Page 9

T he proximity alarm screamed through the cockpit as the first plasma bolt sliced past the Starfall’s hull, close enough to make the shields shimmer. Red emergency lights bathed everything in their harsh glow, transforming Korvan’s gray features into something otherworldly.

I gripped the controls so hard my knuckles turned white. “Shit!”

Another bolt hit us, this time clipping the shield.

The ship lurched sideways. My stomach dropped as I fought to stabilize.

I’d faced danger before—hell, it was practically my job description—but something about this felt different.

Maybe it was the blood still seeping from Korvan’s wound.

Maybe it was knowing what was in that container behind us.

Either way, my pulse hammered in my throat.

“Three scavenger ships,” Korvan announced, his fingers moving over the secondary control panel. “Class-D Raptors. Old mining vessels retrofitted with military-grade weapons.”

“I can see that,” I snapped, banking hard to avoid another volley. “Kind of busy trying not to get us killed.”

Korvan ignored my tone. “They’re trying to box us in. The lead ship has a tractor modification.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“The energy signature. And the way they’re maneuvering.”

I swung the ship into a tight spiral, throwing off their targeting systems momentarily. I’d run blockades, escaped Alliance patrols, and once even outflown a mercenary squadron. But I’d never done it with a bleeding Vinduthi lieutenant only inches away.

“You need to let me handle this,” I said, yanking the ship in another direction. “I know how to fly my own damn ship.”

“I’m not questioning your abilities,” Korvan replied, maddeningly calm as he rerouted power to the rear shields. “I’m supplementing them.”

Another hit rocked the ship. The controls bucked in my hands.

“Come on, girl,” I muttered to the Starfall . “Don’t let me down now.”

“Their lead ship has a weakness,” Korvan said. “The retrofitted weapons systems drain power from their engines during full discharge. There’s a two-second lag.”

I shot him a skeptical look but filed the information away. “And you know this how?”

“I’ve hunted their kind before.”

Of course he had. What hadn’t this man done?

I banked the ship again, this time diving beneath the formation of scavenger ships. They adjusted quickly, their engines flaring as they changed course.

“There’s a debris field in sector seven,” I said, checking the nav charts. “If we can reach it...”

“It would give us an advantage,” Korvan finished my thought. “Their ships are larger, less maneuverable.”

“Exactly.”

Our eyes met for a beat too long. It was strange having someone who could follow my thinking without explanation. Stranger still that it was him.

“I’ll redirect auxiliary power to the forward thrusters,” he said. “It’ll give us the burst we need.”

I nodded, plotting the course in my head. “When I say now, hit them with everything we’ve got. Right in their belly.”

Korvan’s fingers hovered over the weapons control. I noticed how long they were, how precise in their movements despite his injury. He had to be in pain, yet nothing in his face or posture betrayed it.

I pushed that thought aside and focused on flying. The scavenger ships were closing in, two from behind and one sweeping around to cut us off.

“They’re coordinating,” I said. “That’s unusual for scavengers.”

“These aren’t ordinary scavengers,” Korvan replied. “They’re too organized.”

Great. Just what we needed.

I pushed the Starfall into a steep climb, then immediately reversed direction, dropping beneath the lead ship just as it fired. The maneuver put us on a direct course for the debris field.

“Hold on,” I warned.

The first fragments of destroyed ships and station parts loomed ahead. I threaded us through a gap barely wider than our hull, scraping past a twisted girder.

The scavengers hesitated, then followed. Just as I’d hoped.

“Now,” I said.

Korvan fired. Our ship shuddered with the discharge. The blast caught the lead scavenger ship square in its underside. Just as Korvan predicted, its weapons faltered for a brief moment. But that moment was all we needed.

I slammed the ship into a full-power turn that would have torn apart a lesser vessel, using a massive chunk of hull plating for cover.

“Again,” I ordered, and Korvan fired a second time.

This shot hit one of the fuel lines. Not enough to destroy the scavenger ship, but enough to damage it severely. It began to drift, belching flames and debris.

“One down,” I muttered.

The other two ships broke formation, suddenly more cautious. They spread out, trying to catch us in crossfire.

I wove through the debris field, my hands moving on instinct. Korvan and I settled into a rhythm without speaking—him adjusting power outputs and firing weapons as I piloted, anticipating each other’s moves before they happened.

It was unnerving how well we worked together.

“They’re trying to herd us toward that derelict freighter,” Korvan observed as we dodged another volley.

I saw it too. “They think we’ll get trapped between the hull sections.”

“But we won’t.”

I grinned despite myself. “No. We won’t.”

I banked the ship toward the derelict freighter, making it look like their plan was working. The scavenger ships followed eagerly, closing the distance.

“Ready to invert?” I asked.

Korvan nodded. “Weapons hot.”

I waited until the last possible second, then executed a maneuver that sent us scraping along the freighter’s hull before flipping completely around. The sudden reversal caught the scavengers off guard. They tried to adjust but collided with a section of floating debris.

“Now!”

Korvan fired three quick bursts. The first disabled one ship’s propulsion system. The second took out the other’s weapons array. The third was a warning shot across their bow.

“Impressive,” he said.

A rush of heat spread across my skin. The rush of the fight, the close quarters. That’s all it was.

One of the scavenger ships was retreating, limping away with a damaged engine. The other held position, likely assessing whether we were worth the trouble.

“They’re receiving a transmission,” Korvan said, monitoring the comm frequencies.

“Can you intercept it?”

“No need. They’re leaving.”

Sure enough, the remaining scavenger ship was turning away, following its damaged companion.

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My shoulders ached from tension. I slumped back in my seat as the proximity alarms finally silenced.

The sudden quiet felt almost oppressive.

“You’re good,” Korvan said after a long moment.

I glanced at him, too tired for my usual snappy comeback. “I know.”

His mouth curved into the barest hint of a smile. “That makes two of us.”

The simple statement contained no arrogance, just fact. And he was right. Whatever else I thought about Korvan, he was good at what he did. Damn good.

“We need to make the jump to hyperspace,” I said, setting the coordinates. “In case they come back with friends.”

Korvan nodded, but I noticed how stiffly he moved now that the immediate danger had passed. The wound from the fight with the Black Spikes had bled through the bandage he’d applied in the galley.

“You should have told me it was getting worse,” I said, frustration edging into my voice.

“And risk you grounding us?” he replied, his stubbornness evident. “The mission comes first.”

“That mindset will get you killed one day,” I muttered. It was the same recklessness I saw in myself—pushing beyond limits, taking unnecessary risks. Maybe that's why we worked together so well, despite everything.

The nav computer beeped, coordinates locked in. I engaged the hyperdrive, and the stars stretched into long streaks of light.

Korvan unbuckled his safety harness and stood. A flicker of pain crossed his features.

“Let me know if you need a hand patching that up,” I offered.

He nodded but paused before leaving the cockpit. “Your skills are... not typical for a smuggler.”

“Most smugglers I've encountered run at the first sign of trouble. They're survivalists, not fighters.”

I kept my eyes on the controls, suddenly uncomfortable with his scrutiny. “I’ve had practice.”

“More than practice. You have instinct.”

“Thanks for the assessment,” I said dryly. “Now go cover that up before you bleed all over my ship.”

He studied me for another beat, then left without another word.

I exhaled slowly as the cockpit door slid shut behind him. My hands trembled slightly as the adrenaline drained from my system. I flexed my fingers, trying to work out the stiffness.

The man was infuriating. Overbearing. Impossible to read.

And absolutely the last person I should trust.

Yet for those few minutes during the fight, we’d moved in perfect sync, as if we’d flown together for years. I’d never experienced anything like it—not with partners, not with co-pilots, not with anyone.

It bothered me more than I wanted to admit.