Page 82 of Ravaged By the Reaper

He doesn’t move.

I hold his gaze.

“This is me,” I say. Voice calm, but fierce. “My body is my choice. Not your bargaining chip.”

His jaw goes rigid. His voice steel.

“You’re not a thing to surrender.”

My heart tenses—but I don’t blink.

“This is the only way you’ll have peace without genocide. Or I’ll remain unyielding. And then there’s no peace at all.”

He doesn’t laugh.

He reaches out, and his hand trembles—not in weakness, but anticipation.

“I grant you this,” he whispers. Close enough I can feel the heat of his breath. “Because I’d rather see how far you can push humanity than be the one to crush it.”

I close the space between us with a breath.

“So let’s hope I’m not wrong.”

No more words. Just the shutter of breath and the click of his decision. Then, the door behind me opens again.

We stand, two human-made weapons, rendered alive by choice.

And the station doesn’t feel like it's bleeding anymore. Instead, it holds its breath with me.

CHAPTER 23

HAKTRON

Ipace.

Hard steps. Measured. But each one drips with the tension of a coiled strike. I’ve worn grooves in the floor outside the sealed chamber, but it doesn't help. Doesn’t bleed the pressure out. Doesn’t distract me from the maddening silence on the other side of the damn door.

She’s in there. Alone.

Withhim.

Malem’s voice might be piped through some encrypted line I can’t access, but Ifeelhim. Like static in my skull. Like blood in my teeth. That man is poison laced in protocol, venom polished into diplomacy. Every syllable he utters, I imagine curling around her throat like a leash.

And I’m just… standing here.

The urge to rip through the chamber door and pull her away burns down my spine like wildfire. Every muscle in my body is keyed up, jaw tight, fists clenched until the armor creaks.

But I don’t move. Not toward the door, at least.

Because she asked me not to.

Trust me,she said.

Stars help me—I do.

But that doesn’t make the waiting any easier.

A technician passes, eyes wide before flicking away. They can smell it on me—the rage simmering just beneath my skin. Like ozone before a lightning strike.