Hunter wasn’t a fan of closed spaces.

  She didn’t know when it started. Maybe it was when she was younger and called herself Felicia with an almost prideful trill that lingered at the tip of her tongue, or maybe it was that time she was stuck in a submersible, descending toward a shipwreck on the ocean floor of Tatinia for nothing more than her own amusement. Not sure if it happened before or after she met Gravel, or if it was a gradual development or if she simply woke up one day feeling antsy without an open sky somewhere above her head.

  Gravel had always said it was just her imagination. He might be right. She had never had a problem being on the Black Fang, a ship that if put next to a standard-sized Republic craft would look like a beetle next to a Dachshund. Yet she would always feel a sense of unshakable dread inside places that looked too clean, too sanitized, and too small. Like this safehouse they were in.

  The dark walls of the safehouse were made of corrugated metal and harsh industrial fixtures. The flickering overhead lights stretched sharp shadows across the concrete floor, broken only by the sporadic hum of distant machinery. There was a bizarre lack of neon-light spilling over the window, and the sole hint of life reaching the space was the occasional clang of shifting metal in the distance. She knew it was better for laying low, yet she could not stop the feeling of wanting to stand outside and being able to look at the sunset.

  Hunter scraped the slop onto her plate—some kind of grayish paste that looked like it was meant to be mashed potatoes, but the texture was off, like they’d had to use recycled material for a thickener. Gravel had happened to ‘find’ a few old crates of supplies near a public canteen, and he had everyone sitting around, digging into the synthetic food. The taste didn’t help either, like industrial soy protein with a hint of burnt plastic.

  “Could’ve actually tried getting us sushi,” she scoffed as she played with her food.

  “You’re lucky I got you food at all,” Gravel shrugged. “Be grateful.”

  “Is that why you’re not touching your food?” She scowled at him.

  “I’m enduring starvation just so you can put something in your stomach.” He grabbed his belly. “You be grateful.”

  Fang, now mask off, didn’t even glance at him as she pushed the paste around her plate. She was too busy clutching her holo-slate, her eyes flicking between the device and the small group around her. She’d been trying to get Kai on the line for the past few minutes, her finger nervously tapping the screen.

  “Does trying to get to him compromise our position?” Hunter gave her a look.

  “No,” Fang bit her lower lip.

  Priest’s voice cut through the room, his tone steady but firm. “It might not now, but McPherson’s got the tools to intercept any communication you make. If you keep calling him, you will light up our location like a beacon.”

  “Please, old pop. Just one call.” She turned to him, eyes pleading. “He needs to know.”

  Gravel leaned forward, shooting Priest a look. “Give her a break, Sir Holy, damn. She’s not some machine, she’s got a life outside of this mess.”

  Hunter opened her mouth, ready to say something that might de-escalate the tension, but then paused. Do I want to get tangled in another argument? The last real argument she'd had with a crew member seemed so long ago—those exchanges where she’d argue just enough, only to back down and let the matter drop. Had she become too soft? Too comfortable? Priest had mentioned it before—she'd gotten lazier. More passive. Merely a listener. She spent too much time scavenging for tools or grabbing useless soda cans from different planets instead of focusing on repairs or improving the Black Fang’s engines. Maybe he was right. Maybe they were all right.

  But what if they were all wrong?

  Her fingers flexed where they rested on her knee. She wanted to be firm, more decisive—especially when Gravel convinced her that retrieving this drive was worth the risk. If only she'd stood her ground more, questioned the mission more. She had been happy with the smaller jobs: escorting cargo, delivering rare earths across continents, doing anything that kept the Black Fang afloat but avoided the things that could cost them their lives.

  But she knew—knew—that she was a soldier. A fighter. And if there was one thing a fighter learned over time, it was that the best fighters were the ones who could avoid the fight.

  Priest’s visor flashed at Hunter as he glanced over the room, and his voice dropped into a colder register. “You are supposed to be the Captain here, Gravel. Keep it together.” His gaze flicked over to Fang. “She is not the only one stressed. You are putting this whole crew at risk by allowing distractions.”

  “Well, he’s not wrong. Fang—” Gravel turned to the young lady, but she’d established a connection with Kai. He sighed. “Make it quick.”

  Fang didn’t waste another moment. As soon as she had a connection, she brought the holo-slate close to her face, her eyes wide as the reflection from the screen printed on her retinas. The screen flickered for a moment before the image of Kai’s face came into view. Hunter was close enough to have a good look at the young man. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes, his hair slightly tousled as if he’d just woken up. But his eyes were warm, steady, as always.

