The ship’s engines hummed low as Syra guided them through the dense atmosphere of Valeri Prime.

  She shifted in her seat, uneasy, casting a glance at Rix. He hadn’t said much since setting the coordinates. Just sat there, silent and focused, his hands clenched around the console like it might vanish if he let go. His expression gave nothing away, but the tension in his shoulders told her enough.

  Syra hadn’t asked where they were going. No point. He wouldn’t tell her anyway.

  Outside, crimson clouds coiled like smoke trails. The kind that didn’t move with the wind. Angry. Still. She guided the ship lower, watching the horizon shift into fractured bones of a long-dead city. Towers half-collapsed.

  The map flickered to life beneath Syra’s fingers, a thin pane of glass that projected a three-dimensional scan above the console. Latticed blue lines formed the terrain, flickering with real-time atmospheric data and residual Dominion tags long since expired.

  As the ship descended, an ancient name pulsed faintly near the center of the projection: Athera.

  Syra squinted at it. Roads once carved in perfect symmetry were now shattered, swallowed by cracked earth. The city was a collapsed lung, barely recognizable, its layout warped with decay. She traced a finger through the ruins on the map as they drew closer.

  Whatever this place used to be…it wasn’t anymore.

  When they hovered above the surface, her stomach dropped.

  Ruins stretched in every direction—barren, wind-scarred, and lifeless.

  The monolith loomed ahead—jagged, fractured, and so impossibly massive it made Syra’s stomach drop.

  It rose out of the earth like a splintered fang, towering over the bones of the dead city around it. The surface wasn’t just metal or stone—it shimmered faintly beneath the grime, as if pieces of it had once been crystal. Glass-like panels caught the sickly red sunlight in glints, dulled by soot and time. She could almost imagine it, just barely - how it might have looked before the ruin. Shining. Brilliant. Alive.

  But that vision was a stretch. What stood before her now was wreckage. Towering and silent, like some ancient god had hurled it into the planet and left it to rot.

  Rix stood at the port window, back rigid, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact.

  Gone was the undershirt and exhausted stagger. In his place stood something else entirely—something ancient and regal and lethal. The armor he wore she'd glimpsed at it while he was asleep, but now, adorned in it, made him look like the commander of a fleet, par one small damaged panel where he'd been struck by whatever had given him that nasty wound.

  She couldn't tell what make it was; something old, perhaps. Paneled armor went out of fashion when she was a kid. But it was sleek, impressive nonetheless. Shadows caught in the obsidian-blue plating that curved around his shoulders like it had been grown, not forged. Faint pulses of blue light traced the edges—veins of technology that whispered instead of screamed. Valthari armor.

  She had to look away.

  Just for a moment.

  Because if she kept looking at him like that—like that—she was going to forget every reason she had not to trust him.

  He adjusted the strap across his chest, securing the sleek opaque blade now visible at his hip. His blaster, which he had every intention of killing her with only two days ago, was attached to his back.

  Her eyes dropped to it.

  He stood at the console, silent, his gaze fixed on the ruins far below. The flickering outlines of collapsed towers and fractured streets glinted red under the sullen sun.

  He hadn’t said a word since it came into view. But Syra didn’t need him to. She could see it etched into his face—the clenched jaw, the twitch in his fingers, the way his gaze locked on the structure like it might disappear if he blinked.

  He wouldn’t let her see him break.

  But he already had.

  “Hurry up,” he said, voice sharp and distant.

  Syra scowled in his direction, irritation flaring within her. "You know your attitude does nothing for you." The ship vibrated beneath them, reluctantly, before depressurizing into a soft landing as it neared the ground. The Elysium shuddered as it touched down, but and then was silent. A whisper. The Nebula back home would've shat itself trying to make it through the atmosphere and burst into flames before they hit the ground.

  The haze of Valeri Prime rolled like smoke beneath them, dense and still. She couldn't see anything alive from here, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Somewhere.

  Her skin crawled. “This is a bad idea," she let out a frustrated breath, pushing back from the console. “You’re seriously doing this?"

  Rix turned to her finally, expression unreadable. “There’s something I need down there.”

