Page 15

The man was Boaz’s fraternal twin, but where Boaz laughed, Bone brooded.

They shared blood, not spirit.

Bone was a Sigma , a silent, self-isolated shadow that walked beside the pack but never within it.

He had good reason. He’d suffered a great horror protecting them in the explosion that had transformed them.

He never spoke of what or who he encountered in the bowels of Earth as he fought off monsters, giving the strong guard time to escape.

Yet the evidence of his suffering was clear in the old scars etched deeper into his skin.

Menacing didn’t begin to describe him; he was a walking fracture line of wrath barely held in check.

Even Xander, who bore the alpha mantle of their spectral wolf pack, acknowledged Bone’s raw, terrifying potential.

He was stronger. Wilder.

If Bone ever challenged him, the fight would split hulls and rupture decks.

But he never had. Not once.

Perhaps because he didn’t crave the crown, he only desired distance.

Bone made his home in the shafts below engineering, among the ship’s guts, where steam hissed and metal creaked like breathing lungs.

He’d converted a forgotten maintenance crawlspace into a den of metal solitude: crude bedding layered with thermal mesh, salvaged power stones for heat, and old vinyl audio consoles stacked high beside coils of dismantled pipework.

As Chief Plumber, he maintained the worst of Sombra’s systems, pumps, pressure lines, sewage valves, and anything that leaked or festered.

He preferred life below and rarely came to the upper levels.

Still, Xander ensured he always had a place at the table for Bone, even if he never came.

Santi collapsed next to Xander, breaking his reverie, sweat-covered and laughing. ‘Better than therapy, cabrón .’

Mak lay on his back, fingers tented over his ribs. ‘I’d still rather not skip leg day than go through this shit.’

Zev dug through a cold pack, cracking open a pack of water bulbs. ‘ Capitán , you gonna tell us what’s given your fists that extra slam today?’

Xander said nothing; instead, he just wiped the blood off his lip with his hand and rubbed his sweaty face with a rough synth-cotton towel, biting back a groan at his aching spine.

He fell back on the mat, where his focus soon locked on the men sitting or lying down around him.

With a sigh, he privately appreciated their brotherhood, grateful for its safety and security, especially on days like these when his soul churned.

Boaz handed him a hydration pack with a taciturn chin jerk.

Xander nodded his thanks, nabbed it, and sipped the icy liquid with a sigh.

He then fell back onto the sand with the others as they caught their breath.

He shielded his eyes with his arm, allowing the faux sunlight to penetrate his bones, lost in thought.

They weren’t just Signet’s elite, they were the soul of it.

Like him, each had been shaped by fire, betrayal, confinement, and blood, and their code of conduct thus far remained simple: Brotherhood and survival first , w omen and family later.

The Apocalypse had demanded it.

Yet as Signet grew and the pack shifted from sheer existence to guaranteed safety, Xander noted more moments of yearning among his men.

From the long stares of wistful longing at the few children onboard the Sombra, to the brooding, fokk, the brooding.

It was clear they now desired more than victory and security drills.

They craved partners, soul mates, and lovers, and he couldn’t blame them for yearning.

They had no soft woman to go home to.

Xander sensed their growing restlessness, each craving a woman’s connection, family, and maybe even kids.

The loneliness was getting to them.

He sensed it too, buried deep beneath the armored shell he built out of duty and vengeance.

Now Xander took an inhale. Wondering how the fokk he was going to make that fantasy, given their forbidden status, a reality.

How was he going to create a life for himself and his brothers that might one day mean happiness for his family, partners, and the next generation of Signet heirs?

Santi sat up on the mat. ‘ Fokk , that water looks good.’

‘Let’s do this,’ Xander growled, leading the charge to strip his shorts off.

With whistles and chuckles, his kin followed suit.

Sweat still dripped off their skin as they tugged off boxers and training pants until they hit the beach naked, unceremoniously and unbothered.

One by one, they waded in, muscles slick with sweat.

The water reflected the azure of the firmament above, silken cold against their raw, burning limbs.

Birds chirped above the trees.

The artificial sky bled into twilight, violet streaks rippling through plasma-filtered clouds.

Xander swam hard to the centre of the lake, then back again to the shallows, where he let himself sink neck-deep, closed his eyes, and breathed.

For a moment, he pretended he was on a beach in the old Country, in Melilla, the charming seaside town of his birth, now only a distant memory.

His hermanos felt the same, given the groans of pleasure that carried over the waves.

Later, they returned to shore, shaking droplets from their hair and toweling off.

They pulled back on their sweatpants and shorts, leaving their shirts off, for the evening was warm.

Then they prowled toward the fire pit they built over two years ago, brick by careful brick.

Kaal collected wood. Xander struck the flint, and soon, flames danced in the twilight, flickering over sinewed bare chests.

