Page 9

AVA

T he jungle breathes around me, a living entity of shadows and whispers.

The air is thick with humidity, clinging to my skin like a second layer, slick and suffocating.

Somewhere above, the canopy rustles, leaves shifting against each other like hissing secrets.

Distant calls of unseen creatures echo through the foliage—sharp cries, low howls, guttural croaks.

A haunting symphony that underscores the stillness of our pathetic excuse for a camp.

I stir from a restless sleep, the taste of adrenaline still bitter on my tongue.

My body screams as I move—muscles pulled tight, bruises blooming across my arms and ribs, the ghost of pain radiating through my side where the harness dug in too hard during impact.

My skin is clammy beneath the ragged remains of my uniform, and the makeshift bedding beneath me—if you can even call it that—is soaked through with dew.

The jungle’s dampness has seeped into my bones, chilling me to the core.

For a moment, I blink into the dim light, unsure of where I am. But reality crashes back in like a punch to the gut.

Alien planet.

Crashed escape pod.

No backup.

And him.

I suck in a breath as my gaze finds the Reaper, already awake and seated by the smoldering fire.

His form is coiled, looming even at rest, a blade in his hand catching the faint orange glow as he drags it slowly across a sharpening stone.

The rasping noise grates along my spine, every scrape a reminder of what he is—what he’s capable of.

Kairon Vesh.

The last thing I remember before the pod launched was the chaos of the firefight—the thunder of gunfire, the shriek of the alarms, the containment breach, and then his face. Brutal. Unrelenting. The kind of face you don’t forget. The kind that makes your heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

He probably killed my entire crew.

And now, he’s the only person left to watch my back.

His eyes catch mine in the half-light—faintly glowing, eerily still.

There’s no recognition, no apology, no flicker of remorse.

Just cold calculation. He’s studying me, not out of curiosity or concern, but like he’s waiting for me to make a mistake.

Like I’m a piece of machinery he's deciding whether to salvage… or discard.

I clench my jaw and push myself upright, biting back a groan as my ribs protest. I need to move. Need to do something—anything—to shake off the crawling sensation under my skin.

I start checking the perimeter, brushing past thick ferns and low-hanging vines that drip with condensation. The jungle is so damn alive it feels like it’s watching us, too—waiting for one of us to drop dead.

Every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves sends a jolt through my spine. I keep my hand close to the stun-blade salvaged from the pod, but it’s a pathetic comfort. The weapon’s already half-broken, and I don’t know how long it’ll hold a charge.

Behind me, I feel it—his gaze. Like a blade pressed against the back of my neck.

Watching. Judging.

I don’t look back.

Not yet.

"You're up early," I mutter, not turning to face him as I sweep the brush aside with a branch, eyes scanning the treeline for anything that doesn’t belong.

"Couldn't sleep," he replies, his voice low and rough—like gravel grinding under boot. Not a hint of fatigue in it. Bastard probably hasn't slept at all. Of course he hasn’t.

I glance over my shoulder, catching the faint glow of his eyes in the low light. "You always watch people while they sleep?"

"Only the ones who might stab me in the back."

I snort, the corner of my mouth twitching. "Trust issues. Shocking."

I roll my eyes and turn back to the perimeter, nudging aside a tangle of ferns with my boot.

My gaze darts across the shadows—every rustling leaf, every creaking branch becomes a potential threat.

This planet isn’t just alive. It’s hungry.

The ground beneath me is uneven, slick with dew, and smells like rotting vegetation and something more primal.

A few paces in and I can feel him again—his footsteps silent, but his presence pressing in behind me like a shadow that refuses to be outrun. The air thickens. I grit my teeth, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on my back, crawling over my movements like he's dissecting my every breath.

I stop abruptly and turn, planting my hands on my hips. "Do you need something?"

He steps in closer, all muscle and menace, radiating heat like a forge. "Just making sure you don't get yourself killed."

The jab slices deep, and I grit my teeth harder to keep the bitterness from showing.

That tone—arrogant, dismissive, too casual to be harmless—it’s one I know all too well.

I’ve heard it in briefing rooms, locker halls, even mess lines.

Climbing the ranks in the IHC as a disgraced name meant enduring it.

Letting it bounce off. Burying it deep where it couldn’t fester.

But his tone? From his lips? Somehow it stings more.

"I’m not the one who took down an entire ship and got stuck on a goddamn alien planet," I mutter.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn't deny it either.

As I eye him up close, the firelight from our pit flickers across his form—what little of it the tattered vest and open tactical gear still cover.

His skin’s mottled with gray and black streaks, the texture like carved obsidian.

Blood—both his and the beast’s from last night—dries in streaks across his chest and shoulders, but he wears it like warpaint.

Not a limp in his step. Not a single flinch.

Whatever damage the crash did to him, it didn’t slow him down. If anything, it made him look... stronger. Tougher. Like the kind of monster you pray never notices you, because once it does, it never forgets.

But I’m not prey. I won’t be.

Even if every instinct in my body tells me I’m standing too damn close to something that could break me without blinking.

"I can take care of myself."

The words snap out of me before I can stop them, edged with more heat than I mean to give away.

Kairon smirks, slow and deliberate, like he’s already won something. His crimson gaze drops, roaming over the bruises mottling my arms, the cut along my temple, the stiffness in my stance. "Sure you can," he says, voice soaked in condescension.

I stiffen, lifting my chin. I don’t back down. I’ve been stared down by brass twice his size with twice the ego. But Kairon? He’s different. He looks at me like I’m a puzzle already solved, and worse—dismissed.

The air between us thickens, charged and tense, vibrating like a wire stretched too tight. Our standoff crackles with friction, an invisible current running between my spine and the heat of his stare. My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

His eyes drop to my mouth—slow, unhurried. Lingering.

My pulse jumps. He sees it. Feels it, maybe.

I step back—instinctive. He follows.

In one fluid motion, he closes the space between us, grabs my wrist, and spins me around. My back slams against a tree, bark digging into my shoulders. He braces an arm beside my head, crowding into my space, his other hand still gripping my wrist like a vise.

"Prove it," he murmurs, voice low and close to my ear, every syllable laced with dark amusement. "Show me how you’d survive out here if I wasn’t babysitting your fragile little ass."

I struggle—twisting, kicking, trying to pull free—but his body doesn’t budge. Solid. Unyielding. A wall of muscle and heat.

"Get off me," I growl.

"You can’t even break my grip," he mutters, his breath hot against my skin. "And you think you’re ready for whatever’s out there in that jungle?"

My breathing spikes, sharp and erratic. Rage boils beneath my skin—but beneath that, something else. Something I don’t want to name. I hate how aware I am of him. Of the way his body fits around mine, not just holding—but caging. Not harming—but threatening with possibility.

I yank my wrist again, harder this time. "I said—get off."

His eyes narrow, something unreadable flickering behind the crimson. Then, without a word, he lets go.

I shove past him, walking away fast and without a backward glance. My heart still slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I focus on the underbrush, the shadows, anything but the fire licking low in my stomach.

I don’t want to know what might happen if I stay.