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M y side throbbed with each breath as I sat rigid in the co-pilot seat. The pain burned deep, but I’d suffered far worse over the years. The Starfall’s engine hummed beneath us, its vibrations traveling up through the seat and into my bones.

The cockpit lights cast Iria’s profile in shadow and blue-tinted light. Her shoulders squared with determination as her fingers danced over the controls. A smuggler with principles. Rare.

The Black Spikes’ ambush... the timing, their preparedness—it wasn’t coincidence. Someone from within our organization had betrayed us. Our exact location, cargo details—all leaked to our enemies.

Alkard needed to know. The Fangs had a traitor.

I studied Iria from the corner of my eye. During the firefight, she’d surprised me. Most smugglers I’d hired in the past would have fled at the first sign of trouble, leaving me to my fate. Yet she’d stayed, and fought at my side with unexpected skill.

I shifted in the co-pilot seat, wincing as pain radiated from my wound. The movement didn't escape Iria's notice.

“Don't just sit there,” she said, glancing at me before returning her attention to the controls. “You look like you're about to pass out.”

“I've survived worse,” I replied, keeping my voice flat despite the fire in my side.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I don't want you collapsing on my ship. Go clean yourself up.”

I remained seated, studying her. “You fought well back there.”

Her hands paused briefly over the navigation controls. “Don't sound so surprised.”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “I'm not. But I am curious... Why didn't you run? You could've left me behind.”

Iria's shoulders stiffened. “I told you, I'm not heartless.” She hesitated, glanced at me, then back to the controls. “And maybe I owed you.”

I leaned forward, curious now. “Owed me?”

“You didn't have to take that plasma bolt for me. You could've let me get hit.” She busied herself with adjusting the ship's course, avoiding my gaze.

The realization struck me oddly. I hadn't consciously decided to shield her—my body had simply moved. An instinct I rarely experienced toward anyone outside the Fangs. A dangerous instinct when directed toward a temporary asset.

She was more than just a survivor. She had principles, values that extended beyond self-preservation. That made her unpredictable. Dangerous, even.

I stood slowly, my fingers pressing against the bandage where fresh blood was seeping through. “I need to send a message to Alkard. And deal with this,” I added, gesturing to my injury.

I left the cockpit without another word, feeling her eyes on my back as I walked away.

In the small galley, I extracted my communicator from an inner pocket. The device hummed as I activated its highest encryption protocols. Alkard needed to know immediately. I composed a coded message—simple, direct, but carrying grave implications:

“Black Spikes had our exact location. There's a traitor within the Fangs. Container retrieved - confirms biological weapons research targeting Vinduthi weaknesses.”

I transmitted the message through our secure channels. Alkard would understand the severity without elaboration. He would begin his own investigation, quietly and ruthlessly.

The pain in my side intensified as the adrenaline faded. I pulled out the medkit stashed beneath one of the galley cabinets. My fingers worked methodically to clean and re-dress the wound

Already the edges were beginning to close, the accelerated healing of my species at work. It would be hours before it fully repaired—the plasma bolt had burned deep, damaging multiple layers of tissue.

I had just finished securing the fresh bandage when a shrill shriek cut through the ship.

Danger. The proximity alarm.

I abandoned the medkit and rushed back to the cockpit, ignoring the sharp pain with each step. Iria hunched over the sensor display, her face illuminated by the red warning lights.

“We’ve got company,” she said, fingers already working combat sequences into the navigation computer.

I leaned over her shoulder, studying the readout. The ship’s configuration was unmistakable. “Scavenger ship. They’ve been tailing us since the outpost.”

The first shot hit before Iria could respond. The Starfall rocked violently, throwing me against the bulkhead. Pain exploded across my injured side.

“They think we’re vulnerable,” I growled, steadying myself against the pilot’s chair. “They’re wrong.”

Iria’s hands flew across the controls. “Sit down and strap in. This is going to get rough.”

I dropped into the co-pilot seat, fingers finding the harness automatically. The scanner showed two more scavenger ships emerging from behind a small asteroid cluster. Not a coincidence—an ambush.

“Three ships,” I said. “Coordinated formation. These aren’t ordinary scavengers.”

Iria snorted. “No kidding. Ordinary scavengers don’t have military-grade targeting systems.”

She pitched the ship into a steep dive, evading another barrage of laser fire. Her skills impressed me—most pilots would panic facing three-to-one odds. Iria handled the Starfall with the intimacy of long partnership, anticipating its responses, pushing its limits.

“Any ideas?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the viewscreen.

“The asteroid field,” I replied, pointing to a dense cluster in the distance. “Your ship can outmaneuver them in tight spaces.”

“The Starfall isn’t exactly built for combat maneuvers in asteroid fields.”

“And those scavenger ships aren’t built for precision flying. They’re retrofitted cargo haulers—heavy, slow to turn.”

She considered for only a second before changing course. “If we crash and die, I’m blaming you.”

“If we crash and die, blame will be the least of our concerns.”

She actually laughed—a sharp, genuine sound that surprised me. “Fair point.”