my claws fly, my mind drifts to Luna. To Solie. To the warmth of that canyon, to the sound of their laughter, to the way Luna’s body trembled under mine when she finally let me back in.

The lies taste like ash. But I can’t stop. I can’t let the Coalition see through me. Not yet.

By nightfall, I drag myself back to her apartment, muscles sore, mind heavy. My claws still smell faintly of grease and metal from the smuggler’s docks. My chest reeks of guilt.

But when she opens the door, everything inside me shifts.

She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t push. She just looks at me, her face soft in the glow of the solar lamp, and steps aside.

I step through. The air smells like spice and something sweeter—her.