Page 79 of Alien Assassin's Heir
CHAPTER 23
LUNA
Vale’s workshop smells like hot metal and ozone, wires hissing under his soldering iron. The little shack is dim, lit only by a pair of buzzing strip-lamps overhead. Every time the current stutters, sparks spit, and I catch Solie’s wide eyes tracking them like fireflies.
“Don’t touch anything,” I warn her softly, guiding her back against my leg. She pouts, but obeys, thumb stuck stubbornly in her mouth.
Vale’s cigarette burns down to a nub between his teeth as he squints at the terminal. “Alright,” he mutters, tapping keys with nicotine-stained fingers. “You wanted ghosts, you’re getting ghosts. Clean as I can make ’em.”
I watch the screen, full of scrolling code and registry lines. It’s like staring at a language I once knew, one I’d buried after leaving the IHC. Now it comes back in fragments, enough to recognize the weight of what he’s doing. Vale isn’t just rewriting data; he’s weaving new lives out of smoke.
Kraj—no, Kael—paces behind me, too restless to sit. His claws twitch against his sides like he’s resisting the urge to rip something apart. Every time Vale pauses, he growls under hisbreath, and I have to reach out and catch his arm. “Patience,” I whisper.
He exhales hard through his nose, heat brushing my cheek. “I don’t like waiting on men like him.”
“He’s the only reason we have a chance,” I remind him.
Vale smirks without looking up. “Listen to her, dragon boy. You might be seven feet of murder, but in here? I’m god.”
Kael snarls low, but I squeeze his hand before he can snap. His eyes flick down to me, golden fire softening. He presses his forehead briefly to mine, and I feel the tension leak from him.
Vale chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”
The printer hums. Three slim chips eject into the tray. Vale picks them up with tweezers and lays them carefully on a ragged bit of cloth. “Here they are. Fresh IDs, right out of the oven.”
I pick one up, running my thumb over the etched code. “Luna Sarin,” it reads, as if I was born in the Zheln Sector and spent my life scrabbling on a mining moon. The lie is so neat it makes my skin crawl.
Kael holds his chip between two claws. “Kael Revik,” he says, tasting the name. His mouth twists. “Doesn’t fit.”
“It doesn’t have to fit,” Vale replies. “It just has to stick. You use it until it becomes your skin.”
Solie tugs on my sleeve, eyes round. “What about me, Mama?”
I kneel, pressing the last chip into her tiny palm. “That’s yours, baby. See? It says Sola. That’s who you’ll be for a while.”
“Sola,” she repeats carefully, rolling it around her tongue. She giggles. “Sounds funny.”
Kael crouches beside her, lowering his massive body until his golden eyes are level with hers. “Not funny,” he murmurs, brushing her hair back with a claw that trembles just slightly. “Strong. It sounds strong.”
She beams, teeth flashing, and whispers, “Sola,” again like it’s magic.
Vale clears his throat. “Practice them. Out loud. A slip-up at the wrong time gets you all killed.”
So we do.
“Kael Revik,” Kael rumbles.
“Luna Sarin,” I whisper.
“Sola!” Solie chirps, grinning.
The names feel heavy in my mouth, like stones I’m not ready to carry. We say them again, and again, until they start to taste hollow, until my tongue aches with the repetition. Each syllable is a thread tying us to this fiction, even as my heart rebels.
By the time we step out of Vale’s shack, the sky has gone blood-orange with Arkosh’s twin suns sinking low. The canyon winds bite sharp, tugging at my jacket. Solie tugs at Kael’s hand, skipping between us, her little voice piping, “Sola, Sola, Sola,” as if singing a new song.
But beneath the fragile rhythm of that joy, I feel the ground shifting.
News spreads fast on Arkosh. By the time we reach the tramline, the whispers are already circling: