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A s the artificial lights of Cryon II faded, the sprawling moon base was cloaked in twilight, the cold metallic surfaces gleaming faintly under the distant stars, a stark, haughty beauty. Mei’s footsteps were silent on the worn factory floor as she slipped into the flow of weary workers. As they left their shifts, the smell of filtered air couldn't quite mask the strong odor of sweat clinging to their clothes.

She adjusted her pilfered cloak’s hood, ensuring the shadows hid her features. She had matched the cloak with a pair of goggles she had found, a black neck gaiter, and a thick, protective pair of black work gloves from her bag. This outfit blended in perfectly with the unusual lunar residents.

Mei followed several paces behind Tiv. The other woman had covered her surprise when Mei bumped into her a few minutes before. She had shot Mei a confused, worried frown before she was pushed forward by the crowd of workers in a hurry to exit the area.

Mei noticed Yi hurrying toward his sister. Even with his insectoid features, she could tell he was frantic with worry as he spoke in a rapid clicking. When Tiv replied with her own gestures and clicks, Yi’s head jerked around and he stared at the crowd with a surprised expression before Tiv slid an arm through his and they continued walking toward the exit.

“Ancestors, Tiv!” he gasped, his voice hushed but urgent. “Your friend nearly gave me a heart attack! I opened that crate and she was gone! I thought?—”

Tiv held up a hand, a slight amused smile playing on her lips. “I told you she could take care of herself.”

“I apologize for worrying you. The situation became too dangerous. I’m glad that man came to your aid,” Mei murmured, drawing up next to Yi.

Yi exhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was as if his nerves were still raw from earlier. His mandibles twitched in agitation, but his eyes sparkled with something else—excitement.

“What man?” Tiv asked.

“Tiv, you won’t believe what happened,” he exclaimed, his voice dropping in awe. “Dorane LeGaugh stepped in and saved me.”

Mei tilted her head, the name unfamiliar. “Who is Dorane LeGaugh?”

Yi looked at her as if she’d asked who the sun was. “Dorane LeGaugh! You know, the wealthiest man in the galaxy—except for maybe Lord Andri Andronikos.” He waved a hand toward the towering skyline. “He owns this moon, the freighters, the markets, and he even has his own personal army. The guy is practically untouchable!”

Mei’s brow furrowed slightly and she listened as Tiv demanded her brother tell her everything that happened. Wealth and power were nothing new—back on Earth, there had been young men just like this Dorane. Of course, they hadn’t owned a moon or a fleet of space freighters, but they had still wielded influence, status, control—and a man like that also had something she needed right now: information.

Information was the most valuable currency in the galaxy right now as far as she was concerned.

Three days later, Mei continued exploring the city with one focus—finding more information about Dorane LeGaugh. The upper beams of Cryon II were her highways, a personal labyrinth of catwalks and scaffolding that let her move unseen.

Yi’s schematics of the lower levels had proven useful. The underbelly of the moon was a different world—darker, harsher. The place where secrets thrived.

It was here that she spotted him again. Dorane LeGaugh.

He walked with purpose, flanked by the two figures she had marked as his bodyguards—the slender, feline-featured woman with golden, slit-pupiled eyes, and the massive, armored Zurkaan brute.

Mei followed them from the beams, shrouded in shadows, watching as they disappeared into a drinking establishment.

Interesting.

With her hood drawn low and a scarf covering her lower face, Mei descended, blending into the ebb and flow of customers filtering inside.

The establishment was dim, its lights casting a faint reddish glow against metal walls. The air was thick with smoke, spiced liquor, and the low hum of conversation.

At the far end of the room, Dorane took a seat in a booth, across from a woman who was more machine than flesh—her face half-replaced with sleek cybernetics, her limbs humming with hidden enhancements. Mei sensed this wasn’t a social meeting.

Mei didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate; she was weaving between patrons, her focus razor-sharp. On a nearby table, a half-finished drink sat abandoned. She snatched it up, the movement seamless, natural. A ruse. A cover.

A drunken man stumbled past, swaying into her path.

Mei used the moment, pretending to lose her balance, and when the drunken man toppled, her free hand darted forward and slipped a small tracking device into the lining of Dorane’s jacket.

She caught herself with a slight stumble, turning just as the cyborg woman’s head snapped toward her.

Mei kept her eyes down, ducking her head, acting like just another clumsy customer. A low, mechanical mutter came from the woman’s metal-plated lips. Mei didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge the mild threat.

Instead, she twisted away and stumbled to the bar where she slid onto a stool, her back to them, her ears tuned in. She could see their reflection in a gap between a stack of glasses. The mirrored surface of the walls distorted their features, but it was enough that while she couldn’t hear the conversation, their body language told her everything.

Dorane was not happy.

His jaw clenched, his fingers drumming on the table, his body language sharp, coiled like a blade ready to strike.

The cyborg woman was speaking in low, measured tones, but Mei recognized the arrogance that came when someone thought they were more skilled than their opponent. This wasn’t business. This was something deeper, darker, more ominous.

Mei didn’t watch Dorane. Instead, she watched the woman.

Everything about the cyborg felt wrong. It wasn’t just the cybernetics. Mei had seen plenty of enhanced beings over the last few days. It was the way the woman moved—too still, too precise. Someone waiting to strike. Someone like Mei.

Mei lifted the drink, pretending to take a sip when the bartender looked her way. Her plan had been to locate Dorane, slip the tracking device Tiv had given her somewhere on him, and follow him.

She had accomplished that mission and should have left, but she didn’t. Shit was about to blow up, and her gut was telling her that Dorane and his two friends were going to need all the help they could get.

For now, she would watch and be ready. But she had the feeling that whatever was about to happen—it wasn’t just Dorane’s problem anymore.

Minutes before:

The soft chime of the lift was almost drowned out by the irritated muttering of Dorane’s companion as she paced inside. Dorane fought against grinning when Asta’s tail flicked in sharp agitation. Jammer wasn’t as successful at smothering his amusement, drawing an irate glare from Asta. Dorane half-listened, hands resting in his coat pockets as he stared at the slow flicker of floor indicators on the control panel.

“I swear to every damn god in this galaxy, I am not paid enough to deal with this level of stupidity,” Asta growled, glaring at him. “You know this is a trap, right? You’re walking into a bar to meet a Turbinta assassin like you’re catching up with an old lover over drinks.”

Jammer shuddered at the thought. “Please tell me that you never slept with Cee,” he murmured.

Dorane shot his friends a disgusted look. “You assume all my lovers are the violent sort… and to answer your question, Jammer; no, I never slept with Cee. I do have a little self-respect.”

“More like a sense of self-preservation,” Jammer muttered.

“I know all your lovers are violent. I’m usually the one who has to deal with them when they try to kill you,” Asta shot back.

Behind her, Jammer rumbled with laughter, leaning against the lift railing with his massive arms folded across his chest. “Can’t argue with that.”

Dorane ignored them. Despite his nonchalant outward appearance, his thoughts were all strategy, as was necessary when dealing with Cee 585. Cee was a Turbinta assassin, highly skilled, dangerous, and—above all else—currently sitting in Deek’s, waiting for him.

She hadn’t slipped onto Cryon II undetected. Not exactly. One of his security guards had helped her in. The poor bastard was probably no longer breathing thanks to a very sudden case of explosive decompression if he knew his two companions. They would not show mercy to anyone who betrayed him.

They probably tossed him out of Level 32’s airlock, he mused. The pressure seals were old, and that meant cleanup would have been minimal. Asta was efficient like that.

“Do you want to know what’s really pissing me off?” Asta asked.

“No,” he replied.

Asta continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s that you’re not even worried. You knew she was here —didn’t you?”

Dorane gave her an affable grin. “Of course I knew.”

Asta cursed under her breath and smacked the lift’s control panel so hard, it beeped in protest.

“You enjoy making my life difficult,” she accused.

