Page 62 of Alien Assassin's Heir

The illusion shatters like glass, sharp and cruel.

The rest of the day is chaos. The colony is a hive of whispers and running feet, the panic spreading faster than the officials can contain it. Shops shutter early. People huddle in doorways, passing rumors like contraband. Alliance attack, some say. Sabotage. Others swear it was a Coalition strike, though no one dares speak too loudly.

I go through the motions—logging shipments, smoothing over nervous clients, keeping Solie close by my side—but my mind never leaves that moment. His face, caught in the holoscreen’s glow. His eyes that didn’t look surprised at all.

By the time night falls, I can barely hold myself together.

Solie is finally asleep, tucked beneath her blankets, her stuffed toy clutched in her fist. I linger by her bed longer than usual, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the small flutter of her lashes. My throat aches with unshed tears.

When I step into the living room, he’s waiting. Sitting on the couch, his broad shoulders hunched, his hands clasped together so tight his knuckles are white. The glow from the single lamp paints his scales in harsh shadows.

I stand in the doorway, my arms crossed against the chill crawling through me.

“Did you know this would happen?” My voice is steady, though it costs me everything to keep it that way.

His head jerks up. Our eyes lock.

Silence stretches, heavy, suffocating.

I wait. I need him to say no. I need him to deny it, to give me something—anything—to hold onto.

But he doesn’t.

He just sits there, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something I can’t read. And in that silence, I hear the truth clearer than any words.

The damning truth.

I turn away, my heart cracking like dry earth underfoot.

I don’t sleep.I can’t.

Kraj lies beside me, his breaths slow and even, the heat of his body radiating against my back. To anyone else, he’d look like peace itself. But I know better. I can feel the tension in him, the way his arm stayed heavy across me for longer than usual, like he was holding on to something—maybe me, maybe a lie.

I stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn, the faint glow of the moons bleeding through the window. Every time I close my eyes, I see the Combine executive’s face in the holo-broadcast, the fireball erupting behind him. I see Kraj’s eyes, not shocked, not broken. Expectant.

When his breaths deepen into the rhythm of true sleep, I slide carefully out from under his arm. My legs tremble as I stand, the floor cold beneath my bare feet. I wait a beat—two, three—holding my breath, afraid he’ll stir. He doesn’t.

The living room is dark, shadows stretching long across the walls. His field kit sits by the door where he always leaves it, half-hidden beneath his jacket. My hands shake as I crouch beside it.

I tell myself I won’t open it. That I’ll put it back down and crawl into bed, pretend none of this exists. But my fingers are already unfastening the clasps, peeling back the flap.

It looks ordinary—rations, tools, a folded data slate. But Kraj has never been ordinary. I search deeper, feeling for anything that doesn’t belong. My hand brushes the corner of something hard, a seam that shouldn’t be there. My stomach clenches.

With trembling fingers, I press along the edge. A faint click echoes in the silence, and a false panel slides free.

My throat closes.

Inside are dossiers, crisp and official, stamped with the Coalition’s insignia. The paper smells faintly of ozone, of chemicals that burn my nose. I flip through them, each one worse than the last—schematics, code strings, names I don’t recognize.

I freeze.

The Combine executive’s face stares up at me from the top file, a black Coalition seal stamped over it. Target.

My knees buckle. I stumble back so fast I nearly knock the field kit over. My hands shake violently, bile rising in my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out.

He did it.

He’s still doing it.