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T he moment they stepped into the garden, Zoak felt the sharp thrill of triumph coil in his chest. Everything had fallen into place. Dorane. The woman. The graves.

Dorane had led himself and the Ancient Knight into the jaws of death, just as Zoak had known he would.

He had waited in the crumbling remains of the hut for hours, resisting the urge to shift, to drink, to stretch his aching muscles. Sweat dripped down his forehead, sliding hot and slow along his spine, but he ignored it. Discomfort was part of the hunt. His patience would be rewarded in the trophies he claimed.

Through the scope, he watched Dorane turn just enough for a clean shot to the chest. Zoak’s lips curled.

Now.

He squeezed the trigger. A sharp crack echoed across the ruined village. Dorane’s body jerked, a red stain blooming across his chest as he crumpled near the graves.

A scream—raw, desperate—ripped through the air. The woman dropped to her knees, her hands hovering over Dorane’s unmoving form, her distress filling the abandoned village.

Zoak smirked, savoring the moment before he rose from the shell of the hut, his weapon still raised, moving slowly as he basked in the kill. He kept his eyes focused on the woman. The shot he had taken at Dorane wouldn’t kill the man—immediately. Dorane’s lung would fill with liquid, making it difficult for him to breathe. He would slowly begin choking on his own blood, making his death agonizing as he slowly suffocated.

His gaze flicked to Dorane lying in the dirt, then back to the woman’s face. Confusion swept through him when he noticed her expression.

Not a sneer. Not a grief-stricken grimace. She had a serene, knowing smile.

Zoak felt his gut twist. His steps slowed as his instincts started to scream a warning at him that all was not as it appeared. His gaze flicked downward again, past where the woman stood with a relaxed, easy posture. He swallowed when he saw Dorane rising to his feet, casually brushing the dirt from his clothing.

Zoak’s vision blurred with rage and he bared his teeth a snarl. They had played him for a fool! Baited him, set him up, let him sweat?—

“You think you have won, but you haven’t,” he growled.

“Oh, I think we have,” Dorane dryly commented, grimacing when he looked at the dirt on his hand before he pulled the Gallant Staff at his side.

The woman just smiled and shook her head at him. Rage poured through him and he took a step toward her, only to halt when she flicked her wrist and the Gallant Staff she was holding extended, the end glowing with a brilliant red light. His clawed fingers curled around the rifle in his hand even as his other hand slid down to the knife at his waist.

“I wouldn’t,” a deep voice warned.

His head snapped to his left as Roan Landais and a tall, blonde woman stepped out from the shadows of a ruined hut. Roan held his Gallant Staff pointed in his direction.

Zoak’s pulse slammed against his ribs. He stiffened, every muscle locking tight, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.

No. This isn’t possible!

He had accounted for every factor, every variable. He had watched them—he had seen the grief rip through them. It had been real. His grip on the rifle convulsed. The betrayal of his own senses sent a slow, seething rage through his veins.

They had tricked him. They had outplayed him. His blood roared as he stepped forward, weapon still raised, willing—needing—to regain control. But then… he heard the laugh.

He twisted and froze when he saw another Ancient Knight holding a Gallant Staff standing behind him.

“Hi, Sergi,” Mei greeted.

“Hi, Mei,” Sergi replied with an answering grin.

Sergi let out a low whistle, twirling his Gallant Staff in his hand as he walked forward. “I gotta say, Dorane, that was some top-tier dying back there. Really sold it. Ever considered a career in theater?”

Dorane rolled his eyes, brushing a spot of dust from his chest. “No, but if you’d like me to shoot you and see how well you sell it, just let me know.”

Sergi grinned. “Tempting, but I think I’ll pass. La’Rue gets upset when I get hurt.”

“I can imagine. You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been shot. What do you suggest I add?” Dorane asked.

Pain exploded through Zoak.

“Maybe an example of what death sounds like would help,” a wry, feminine voice suggested from behind him.

Zoak’s breath hitched and his rifle slipped from his grasp as a blade sank through his back, piercing his body and protruding from his stomach. He staggered, his mind scrambling to catch up with the cold bite of steel cutting deep.

His eyes dropped to his stomach, disbelieving, and he wrenched forward, the sharp Turbinta blade slicing up with deadly precision as he pulled away. His clawed hands opened as numbness spread through him and his weapon clattered to the ground. He turned sharply, his vision swimming, his gaze locking onto the face of his executioner.

Kella.

She stood behind him, her expression stone-cold, her eyes unreadable. Beside her, a dark-skinned man stood with a second weapon raised, ready to strike.

Zoak tried to speak, to snarl, to curse her?—

“First rule of a Turbinta assassin, never turn your back on one,” Kella murmured before her blade swept out in a perfect arc.

Zoak twisted, his hands going to his throat as the fine blade sliced a path along it. The world tilted and he folded. He rolled onto his back, his mind feverishly in denial of what was happening to his body.