“Constantly. If you were bored, you’d quit, and I can’t have that. Do you have any idea how difficult it would be to train someone new?” he asked as if outraged at the thought.

“Sometimes I really hate you, Dorane,” Asta hissed.

“For all of two seconds before you realize I’m right,” he retorted.

“Can’t argue with that, Asta,” Jammer said.

“Shut up, Jammer,” Asta muttered.

The lift doors hissed open. Level 12. Dorane stepped out first, pausing as a group of pedestrians moved past. The station’s artificial lighting flickered in strips along the ceiling, casting a pale, electric glow over the metal streets.

“Jammer, make a note to have mechanical take a look at the lighting again. Their new programming leaves a lot to be desired,” Dorane requested.

“I already spoke to them,” Jammer replied.

Dorane continued forward at a leisurely pace. Once again, the sensation of being watched curled around him. The awareness had been following him for weeks now.

It wasn’t paranoia. He knew what that felt like. No—this was deliberate. Someone was playing a long game, watching him from the periphery, waiting.

He hated being toyed with. He really hated it.

His gaze flicked upward toward the crisscrossing metal beams and dim observation platforms overhead. Nothing. But that didn’t mean no one was there.

Asta exhaled sharply. “That look on your face is making my trigger finger itch.”

Dorane rolled his shoulders, his smirk returning. “Relax, we have an assassin to greet. You’ll probably get to scratch it before the evening is over if I know Cee.”

She muttered something foul under her breath. Jammer chuckled. With a sigh, Dorane strode forward.

Minutes later, Dorane entered the arched doorway leading into Deek’s. The bar was barely marked, the name half-flickering on an ancient neon sign mounted over the steel-framed doors. It was a low-lit, smoky dive, filled with the scent of cheap liquor, burnt circuits, and poor decisions.

The walls were reinforced metal, patched in places with whatever scrap had been lying around, and the ceilings were strung with dim hanging lamps that flickered whenever the power grid hiccupped—which was often in this section. He made a mental note to speak to mechanical if it wasn’t fixed soon.

Perhaps shooting a few more people into space will make Asta feel better, he mused.

Deek ran a no-nonsense establishment, catering to the clientele who didn’t ask questions and didn’t start fights inside—mostly because Deek himself would break their legs if they did.

The Kerlian was older than the moon base and redder and meaner than the mines he had emerged from. Hell, he had been old when Dorane met him ten years before on Balstin Prime.

Dorane stepped inside, the muffled hum of conversation hitting him first. Patrons hunched over tables, some playing games of holo-dice or battle bots while others watched the holoscreens displaying the latest news of the Legion’s defeat.

Deek is living dangerously, broadcasting the illegal channels.

Not that much was illegal on Cryon II. Still, the few who were loyal to the Legion wouldn’t be happy if they knew their defeat was set on a loop for everyone to see.

Dorane scanned the interior. The bar stretched along the right wall, and behind it stood Deek himself—a thick-set, four-armed Kerlian with red-tinted cybernetic optics. Deek had lost his four arms in a mining explosion. The corporate owners, upset at losing a crew, had ‘gifted’ the cybernetic arms to Deek after he was dragged out almost dead. Deek had used their gift to escape the horrors of the mine and the brutal corporation that had owned it.

The mine was one of the first places Dorane had purchased after hearing what Deek had been through. Now, the corporate owners, those who were still alive, were doing the digging. Dorane lifted a hand in greeting when Deek paused and nodded to him before glancing at a table across from the bar.

Asta and Jammer fell in step behind him.

“Sit at the bar,” Dorane instructed.

Asta grumbled, tail flicking. “One of these days, I’m letting you get shot.”

Jammer chuckled, striding toward the counter with a booming greeting.

“Deek, you magnificent bastard, you still serving that battery acid you call Torrian Viper Piss?”

Deek didn’t even glance up as he slid a glass to another patron. “Yeah, and it’s still too strong for your oversized ass, Jammer.”

Jammer just laughed.

Dorane didn’t stop at the bar. He strode toward the back booth, where Cee 585 was waiting.

Cee sat at the far end of the booth, leaning back with casual ease, her cybernetic fingers idly tapping the table in an impatient rhythm. There was a wall behind her, as well as a corridor that led to the bathrooms and an exit.

Her right eye gleamed an unnatural electric blue, the left one dark and calculating. The side of her face was more machine than flesh, sleek plating running from her temple down to her jaw.

The last time Dorane had seen her, she’d been less metal and more normal-looking… if you could call the patchwork of red, blue, and green molted spots and leathery skin normal.

Asta really must think I have terrible taste if she believes I would ever sleep with someone like Cee, he thought with distaste.

He walked along the narrow path between the bar and tables and slid into the seat across from her, eyeing the robotic server as it placed a glass of amber liquid in front of him.

He lifted it in a toast and shot Cee a deceptive smile of greeting that didn’t reach his eyes. “At the rate you’re going, Cee, you could get a job serving drinks here.”

Cee didn’t smile. “I see you are entertaining as always, Dorane.”

Dorane took a slow sip, then motioned toward her. “That’s a lot of shiny new parts. Did you have another accident, or are you just trying out a new look?”

Cee’s fingers tightened slightly on the table.

Dorane grinned. Good. She still had a temper.

Cee leaned forward. “Do you know why I’m here, Dorane?”

He laughed and nodded. “You’re a Turbinta assassin, Cee. I have a bounty on my head. That’s like asking if I know the sky is black and if stars shine.”

Cee tilted her head slightly, watching him. “The Legion wants you dead.”

Dorane shrugged. “Hardly news.”

“It is a sizable amount,” she added, her voice unreadable.

Dorane’s smile didn’t fade, but his gaze sharpened slightly. “I’m sure it is. Let me guess, the Director of the Legion is feeling threatened.”

Cee gave a small, mocking bow of her head. “It would appear the dead general wanted to leave a parting gift for you as well. What did you do to upset them so badly?”

Dorane exhaled, dragging his fingers through his curls. “It might be easier to list what I haven’t done to piss them off.”

Cee smirked. “That, I can believe.”

She paused, her gaze flashing to the screens playing above the bar. “You know about the battle?”

Dorane leaned back, swirling his drink. “Of course. It’s a little hard to miss.”

“Rumor has it that Roan Landais defected and he is alive. His father… not so much,” Cee said bluntly.

Dorane didn’t react outwardly. She was fishing for information. She wanted to know where Roan was and if he had contacted him. She would have to keep wondering. What he didn’t expect was her next question.

“Where are the Ancient Knights?”

Dorane arched a brow, lips twitching. “How should I know?”

Cee pursed her lips together. “You know everything.”

Dorane was about to reply when a large, male patron crashed into their table. Dorane’s hand instinctively went to his weapon, but when his gaze snapped up, it landed, not on the drunken man, but the cloaked figure that the man had knocked against.

A startling awareness coiled through him. It was instant—and sharp. The figure was almost child size, but there was a grace in the alien’s movement, in the way the liquid in their glass barely moved, that captured his attention. His eyes flickered when the alien’s hand moved—slender fingers covered by black gloves.

A shadow moving through the light.

The thought flashed through his mind as the customer straightened, turned away, and staggered to the bar stool across from the table.

Dorane’s eyes narrowed, unease curling in his gut. The stagger had been graceful, almost like a dance step instead of a stumble. He vaguely heard Cee growling, “Watch yourself or you’ll be next!”

The drunkard turned to say something but paled and hurried away. Dorane dragged his gaze away from the small stranger sitting hunched at the bar. He exhaled slowly and shook his head at Cee, registering what she’d said.

“For the sake of our friendship —and all those lovely new upgrades—I really hope you’re not here to cash in on my bounty.”

Cee’s lips curled into a smile that wasn’t really a smile.

“Dorane,” she said softly, lifting the pistol in her hand, her mechanical fingers curling easily around the grip.

“It’s not personal, just business. I’m sure you understand.”