Page 23

THE VOICE echoed through the ship, sharp and unrelenting: “You have ten count-marks to leave orbit, or you will be annihilated.”

Maya could not breathe. It wasn’t just fear.

It was as if the words themselves had stolen the air from her lungs, leaving her locked in place, every nerve stretched too tight.

The ship appeared smaller somehow, the walls closer, the lights dimmer.

Apulsing tension spread through her, like the ship itself had pressed its hand against her skin, steady and impossible to shake.

It wasn’t until Riv’En’s robe shifted to a denser shade of gold in the low light that she remembered she wasn’t alone.

He stood at the console, tall and commanding, as if that voice had been nothing but static. His hands moved with ease, keying in a sequence she did not understand. His profile was sharp in the low light, steely.

His voice, when it came, was calm. Absolute. “You are safe.”

Maya swallowed against the sharp edge of terror in her throat.

Her gaze darted to the viewport where the shimmer of an approaching vessel grew clearer, larger, until it filled the upper edge of space.

Every pulse of color along its surface sent another shiver down her spine.

It wasn’t just its size or the way it moved.

It was the sense that the ship wasn’t observing them passively.

It was alive, aware, watching her specifically.

Acold ripple chased up her arms, the kind that tightened muscle before thought could catch up.

Her throat tightened even more, the air in the room turned thin, as if the vessel outside was already drawing itaway.

The ship wasn’t metal, wasn’t synthetic, wasn’t anything built by human hands. It shifted like liquid, like skin stretched over muscle, alive and breathing in a manner more organic than mechanical.

Just like the planet, the ship’s surface shifted in real time, fluid patterns rippling across its hull like living camouflage. Colors—violet and silver, deep green edged with pale yellow—moved as if they were alive, as if the ship breathed.

Her voice broke before she could prevent it. “Is this the ship that was following us?”

“No,” Riv’En said, his voice flat and certain. “That ship evaded our scans. This one did not. This is an Elaroin high command vessel. It follows no one. It watches. It judges.”

“They can see us?”

Riv’En did not look away from the controls.

His hands moved with the same unhurried skill as before, but there was a power to his posture now— set, purposeful.

“They do not require sight.” His voice dropped a fraction lower, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to her. “They sense presence. Energy. Intent.”

A hint of pressure built behind her eyes, sharp and tight, like her entire mind had narrowed to a single, blinding point of tension.

Her thoughts fuzzed at the edges, unable to escape the weight pressing in from all sides.

“So what do we do?” Her voice came sharper this time, the edge of panic creeping in despite herself.

“Are we leaving? Are we getting out of here?”

“No.”

The word dropped between them like a solid force. Hard as iron. Hard as Riv’En himself. He didn’t glance at her, didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t just a decision. It was afact.

The quiet between them stretched until she found it unbearable. Her skin prickled. Her entire body tensed.

And still he moved with that infuriating, terrifying precision. Every action measured. No hesitation, no excess. As if the threat outside didn’t register at all. It wasn’t bravado. It was just who he was, afixed point when everything else was in motion.

“Then what?” Her voice cracked. “We just sit here and wait for them to blow us up?”

Riv’En keyed in a final sequence. The console pulsed beneath his hand. He didn’t even glance at her when he spoke.

“This is Riv’En, Fourth of Alpha Legion, assassin-class Intergalactic Warrior. Identification marker Delta-Echo-Four. Irequest formal parlay under Elaroin code.”

The transmission pulsed out into the void. And then there was nothing.

Silence.

Except for the rapid beat of her pulse and the absolute quiet inside the ship as the command hung there, unanswered.

Maya stepped closer, drawn by necessity more than courage. Her shoulder brushed Riv’En’s arm, the heat of him escaping through therobe.

“What if they don’t answer?” she whispered.

“They will.”

His voice stayed quiet, unhurried. Not angry. Not afraid. Just... absolute.

But Maya was not reassured. The steady calm in Riv’En’s voice and posture should have been enough to settle her, but a cold knot twisted tighter in her stomach. Her robe’s muted orange hue—reflecting her own fear—made that fact impossible to ignore.

Her gaze flicked back to the viewport, watching that impossible ship hang in orbit. It shimmered so intensely now that parts of it flickered in and out of view, as if it didn’t exist in just one place. It made her stomach twist.