His vision blurred. His breath was shallow, each pull of air weaker than the last, but when a shadow fell over him, he managed to lift his gaze. The mocking woman crouched beside him, her dark eyes steady, filled not with hate, but something worse. Pity. She exhaled softly, tilting her head.

She should be the one dying. Instead, her dark eyes bore into him, unreadable, calm. He strained, wanting to know.

“ How? ” his voice was raspy, the word almost indistinguishable.

She leaned in, her voice soft, almost gentle. “You never understood. Evil is loud,” she murmured. “But good? Good is relentless. It’s the quiet force that keeps pushing forward, even when it’s hard. It’s the force that connects people, and there are more of us than there are of you.”

Zoak wanted to claw at the woman’s eyes. He wanted to erase the compassion in them, the serene smile on her lips. She simply shook her head at him, mocking his helpless rage.

“And because of that… you could never win.”

Her soft words washed over him, chilling him to the bone. Assassins were not supposed to die looking at compassion and smiles. He wanted to kill her, but even as the desire pulsed through him, the edges of his vision darkened. His breaths slowed, and he knew that he would be the one haunting this place, an isolated, massacred village so much like the one he had destroyed all those years ago in his first big move to be a legend… and no one would remember him.

Mei smiled when Sergi let out a low whistle, stepping over Zoak’s lifeless body with a dramatic shake of his head.

“Kella, you are one terrifying woman. I can totally see why Ash loves you.”

Kella wiped her blade off with a practiced flick, unimpressed. Ash, standing beside her, grinned.

“You know, it’s actually really hot being in love with an assassin who doesn’t play with their kills.”

Sergi and Julia both groaned at the same time.

“You might need counseling, Ash,” Mei muttered as she rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Ash?” Julia laughed and shook her head.

Roan chuckled. “I have to agree with him. Seeing Julia in action is pretty arousing.”

Julia blushed and glared. “If you keep talking, I may have to show you a move or two that Mei taught me.”

Roan grinned. “As long as it isn’t the kick to the groin that you used on my father.”

Sergi laughed. “I’m glad I fell in love with the blood-thirsty freighter pilot instead of the killer.”

“That’s because you are the assassin in your couple,” Julia dryly retorted.

“Speaking of a certain blood-thirsty freighter pilot, do you think La’Rue is ready to pick us up?” Dorane asked, pulling Mei against his side.

Mei laughed when everyone started talking at once about what had just happened. It wasn’t until they heard La’Rue shout down from the top of the cliff that they went quiet and looked up. Mei shielded her eyes with her hand. Her lips parted when she saw the familiar man standing next to her.

“Josh!” Mei breathed, a strangled laugh slipping from her.

“Hey, guys. We’ve got a Legion Battle Cruiser heading our way! Are you done playing with the Turbinta assassin yet?” La’Rue hollered.

The battle wasn’t over yet.

Cryon II airspace

The Legion fleet surged toward Cryon II, an ominous wall of warships and firepower, its presence a herald of destruction. The bridge of the Tyrannis , Andronikos’s flagship, thrummed with tension.

Commander Ri Manta stood at his station, his expression unreadable, his hands folded behind his back as the final moments before war ticked down. The bridge was filled with Legion loyalists, their eyes locked onto the incoming battlefield. None of them suspected the silent rebellion already in motion in the bowels of the fleet’s ships, including this one.

Andronikos stood at the center of the bridge, his presence a coiled storm of delusion and unchecked fury. His paranoia had reached its peak. He hadn’t let anyone enter his private command room for over two days, only issuing orders through his guards. Now, his voice was sharp, clipped, as he issued his next command.

Andronikos’s command swept through the bridge like a blade, his eyes burning with obsessive purpose. “Deploy a Battle Cruiser to Aetherial. I want six of my elite soldiers on board. You—I want a meeting in the command room now.”

He turned sharply, his glare locking onto Ri. “Prepare a transfer shuttle and inform the captain of the Charger to expect my men.”

Ri gave a curt nod, his calm exterior. “Yes, sir. Ensign, contact Captain Ramos and tell him to expect a shuttle transfer within the next few minutes.”

Ri watched as Andronikos turned his attention to his security team. Ri’s sharp gaze didn’t miss the tremble in Andronikos hands or the way the Director’s head twitched, almost as if he had a neurological disorder. Six of Andronikos’ personal guards saluted, their boots echoing against the polished floor as they filed into the planning room to receive their orders. Less than ten minutes later, the group filed out, moving in formation as they exited the bridge.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ri noticed the rest of Andri’s guards taking up position once again outside of the doors to the private command room before the doors slid close. The Director had sealed himself back into the command room.

At least there will be six fewer soldiers to deal with, he wryly thought as he refocused on the viewport.

He watched dispassionately as the shuttle’s lights cut through the artificial lights of the fleet before disappearing into the adjacent Battle Cruiser. Moments later, the Battle Cruiser veered away, breaking formation before disappearing in a flash of light.

