Page 21

WILLOW

T he hollow ping of holographic rings materializing across Taylor's panoramic windshield makes my knuckles whiten around the steering yoke. Atlantic waves glitter two thousand feet below us through wisps of cloud, their gentle beauty doing nothing to calm the acid churn in my stomach.

"Eyes forward, little flower," Raekon rumbles from the passenger seat, claws tapping an idle rhythm against his thigh. His crimson eyes don't even glance at the altitude readout flashing amber warnings. "The third ring drifts starboard. Adjust your vector by three degrees."

I bite my lower lip and nudge the yoke. Taylor's modified Vakutan grav-plates hum as we bank smoothly through the luminous circle. Three more rings follow in quick succession - diving, climbing, a tight corkscrew that has my ponytail whipping across my cheeks.

"See?" Raekon's scaled fingers brush my knee. "Just like threading Aunt Mabel's?—"

The engines die mid-sentence.

All sound vanishes. The holograms flicker out. My stomach lurches into my throat as Taylor becomes a six-ton paperweight hurtling toward the ocean. Warning glyphs erupt across every display, bathing the cabin in apocalyptic red.

"You killed the engines!" I scream, already slamming both palms against the restart sequence. The backup power whines to life, but we're still dropping fast enough to make the loose change in the cup holder float.

Raekon doesn't move to help. His smile shows entirely too many teeth. "And?"

"Are you insane? " My fingers dance across the dash, rerouting power through secondary conduits. The ocean fills the windshield, close enough now to count whitecaps. Some detached part of my brain notes we're at exactly 437 meters when the thrusters roar back to life.

Inertial dampeners whine in protest as Taylor's nose jerks upward mere heartbeats from impact. Spray kisses the undercarriage as we peel away from the waves, acceleration pinning me to the leather seat.

Sweat stings my eyes when I finally dare to breathe. "I guess that's a fail."

Raekon's laughter shakes the entire cabin.

He unfastens his harness just to lean over and bite my earlobe - sharp enough to sting, gentle enough to make my thighs press together.

"Perfect score. Did you truly believe I'd test you on rings ?

" His tongue flicks the tiny hurt. "Next time I'll cut life support during re-entry. "

I'm still shaking when he programs the autopilot, but his claws tracing possessive circles on my thigh tell me all I need to know about how proud he is. The bastard.

The ocean swallows Taylor whole, the shimmering surface closing over us like liquid glass. I guide the shuttle through the depths, marveling at the bioluminescent fish that dart past the windows. Their scales catch the light, painting the cabin in rippling hues of blue and green.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Raekon murmurs, his clawed hand resting on my thigh. "Reminds me of the coral reefs on Vakuta's southern hemisphere."

I glance at him, my heart swelling with affection. "I still can't believe I get to see things like this. And that I get to share it with you."

He grunts, but I catch the way his scales flush a deeper gold. "Focus on your piloting, little flower. Those fish won't distract me from docking procedures."

I stick my tongue out at him but obey, guiding Taylor into the hangar bay with practiced ease. The forcefield shimmers as we pass through, and I set the shuttle down with barely a bump.

Raekon is out of his seat before the engines fully power down, his long strides carrying him to my side. He helps me out of the cockpit, his claws brushing against my waist in a way that makes my breath catch.

Pyke's office is as imposing as ever, the holographic globe casting shifting patterns of light across the walls. The captain himself rises from his desk as we enter, his smile warm but his eyes sharp.

"Willow, Raekon. Please, sit." He gestures to the hover chairs, and I sink into one gratefully. Raekon remains standing, his arms crossed over his chest.

Pyke ignores his posturing and slides a sleek, chromatic box across the desk toward me. "As you're both aware, it's time for Willow's final assessment before formally joining Project Veritas."

Raekon's growl is low and menacing. "She's already proven herself. This is unnecessary."

"Raekon," I say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay."

Pyke nods, his expression patient. "It's just a formality. Willow's intelligence and psyker power pale in comparison to the other attributes she offers to Project Veritas."

Raekon's eyes narrow, and I can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "If you're implying?—"

"I meant her decency and strength of character, Raekon," Pyke interrupts, his tone firm but not unkind. "She's an asset to this organization in more ways than one."

Raekon subsides, though he still looks like he wants to punch something. I turn my attention to the box, my curiosity piqued. "What's this? Graduation gift?"

"If you like," Pyke says with a chuckle. "Though it's actually just the standard issue gear given to Project Veritas agents."

I open the box, my eyes widening at the contents. A sleek red bodysuit, a compad, an image inducer, and a plasma pistol gleam up at me. I immediately grab the image inducer, turning it over in my hands.

"I've always wanted to play around with one of these," I say, my excitement bubbling over. "Do I get to keep it?"

Pyke's smile is indulgent. "It's yours, Willow. Welcome to Project Veritas."

The moment the image inducer is in my hands, I can’t resist testing its limits.

I flick the tiny dial on the side, and my reflection in Pyke’s desk shifts from my own red hair and freckles to Raekon’s chiseled jawline and golden scales.

I smirk at my newly broad shoulders and ridges, mimicking Raekon’s usual scowl.

“Hmm. Needs more brooding,” I say, deepening my voice into a gravelly baritone that’s almost convincing. Almost.

Raekon crosses his arms, his scales rippling with irritation. “Willow, you’re going to overload it.”

I roll my eyes—his eyes now—and cycle through a few more looks. Pyke’s military buzz cut, complete with his signature frown. A random stranger with neon pink hair and a nose ring. Finally, I settle back into my own face and turn the device off. “All right, all right. Party pooper.”