  Fang and Hunter did get into an argument once about him. Hunter had asked the young woman, “Why would you even think about settling down with someone you can’t even spend time with in person?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You wouldn’t know!” Fang had bit out. “You never had the same kind of connection. You didn’t have to fight for anything other than yourself, Hunter.”

  The argument had ended there.

  “Kai,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m . . . I’m okay. I just—I needed to hear your voice.”

  His face softened, and he leaned closer to the screen, his voice quiet but filled with concern. “Sweetie, you’re shaking. What’s going on? Where are you?”

  She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. “It’s just . . . we’re laying low. Things got messier than expected, and I might not be able to check in for a while. You know how it goes.”

  “I don’t know how it goes, sweetie. You got to tell me more.”

  “It’s just . . . it’s just a phase. I’ll be alright.”

  “Is your crew with you?”

  “Hey man,” Gravel chimed in from a distance. “So your little girl lost her toy, and we’re taking it back. Care to hear our brilliant plan?”

  “He can’t hear you. It’s private connection,” murmured Fang.

  “Then you should’ve put on headphones,” Gravel shrugged.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Fang didn’t bother looking at Gravel, as she was too busy staring at Kai’s gaze. His expression had softened further as he listened closely, his brow furrowing. Hunter knew she couldn’t bear the thought of him panicking.

  “Fang,” Kai’s voice was a low murmur. Strong; steady; familiar. “Just . . . just talk to me, alright? Let me know how I can help.”

  Fang’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry; I’m sorry. Don’t worry, Kai, I’m doing fine. I’ll be back at Crimson-04 in a month’s time.” She rubbed her eyes. “I just—I mean, I’ll be fine, it’s just a little more dangerous than I thought, but it’s no big deal, right? You know, things just got complicated, and, uh, you’re cute. Gosh, I want to pinch your cheek real bad.”

  Hunter didn’t think she felt such strong emotions when Gravel lay on the ground in Namor. When she thought his spine had been snapped in half.

  “Fang—”

  Her fingers gripped the holo-slate tighter, her knuckles white from the pressure. “It’s all a phase, yeah. I’ll figure it out, I always do. It’s nothing like last time, don’t worry—really, don’t. You know I can handle it. I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s just . . . just this one thing, it’s nothing.”

  She had never seen Fang sob under any other circumstance, but it seemed like every time she talked to her lover, all she would do was howl her eyes out.

  How can you let yourself be so vulnerable?

  Hunter instinctively grabbed her upper left arm, where her Strokas tattoo had once been.

  She had tried different ways to remove it—lasers, chemical peels, even a black-market dermal regenerator—but the quantum ink made it irremovable. The only option was to cover it. So she did. Now the arcs had become the sweeping curves of a coiled serpent, inked in deep black and shimmering cobalt, constricting a pristine silver blade. Gravel had more than one time asked her why she chose a serpent as a callback to their first meeting where she was almost crushed to death by a boa. She’d just shrugged and said, Because a boa would be too big for my arm.

  She had left Strokas. But the tattoo still remained, and the best tools she had at her disposal were still in that Strokas backpack. Strokas hadn’t quite left her.

  “Hua Fang!” Kai’s tone brooked no argument. “Stop. Breathe. You’re not fine, and I know you’re scared. It’s okay to admit that.”

  “Damn, that is hard to look at.” Gravel commented.

  Maybe I need to stop being an observer for once.

  “Then don’t look. Geez.” Hunter finally spoke up, then immediately hated how casual she sounded.

  “If a sabertooth tiger shits gold in front of your eyes, will you look or nah? This is like that,” he replied.

  “Not the most tactful are ya?” Hunter hissed, then hated her attitude even more. The cadence, the delivery. Too strong. Too forceful.

  Kai’s expression softened further, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Fang,” he said again, his voice steady. “I know you. I’ve seen you handle worse.”

  Her fingers trembled against the holo-slate as she wiped her eyes, still not looking at him directly. “I–I’m trapped, Kai. They took my ship,” she mumbled, her voice quiet and shaky.

  “Talk to the officials, Fang,” Kai countered, his voice firm but full of warmth. “Remember the time we confronted the immigration officer on Brann-7? You were so damn scared, I thought you might actually pass out. But you didn’t. You found a way out. You handled that mess better than anyone I knew could.”

  “Talk to the officials?” Gravel whispered to himself in a voice so low Hunter could barely hear. “You think your little lover’s out here practicing law or something?”