“How do you know they’ll answer?”

Riv’En did not look at her. “Because they know who I am. And what I am.” A pause. “They will not risk destroying one of their own.”

Her pulse stumbled. “Meaning... they won’t destroy you because you’re part Elaroin.”

“Affirmative.” His muscles tightened slightly, but his posture never wavered. “By blood. Which makes all the difference.”

“And me?”

He spared her a reassuring smile. “You are my mate,” he said, as though that explained everything.

“And that keeps me safe?”

“As safe as me,” he temporized.

Maya swallowed again, her mouth dry. Questions tangled behind her teeth, sharp and urgent, but she couldn’t force them out. Not with her pulse hammering in her ears. Not with the ship hanging outside like a living threat. The words stayed lodged in her throat, unspoken. Notyet.

Seconds—count-marks—ticked past, slow and relentless.

Maya found herself counting them in her head, one after the other, as if keeping track, even after all this time, might somehow prevent a terrifying outcome.

One. Two. Three. Her throat tightened with each silent number, her eyes never leaving the viewport.

Her ribs were caged, each inhale stretched thin and slow, like her lungs could not quite catch up to the air around her.

Four. Five. Six. The count ran like a silent mantra in her head, steady as the pulse beneath her skin.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Every mark tightening her ribs, straining her nerves until they stretched thin as wires.

Ten. She could not stop. Could not let it go.

Her mind clung to the numbers like they were the only thing holding her together.

Then—

The Elaroin ship pulsed.

Light flickered from its surface, bright enough to momentarily white out the viewport. Maya staggered back a step, blinking hard. Aquick surge of awareness slammed through her, sharp and disorienting.

Riv’En lifted his chin slightly. His robe shifted color from gold to a darker green.

Maya’s gaze dropped to her own robe, and she caught the flicker of muted orange still clinging to the fabric.

Riv’En followed her glance, his voice low and steady.

“Fear,” he said simply. “That color reflects fear. It is not weakness. It is truth.”

“And yours?”

Riv’En’s gaze flicked briefly to the shifting color along his own robe. “Dark green symbolizes vigilance. Readiness.” His words remained calm. “I am prepared for what comes.”

A new voice filled the bridge: low and resonant, smooth and unbroken.

It wasn’t filtered through the ship’s comms or layered with mechanical static.

The sound pulsed directly into the air around them, almost as if the ship itself spoke.

It reverberated low in her chest, steady as a heartbeat, impossible to ignore.

“Identification confirmed. Stand by. Emissary en route.”

Maya’s stomach dropped. “Emissary? What does that mean?”

Riv’En turned toward her now, his expression as unreadable as ever. “They will board.”

A chill ran through her limbs, sharp and grounding, holding her perfectly still. “Board here? Now?”

“Affirmative.”

He stepped toward her then, not fast, not rough, but direct. His hand closed around her wrist, fingers firm but not painful. His grip steadied her like a silent order, grounding her where everything else seemed like it might fall apart.

“You are safe,” he repeated. His voice dropped low, just for her. “You will remain by my side. No matter what happens.”

A new chime echoed softly through the panel, followed by a final transmission: “Docking in progress.”

Riv’En released her wrist and turned smoothly toward the bridge exit. “Come. We will greet them.”

He led her down the central corridor, steps measured and unhurried despite what was coming. The ship’s ambient lighting adjusted automatically, softening into a pale blue tone Maya hadn’t seen before. She walked close behind him, her robe still faintly orange against his steady green.

At the primary docking bay, the exterior hatch shimmered, disengaging with a low, mechanical hiss. Through the widening seam, Maya saw the edge of another vessel’s entrance platform extending toward them—sleek, shifting in color like the ship outside.

A woman stepped through first: tall and commanding, draped in deeper shades of violet and gold that shifted like living color across her robes.

Her features were sharp and striking, her skin holding a faint iridescent sheen similar to Riv’En’s, though more pronounced.

Two more figures followed behind her in slightly more muted robes.

The lead woman paused just inside, her head tilting in quiet assessment, gaze flicking across Riv’En and then settling briefly onMaya.

Riv’En inclined his head once in formal acknowledgment. “You have entered under parlay code. Conference deck is prepared.”

The Emissary’s voice was calm and resonant, similar to the broadcast tone. “We will speak there.”