Smoke blended with the scent of sizzling meat as Kaal seared thick slabs of engineered beef over a portable heat plate.

Xander slathered patties in molten ghost-pepper liquid fire while Zev distributed butter, buns, and grilled onions from a food crate tucked in one of the cabins.

They ate with their hands, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

They joked, laughed between bites, and passed bottles of dark, hoppy beer.

‘ Fokk ,’ Santi groaned, licking sauce off his fingers. ‘Xander and Kaal should open a burger kiosk if this security gig shit doesn’t work out.’

‘Wouldn’t survive a week,’ Mak muttered. ‘Xander’d burn the stall down by the second customer.’

‘With freakin’ deliberation too after tossing a kinai into the inferno for shortchanging him,’ Zev added.

Rigo huffed. ‘After realizing It was his math that was shit and the customer was not wrong.’

They chuckled, real, wholehearted.

For a few minutes, they were just men, sans duties, responsibilities and freakin’ unknown enemies.

As the darkness thickened, Xander passed around a tactical slate and pulled up a 3D projection of the latest Lombardi convoy map.

‘All right,’ he said, voice steady. ‘Now let’s solve this Lombardi situation before they burn down the rest of the flotilla.’

The laughter ebbed. Feet shifted in dirt. Beers set aside.

They leaned in.

One by one, theories and ideas got tossed into the mix.

Movement patterns. Cargo manifest hacks. Smuggler routes.

Rigo broke down financial trails. Zev highlighted dead shipyard codes.

Mak flagged weak contract loopholes that they could exploit.

Santi suggested bait-and-switches.

Boaz sketched a fake frigate trap on the corner of a napkin. Kaal said nothing, but his stare alone vetoed two ideas.

With no warning, Miral shimmered into view, barefoot and glamorous in glittering pants and a flowing tunic.

Her head tilted, with a lazy grin, as she rounded the fire.

‘Well,’ she purred, ‘what a vision. A circle of warriors around a bonfire, giving off smoke and testosterone. Someone write me poetry.’

Santi huffed. ‘If you’re not bringing dessert, you’re not allowed commentary.’

Zev grinned. ‘You know she is the sweet treat.’

Mak muttered, ‘Stars help me,’ and chugged the rest of his beer.

‘You’re lucky I come bearing gifts.’

She revealed the tray she’d been holding behind her, packed with chocolate-coated crunchy churros and honey almond cakes, still warm from the solar oven.

The men fell on the trees with groans.

The cakes are golden, honey-soaked, and syrupy. A recipe from Rigo that I perfected.’

While most of the pack thanked her, Boaz just lifted a chin in her direction. Respectful. Cautious. He still had AI trust issues from his one particular bad Earth experience.

Miral’s beam faltered then recovered.

‘Now, regarding your Lombardi situation, you gents might want to hear this,’ she said, sitting on a rock and crossing one long leg over the other.

‘I’ve found a series of their convoy stubs.

We need to search for coded exchanges from the stubs.

Using relays and old miner signal bands.

It appears our friends are transmitting short bursts between patrols, no record, no echo. ’

Xander cocked a brow. ‘You could’ve said that an hour ago.’

She shrugged. ‘I like watching you struggle. You’re very expressive when you’re frustrated.’

‘ Fokk me,’ Santi muttered, shaking his head.

‘Try harder,’ she said, smirking.

They soon had a working strategy.

‘So we’re agreed?’ Xander stated, throwing the last log in the fire.

‘We’ll intercept the Carvajal and Diaz-Granados clans collaborating with the Lombardis at the ghost rig dock on Vessura’s edge.

We’ll use a borrowed freighter, jam the convoy mid-jump, and force them into a negotiation trap under neutral Accord laws. Mak?’

Mak nodded. ‘Sounds like we’ve got every angle covered, each risk mapped. We should be OK from a legal standpoint.’

‘We hit this tight and fast,’ Xander appended. ‘Signet style.’

Rigo cracked open a flask of whiskey and passed it around.

‘To beating up cry bullies,’ Zev toasted.

Mak added, ‘To bleeding ‘em dry.’

‘To honor,’ Boaz growled.

Santiago raised his tumbler last. ‘To brotherhood. Always.’

They drank.

In time, as the fire died down, they dispersed, their feet crunching along the dirt trails to their cabins.

Miral vanished into a shimmer of digital mist, with a wave and a smile.

Only Xander lingered, standing alone by the lake, gaze locked on the dark waters beyond.

Always the leader, always the worrier.

These skirmishes had the potential to kick some serious ass.

Still, so did Signet, and when his star wolves battled, they fought hard.

So far, they’d not lost a battle in the Wildlight, and he had no intention of ending his winning streak.