  “You led us out of there. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Kai reminded her. “That’s who you are, Fang. That’s why I know you’ll figure this out, too. You’ve already pulled us all through the fire once. You’re gonna do it again.”

  Fang opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say anything, the connection flickered. The image of Kai’s face distorted, then turned into a blur of static, his voice breaking up. “Fang? Fang, can you hear me?”

  She slammed the holo-slate against the table, cursing as the screen froze entirely. “No, no, no!” she muttered, desperately pressing buttons, but the device remained unresponsive.

  Then, from behind her, a voice cut through the chaos.

  “Don’t reconnect, child.” Priest’s tone was calm, but firm. “You need to be mindful of the time you spend connected.”

  Fang froze, her chest tightening as her hand trembled over the holo-slate.

  “I was just—” She glanced at the screen again, the signal still dead.

  Priest was already standing nearby, his visor reflecting the dim light of the safehouse. “You should understand safety protocols better than anyone else.”

  “Yes, pop.” She slumped against the wall, head down. Hunter came over and put a gentle hand on her shoulder, not saying anything else.

  “An Asian who’s honest with her feelings. Crazy stuff,” Gravel grinned.

  “That joke didn’t land before and it’s not landing now, Boss,” Fang barked back.

  “Whatever you say. Now that’s out of the way, who wants to hear my brilliant fucking plan?” Gravel threw his hands into the air.

  “Sure,” said Hunter. Half of the time his plans were never really plans, but just a device to ease the tension and get a few laughs out of the team members. The other half was dead serious.

  Gravel leaned in, eyes alight with mischief as he spread his hands even wider. “Alright, alright, hear me out.” He threw a look around the room. “It’s simple, really. We’re laying low, right? But we need to move—gotta keep the heat off. We’ve got the supplies, well not yet, but we will. Anyway, now we need distractions.”

  He paced back and forth, speaking louder as he warmed to his idea. “First, we steal a transport ship. Fast. Low-profile. Nothing too fancy. We can paint it over, change the serial numbers, slap on a fake registration. Simple stuff.” He made a sweeping gesture, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

  “Next, we grab a few dozen crates of—get this—synthetic meat. And I don’t mean the stuff we’re eating now. I’m talking about the real stuff—the kind that smells like it came straight from a corporate lab, ready to be ‘flavored.’ We ship that thing off to a secondary port, set up a drop-off, and boom!” Gravel smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “We’ve got a decoy op. They’ll think we’re moving something important, while we just hightail it in the opposite direction, using the ship as bait.”

  Classic Gravel. For all his bluster and cocky ideas, he had a way of making people believe that even the most ridiculous scheme had a shot at working.

  Hunter stared at him blankly, brow furrowed. “Wait . . . you’re going to make a fake meat shipment the center of your plan? They’re going to know it’s fake within minutes.”

  “Just be faster than them,” Gravel waved a hand dismissively. “The minute they start digging, we’ll be gone. Trail’s already cold. By the time they figure out the meat is synthetic, we’ll be in a completely different system.”

  Hunter blinked, looking more confused than ever. “What’s the actual point of all this? We don’t need fake meat. We need to lay low—keep moving under the radar.”

  “Exactly!” Gravel’s face lit up like he’d just solved world peace. “By not needing the meat, we create a perfect cover! Nobody will be looking for us if they think we’re just another cargo ship with some fake food on board. They’ll be tracking the wrong thing, while we slip under the radar.”

  “Well . . .”

  And all she had ever done was enabling him.

  Priest crossed his arms. “And what happens when they realize there’s no actual cargo, Gravel? They’ll know we were using it as a distraction.”

  “That’s when we do this!” Gravel snapped his fingers, clearly proud of his own ingenuity. “We plant a decoy ship wreck somewhere close to the port—real easy, just leave some wreckage in a distant, isolated area. They’ll focus on that, thinking it’s part of our escape plan.”

  Maybe not today.

  “Dear Captain,” Hunter groaned, “that’s exactly what they’ll expect.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the beauty of it!” Gravel was practically bouncing on his heels now. “They’ll overestimate our stupidity, which makes us unpredictable. By the time they get to the wreckage, we’ll be long gone.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “Horrific,” Hunter muttered under her breath. She’d hoped this plan was a joke, but there was no way to tell with Gravel, really.

  “It’s not that bad,” murmured Fang.

  “Don’t you enable him now,” Hunter tapped Fang on her shoulder. Okay. So I dismissed his plan. Who’s going to come up with their own plan then? Will I have to do it?

  Priest took a step forward. “How about I propose an alternative plan?”