Page 12

TRAZ

T hree years.

Three goddamn years.

Since I last saw her.

Since I turned my back on the only thing that ever felt real and told myself it was for her own good.

Most days now, she’s a shadow.

A fading ghost tucked into the corners of my mind where even the blood and the smoke can’t touch.

I tell myself that's a good thing.

Tell myself it's proof I'm finally getting my edge back.

Finally putting the pieces in the right places again.

No more weakness.

No more hesitation.

Only work.

Only survival.

And I almost believe it.

Until nights like this.

When the black is too deep, and the ship creaks around me like an old wound, and I catch myself wondering what color her hair would look like now under the sickly lights of Gur.

Or if she ever thinks about me at all.

I snarl under my breath and shove the thought away.

Dead weight.

Ghosts.

Memories don't keep you alive in places like this.

Only skill does.

Only sharp, brutal purpose.

I slam the butt of my pistol onto the cracked table, rattling the comm unit back to life.

A single pulse of static.

A new message waiting.

Maybe this time, something worth chasing.

Maybe this time, something that’ll bury her memory for good.

The comm flickers to life with a single pulse of static.

I sit up slow, the battered cot creaking under my weight. The room’s dark, lit only by the weak green glow of the cracked comm unit hanging crooked on the wall.

One message.

No sender.

No signature.

Just coordinates.

And a payout number big enough to make most mercs lose their damn minds.

I scrub a hand over my jaw, staring at it.

Glimner.

Of course it’s Glimner.

Of course the universe would twist the knife just a little deeper.

I lean back, weighing it.

Every instinct in me growls low, warning.

Too easy.

Too fast.

Jobs like this don’t fall into your lap unless someone’s trying to bait a trap.

But credits like that… that buys a lot of things.

Freedom. Silence. Distance from the ghosts clawing up my spine.

I could disappear somewhere. Forget everything.

Forget her.

Right.

Like that’s working so well already.

I set my jaw, clenching until the bone aches.

"I won’t even go near Petru," I mutter under my breath.

I say it out loud like it’ll make it true.

I’ll land, grab the cargo, get out.

No complications.

No detours.

No her.

Just another ghost route.

Simple.

Quick.

Clean.

The ship rumbles under me as it powers up.

Old freighter. Fast engines. More weapons than a vessel this size should legally have.

Just the way I like it.

I slide into the pilot’s seat, fingers moving automatically over the controls.

The nav screen glows.

Glimner.

Not far.

One jump out.

The gut warning flares again, sharp and bitter.

I slam it down.

Tighten it up.

Fear makes you sloppy. Doubt makes you dead.

I’m not that man.

Not yet.

I strap in, flip the ignition, and punch the coordinates.

The engines roar, rattling every bolt loose.

The ship shudders, then leaps into the black, stars smearing into long threads of light.

No turning back now.

I lean my head back against the seat, letting the vibrations hum through me.

The cabin’s too quiet.

Just me and the weight of bad decisions.

I think about the offer again.

Coded. Anonymous. High pay. No names.

Could be anyone.

Could be nothing.

Could be Petru.

My lips curl in a humorless smirk.

Wouldn’t that be just my luck?

That bastard always did know how to pull strings even from the shadows.

Still.

This isn’t about him.

This is about a job.

One job.

One paycheck.

One step further from the mess gnawing at my soul.

The nav screen beeps.

Closer now.

I watch the planet grow in the viewport—a dirty swirl of rust-red storms and gray oceans.

Industrial hellhole.

Same as I remember.

A place where people disappear if they know the wrong secrets... or the right ones.

I tighten my hands on the controls.

This time, I tell myself, I won’t look for her.

This time, I won’t let the bond yank me around like a puppet on a broken string.

This time, I’m stronger.

But the lie tastes like ash in my mouth.

Because even as I set the descent sequence...

Even as the ship pierces Glimner’s thick, greasy clouds...

Even as the cargo bay doors whine open...

I know.

Some part of me knows.

There’s no such thing as a clean escape anymore.