Page 5 of Stolen By the Wraiths (Rift Wraiths #1)

T he shuttle ride was short and silent. The immediate danger was over, but a new, more complicated tension filled the small cabin.

As the shuttle accelerated, the Jazurai pilot glanced back at us, his iridescent feather crest flaring.

"That was a neat trick with the lockdown pulse," he said, his voice a cocky drawl.

"Almost as impressive as my flying. Almost."

I just grunted in response, too tired for banter.

We transferred from the shuttle into the cavernous hangar of a much larger ship.

From the quiet chatter on the comms between the pilot and whoever was waiting for us, I learned its name: the Raptor.

It was a military-grade vessel, sleek and deadly, and it was waiting for us in the silent void of deep space.

It looked less like a ship and more like a predator holding its breath.

The rest of the crew was waiting in the briefing room. I took a moment to size them up, matching what bits of information I’d heard from Ressh to these strangers.

Serak, the pale Khavai in command, stood like a statue carved from shadow, his pupil-less eyes missing nothing.

Malrik joined the group, his swagger a complete reversal from the quiet intensity of the tech, Deyric, whose dark eyes were already fixed on the data core I held.

A human woman, Jessa, watched me with a practical, maternal warmth that I immediately distrusted.

And then there was the giant. Thoryn. He was a wall of emerald scales and silent muscle, his presence a form of gravity in the room.

A dangerous, broken, and probably lethal crew. And they seemed more than that. A family. Just my luck.

The debriefing was a tense, drawn-out affair. I handed over the data core, and Deyric plugged it into his console.

"The data is intact," he announced after a moment. "And it's worse than we thought."

Serak turned his pale eyes to me. "What Ressh told you is true. We are what's left of the Rift Wraiths. And Kess Vain is hunting us. By stealing that core, you've painted a target on your back that will never fade."

"So I've gathered," I said, crossing my arms. "What's your offer?"

"We need your skills, Alix," Serak said. "The information on this core is heavily encrypted. Deyric is good, but you're not bad either. More importantly, you're an unknown. Vain's network knows all of our faces. They don't know yours."

"And what do I get out of it?" I pressed. "Besides a bigger target on my back."

"Protection," Serak said simply. "And payment. We honor our contracts."

"There's another factor," Deyric added, not looking up from his screen. "Your records from the Meridian home. We pulled them when we were researching the facility. Your genetic profile shows markers for a high probability of... biochemical compatibility with the Tsekai."

Ice slid down my spine. "Compatibility? What the hell does that mean?

" I shot a glare at Deyric. "You pulled my records?

My genetic records?" In the circles I ran in, that was more than a violation of privacy; it was like stealing someone's soul.

It meant they had the keys to my biology, my weaknesses, my entire history.

It was the kind of thing only the most ruthless, powerful organizations even attempted.

"A necessary violation," Serak's voice was calm, but held no apology. "We had to know who we were dealing with."

"It means your body might not reject the physiological aspects of a Tsekai bond," Ressh said, his voice quiet from across the room.

I stared at him, then at the others. They hadn't just hired me for a job. They'd been vetting me. "You were looking for a weapon. Or a key." I saw something pass between Serak, and the woman, Jessa. A shared history. A team. Something else I knew nothing about.

"We were looking for a chance," Serak corrected. "And you've given it to us. Stay. Help us decrypt this data, help us hunt Vain, and you'll have our protection. And you'll be paid."

It was too much. The firefight, the escape, the revelations. My head was spinning. "I need to think."

"No rush—think it through," Serak said. "Jessa will show you to a spare cabin."

The room was comfortable enough, but my mind was a chaotic storm. I paced the floor, trying to process the impossible choice.

Option one: leave. Turn down their money and run. Be hunted by a shadowy black-ops mastermind and a ruthless criminal syndicate for the rest of my very short life.

Option two: stay. Throw my lot in with a crew of ‘dead’ soldiers on a suicide mission, who apparently saw me as some kind of biological lock pick. Some choice.

My instinct was to find a way out. I pulled my datapad from my tool roll and sat on the bunk's edge, my fingers flying across the screen.

I began to probe the ship's internal network, searching for a weakness, a backdoor, an unsecured comms channel.

Anything. It was what I did. I tested the walls of every cage.

But there was nothing. The Raptor's security was a flawless, military-grade fortress, far beyond anything I'd ever encountered. Every system was layered, every access point shielded. It was beautiful, terrifying, and utterly impenetrable. It was a quiet, professional checkmate.

There was no running. Not this time.

The realization settled in my gut like a cold stone.

For my entire life, survival had meant one thing: being alone.

Depending on no one. Trusting no one. Now, my best chance at survival was to do the one thing I'd sworn never to do: trust a group of strangers.

And not just any strangers, but a crew of ghosts who were in even more trouble than I was.

Hours passed. I don't know how many. I wore a path in the floor plates, my thoughts a tangled mess of risk assessments and escape plans. But every plan ended the same way: with me, alone, and a target.

Eventually, a strange feeling pricked at the back of my neck. A sense of being watched. But it wasn't a threat. It was... a presence. Steady. Patient.

I stood by the door for a long time, my hand hovering over the control panel.

My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs.

Opening this door felt more dangerous than bypassing any security system.

It was a different kind of risk, one I had no training for.

But the silence on the other side was a promise of something I hadn't realized I was starving for.

I opened it.

Ressh stood in the corridor, his back to me, a silent, immovable guardian. He hadn't been ordered to stand there. He had chosen to. Not to keep me in, but to keep the universe out.

He turned as the door hissed open, his amber eyes unreadable.

"Planning to stand guard all night, or what?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

"As long as necessary."

The simple statement landed with a weight that settled deep in my bones. I thought about the Hendersons, about every adult who had ever promised protection and delivered abandonment. And then I looked at the alien soldier who had voluntarily stood watch over my solitude without being asked.

"I want to see your face when I tell you something," I said, stepping aside. "Please. Come in."