A minuscule smile curved Ri’s lips before he looked down when a silent pulse from his wrist communicator alerted him. He breathed in and out before returning his attention the room. He sat down in the captain’s chair, his hand sliding to the button that controlled the doors to the bridge, and he pressed the override. He fingered the button on the side of his wrist communicator.

“Secure the bridge on arrival.”

The moment the Legion fleet dropped out of hyperspace into Cryon II’s airspace, Ri felt the shift in the room. Legion officers stiffened, eyes darting to the viewscreens as the battlefield took shape. The Gallant fleet was waiting.

Ships—too many to count—moved like a tidal wave, led by Hutu’s warships, flanked by hundreds of freighters, their gunports unveiling hidden firepower. Gallant fighters swarmed into formation. The pulse of battle was imminent.

The First Officer, a man not of his choosing, released a snarl. “They were waiting for us. Good. Let’s end this.”

He turned toward Ri, expecting agreement. Ri rose from the captain’s chair, lifted his laser pistol, and fired.

“I agree. It is time to end this,” Ri replied.

He fired at the group of guards standing in front of the door leading to the command room. The bridge erupted into chaos as loyalist officers scrambled for their weapons. Behind him, the unsealed bridge doors opened and a group of elite officers poured in, quickly outnumbering the officers in the room.

“Take over communication and navigation,” he called out to two men. “Status report.”

“Engineering is secure.”

“Medical is secure.”

“Fighter bay and weapons are secure.”

“All top levels are secure, sir.”

The hidden Gallant operatives that had sprung into action—security officers, communications techs, ensigns—overpowered the Legion loyalists in brutal, efficient strikes. The takeover had been a long time coming and not without a cost. The careful planning had been tedious. When Roan had first approached Ri, he had been skeptical that an operation of this magnitude could be pulled off. It could only have happened if everyone was willing to die with this secret if they were captured. Ri honestly hadn’t thought there were that many who would.

You were right, Roan.

Ri looked around the bridge. In under a minute, the bridge belonged to those who believed in freedom. Four men worked at clearing the bodies while the rest filled the vacant seats, taking command of the massive starship. Ri turned to the sealed door of the command room. He motioned for a tech to disable the door panel. Several security guards moved forward into position.

“Be careful. He is dangerous,” Ri cautioned.

“Ready when you are, sir,” the tech said.

Ri held his weapon at the ready. He gave a sharp nod to the tech who touched two wires together. The wires sparked before the doors slid open with a low whoosh. Four security officers burst through the door, low and wary. Ri followed, frowning when there was no answering response to the entry. He stepped into the command room, noting the broken displays, shattered glass, and smears of food and liquid across the glass of the viewport windows.

As he studied the room, he noted two things: any reflective surface had been defaced, as if Andronikos couldn’t stand the sight of his own reflection, and the room was empty.

Ri cursed as he studied the room, then his eyes narrowed. He strode back onto the bridge, staring at the spot where the Charger had been ahead of them. Andronikos had slipped out as one of the guards—and was heading to Aetherial.

"Damn it!" he hissed.

He strode over to the communication console. The communications officer rose and stepped to the side. Ri’s fingers flew across the keyboard, activating a secure line to the Gallant Battle Cruiser.

“ Tracer, this is Commander Ri Manta. Patch me through to General Hutu Gomerant immediately,” he requested in a tense tone.

“Ri, you have control of the ship?” Hutu responded almost immediately.

“Yes, we have control of the command ship. Hutu, Andronikos has escaped. He’s heading for Aetherial.”

“We’ve sent a Battle Cruiser to intercept. I’ll notify them that Andronikos is onboard,” Hutu replied, his voice thick with anger. “We’ve ordered that the Legion ships be disabled when possible. We’ll do our best to preserve as many lives as we can.”

Ri looked up as the surrounding space lit up with small flashes. Gallant fighters were engaging with loyalist Legion squadrons, weaving through space in a deadly dance of blaster fire and evasive maneuvers. Freighters, armed to the teeth, ambushed smaller Legion battleships, unloading hidden artillery that turned ambushes into merciless takedowns. Cryon II’s defenses activated, energy cannons pulsing with deadly precision, taking out entire Legion formations in seconds.

“Thank you. We’ll do our part to end this as soon as possible,” Ri promised, ending the transmission.

He turned and stepped back toward the captain’s chair. “Fire to disable only,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the two weapons officers replied.

Ri sank down onto the plush chair. He flexed his fingers, his eyes locked on the viewport as the flagship of the Legion Battle Cruisers opened fire on its sister ships. The Legion was fracturing. “Loyalist” ships were abandoning the battle, their crews refusing to follow orders and die for Andronikos.

Andronikos’s house of cards was collapsing, but Ri knew this wasn’t over yet. It wouldn’t be until Andronikos fell once and for all.

Roan, I hope you are ready.