Page 5

TRAZ

S he doesn’t move.

She stands there like a statue carved from stormlight—pale skin wrapped in silver that clings like it’s got something to prove. Her chin is lifted, her mouth tight, but her eyes... her eyes are dangerous.

They’re watching me like I’m the one on display.

I look away first. Not because I’m weak. Because I know myself. And if I stare too long, I’ll do something I can’t take back.

Petru’s still talking. Something about gratitude. About legacy. His voice blurs into background noise. All I hear now is the sound of my blood pounding in my ears.

I drain the rest of my drink and motion for another.

The server rushes over, pours fast, and retreats like he’s afraid of proximity.

Smart man.

“She’s not going to bite,” Petru says, smirking. “Unless you ask.”

I grunt. “You sure you’re not selling a ghost story?”

That earns a snort. “She’s real enough. But careful—she’s got fire. You like fire, don’t you, Traz?”

I don’t answer.

He laughs, claps me on the shoulder, and turns to schmooze a politician I wouldn’t mind cutting in half.

She’s still standing there.

I glance at her again—just once, quick. She hasn’t blinked. But now her eyes are narrowed. Like she’s trying to read my face the same way I’ve been reading hers.

No one looks at me like that. Not here.

Not with challenge.

I rise from my seat and walk away. I don’t owe anyone my patience, and certainly not my attention. I need space. Distance. Clarity.

But I don’t make it far.

Her voice stops me.

“Is that it?” she says, loud enough for only me to hear. “You’re just gonna walk off after the grand unveiling?”

I turn slow.

She hasn’t moved. Still wrapped in silver and fire and bad decisions.

“You expected what?” I say. “Applause?”

“I expected something,” she replies, voice low and sharp. “You’re supposed to be dangerous. Right now, you just look... bored.”

I walk back to her, slowly, one deliberate step at a time. The party noise dulls around us, like the whole room is holding its breath.

“I am dangerous,” I say quietly. “You just haven’t given me a reason yet.”

Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

I study her. She doesn’t lower her gaze. Doesn’t flinch. It’s not bravado. It’s something else—something layered in pain and polish, survival disguised as sass.

“You think this is a game?” I murmur.

“I think this is a cage,” she says. “And I think you don’t know what to do with a woman who rattles the bars.”

That lands.

She steps closer, just a hair. I feel her heat like a weapon.

“You always talk this much?” I ask.

“Only when I’m trying to piss someone off.”

“It’s working.”

She finally smiles. Not sweet. Not polite. A little feral.

“Then I’m doing something right.”

Gods help me, I laugh.

It’s low, quick. The first real sound I’ve made in hours that didn’t involve blood or threats.

I step back.

I can’t be this close. Not yet. Not without losing something I’m not ready to give.

I leave her standing there, still as a torch in windless air, and duck behind one of the velvet partitions near the wall. Alone for a breath. Alone for a lie.

But I can still feel her.

Like a wire running under my skin. Buzzing. Burning.

I’ve seen a thousand beautiful women across a thousand planets. Most of them didn’t make it past the edge of my notice.

But her?

She’s carved into me now.

Everything about her is a contradiction—delicate and defiant, poised like a weapon dressed up as a gift.

That silver dress clings like fog, and I hate that I noticed how the light hit her collarbone.

Hate that I’m still seeing her lips. Still hearing that voice.

That voice with no right being that calm.

I was fine before she walked in. Cold. Controlled.

Now?

Now I’m unraveling.

And I don’t even know her name.

I grip the edge of the curtain until the frame creaks under my hand.

I shouldn’t go back.

I have to go back.

I return.

She hasn’t moved.

And that’s when it hits me.

The shift.

Like gravity doubling in my chest. Like a wave cresting, rising, crashing down. I feel the pull—deep, magnetic, ancient.

Jalshagar.

My heart thunders. My breath stutters.

No. No, not her. Not now.

But the truth digs in, brutal and final. I feel it in my skin. In the air between us. This woman—the one Petru handed to me like a bottle of cheap wine—is my mate.

Fated.

Chosen by whatever cruel gods still play dice in the void.

She notices the change. Her smile falters.

“What?” she says.

I shake my head and down my drink in a single swallow.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

I lean in, close enough for only her to hear. “You don’t want to know what just happened.”

“Try me.”

I look at her one last time. Really look. She’s gorgeous—yes—but it’s more than that. There’s steel under the silk. A core that hasn’t cracked, even after years of captivity. She’s not broken.

She’s burning.

And she’s mine.

I want to tear down every wall in this place. Kill Petru. Drag her out. Lock the galaxy behind us.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not here.

So instead, I hold out a hand.

“Come with me.”

She hesitates for half a second. Then places her hand in mine.

It’s like static—sharp and hot and final.

And just like that, we walk out of the room together.

Not a word spoken.

But everything changed.