I step closer to Raekon, tugging at his sleeve. “Bend over, you grump. I’m going to give you a kiss.”

He raises a brow ridge but obliges, leaning down with a sigh that’s more theatrical than annoyed. I smirk, my finger hovering over the inducer’s dial. Just before our lips meet, I flick it on and feel the subtle shift as my features morph into Jim Rader’s pinched, greasy face.

Raekon’s eyes snap open, and he jerks back with a growl that’s half-amused, half-horrified. “Willow!”

Pyke, meanwhile, loses it. He slaps his desk, wheezing with laughter, his face turning a shade of crimson that matches the holographic globe above us. “That’s—that’s priceless,” he manages between gasps for air.

I deactivate the inducer, my own laughter bubbling up as Raekon glares at me. “From now on,” I say, wiping a tear from my eye, “you’ll never know if the person you’re talking to is really me in disguise.”

Raekon straightens up, his scales shimmering as he regains his dignity. “It doesn’t matter if you’re standing right next to me,” he says, his voice smug. “I’ll always know it’s you.”

My heart skips a beat, and I clasp my hands over my chest. “Awww, because I’m your jalshagar?”

His expression doesn’t change. “No. Because Vakutan olfactory senses are keen enough to identify you by scent alone.”

Pyke facepalms so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t leave a dent in his forehead. “Raekon, you just stepped on a land mine.”

Raekon blinks, clearly confused. “How so?”

“You just told your wife,” Pyke says, his voice dripping with exasperation, “in as many words, that no, it’s not true love and soul mates that lets you know it’s her. It’s her body odor. ”

The realization dawns on Raekon’s face, and I pat him on the shoulder with a mock-sympathetic sigh. “You can make it up to me with ice cream. And lots of assurances I don’t smell.”

Pyke mutters something under his breath about Vakutan being brilliant warriors but clueless husbands, and I laugh. Raekon glares at both of us, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes. “Fine. Ice cream it is.”

I grin, already planning my next disguise. Something tells me Raekon’s going to regret underestimating my sense of humor—and his own sense of smell.

Pyke’s laughter echoes through the office as he waves us off. “Go on, Raekon. Your mission awaits. And remember, ice cream is a sacred human tradition. Treat it with the respect it deserves.”

Raekon grumbles under his breath as he leads me out of the office. “I used to be sent to destroy entire enemy armadas. Now I’m being ordered to take my wife for ice cream.”

I loop my arm through his, my fingers brushing the smooth, warm scales of his forearm. “And? Do you really think it’s a downgrade?”

He pauses, his crimson eyes softening as he looks down at me. “No,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “I’ve never been happier than to take my lovely wife for ice cream.”

“You’re learning!” Pyke calls after us, his voice tinged with amusement.

Raekon rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond, guiding me toward Taylor with a firm hand on the small of my back.

The shuttlecraft hums to life as we climb in, and Raekon takes the controls.

I’m still mastering the art of landing Taylor seamlessly in crowded areas without drawing attention, so he handles the flight back to New York.

The moment we near the coastline, he activates the cloaking device, and the world outside the windshield shimmers as we become invisible to the naked eye.

He finds an abandoned stretch of road near the harbor district to land, the transition from air to ground so smooth I barely feel it. Taylor’s tires hit the pavement with a soft thud, and Raekon shifts into drive, the car purring like a contented beast.

Sweet Dynasty Ice Cream is a quaint little shop tucked between a bookstore and a vintage clothing store.

The bell above the door jingles as we step inside, and the scent of waffle cones and fresh cream hits me like a warm hug.

Raekon’s nose wrinkles slightly, his scales shimmering as he adjusts to the overwhelming sweetness in the air.

“What’ll it be?” the cheerful teenager behind the counter asks, her eyes flicking curiously between Raekon’s towering frame and my much smaller one.

“Double scoop of salted caramel in a waffle cone,” I say without hesitation. Raekon hesitates, scanning the menu with a furrowed brow.

“I’ll have… the same,” he says finally, though he sounds unsure.

The teenager grins and gets to work, scooping generous portions of ice cream into crisp waffle cones. Raekon pays, his claws carefully handling the cash, and we take our treats to a small table by the window.

I take a bite of my ice cream, the sweet and salty flavors exploding on my tongue. Raekon watches me for a moment before tentatively licking his own cone. His eyes widen in surprise, and he takes another, more confident lick.

“This is… acceptable,” he says, though the way he’s devouring it suggests it’s more than just acceptable.

I smirk, leaning forward on my elbows. “So, about my scent…”

He freezes mid-lick, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Willow…”

“No, no, I’m just curious,” I say, feigning innocence. “You said it’s not unpleasant. So what is it, then? Flowers? Jasmine? Sunshine?”

He sets his cone down, his scales flushing a deeper gold. “It’s… unique. Like… like the first breath of air after a storm. Clean, fresh, and… intoxicating.”

I raise an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “Intoxicating, huh?”

He growls softly, clearly embarrassed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” I admit, taking another bite of my ice cream. “But I’ll let you off the hook. For now.”

He reaches across the table, his clawed hand enveloping mine. He brings my fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “You’re impossible.”

I laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Next time you say something about how I smell, I’m going to ask for a baby instead of ice cream.”

His jaw drops, his crimson eyes widening in shock. “B-baby?”

I just smile, taking another bite of my ice cream as he stares at me, utterly speechless.