  “There’s something I need,” she repeated, mocking his tone. “What I need is to not die in some half-collapsed ruin because you’re on a cryptic mission and can’t explain a single godsdamned thing.”

  Something between an eyeroll and mild-agitation. The silence stretched like wire between them.

  Rix stood without a word. He pressed something behind his ear, and a crystalline half-mask bloomed over the lower half of his face. She stared, then begrudgingly reached for her own respirator. In contrast, the Elysium’s Dominion-issued masks were bulky, utilitarian things—efficient, yes, but loud, heavy, and built more for endurance than elegance.

  The moment she stepped out onto the ramp, the atmosphere hit her like a wave—thick, metallic, and wrong. The air felt too still. Too dense. As if she were wading through water.

  As Rix moved ahead of her, she paused before stepping out onto the barren ground, “I’ll wait by the ramp. You don’t need me for this.”

  He turned, those purple eyes glaring at her wordlessly.

  “I’m not trying to bail,” she added quickly. “I just think it’s smarter if one of us stays with the ship. You go. I’ll watch the scanners.”

  Still no answer. Instead, he spun, grabbed her wrist, and with an effortless motion, locked the cuffs back onto her.

  She stumbled. “Hey! What the hell—”

  “Move,” he ordered. The word was clipped. Final.

  “You absolute prick,” she snapped, yanking against his grip. “You don’t need to chain me like some fugitive!”

  He didn’t even look at her. Just kept walking, dragging her forward.

  Syra waited until his back was turned. They were halfway down the crumbling avenue, the monolithic ruins of Athera looming ahead like the husks of gods. Rix walked ahead, focused, unaware—or so she hoped.

  She flexed her wrist. The cuffs vibrated faintly as the nanites embedded in her forearm pulsed to life.

  The metal clinked softly. Then—click.

  The cuff popped loose.

  Syra didn't hesitate. She slipped free, bolted in the opposite direction, breath catching in her throat as she tore across the cracked stone path. She didn’t care if she didn’t make it back to the ship—distance was all she needed. Enough space to lose him in the ruins. Enough time to get away before—

  A hand closed around her arm like a vice.

  Rix yanked her back so fast she hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from her lungs. He was on her in an instant, dragging her upright by the collar of her jacket.

  "How do you keep doing-?" His voice was low. Calm. Deadly. "Stop moving."

  Syra spat dust from her mouth and glared. “Didn’t think you were the kind of bastard who’d cuff someone who saved your life.”

  Rix didn’t respond. He reached into the side pouch of his armor and pulled out the small blade—slim, sharp, and wickedly clean.

  Her eyes widened. “What the hell are you—"

  He didn’t answer.

  He grabbed her arm, pulled the sleeve up roughly and pursed his lips. "Nanites? Who'd you steal these off?" before she could even think about biting back a retort, in one swift, practiced slice, he cut. She screamed, the blade slicing through the dermal layer—not deep, but enough to sever the cluster of embedded nanites just beneath the skin.

  The nanites hum ceased as they poured out of her arm.

  Syra’s breath shuddered in her chest. Blood welled at the shallow cut. “You veshi’hri piece of—”

  The cuffs clicked shut again around her wrists.

  This time, they didn’t hum.

  “You’re not getting another chance,” Rix said coldly, stowing the blade, his eyes unreadable beneath the faint light of the Sovereign lines pulsing beneath his skin. “Try that again, and I cut deeper.”

  Syra stared at him, seething.

  But she didn’t run again.

  Not yet.

  He lifted her to her feet and pushed her in front of him. Wind howled through its shattered arches, a sound that didn’t quite belong to the air. It sounded older. Like the planet was breathing.

  The red sun bled low across the sky, staining the broken horizon in rust and fire. Syra squinted up at it, uneasy.

  “Is it always that color?” she asked, not expecting an answer. "On Sennia it looks different."

  "Rix, still watching the ruined spires below, murmured almost absently, “It wasn't always like this.”

  She blinked. “The sun?”

  “This world,” he said, still not looking at her. “Everything used to be green.”

  Syra glanced back down at the surface—at the bones of towers, the cracked earth, the city turned to ruin. She couldn’t picture it. Not even a little.

  But he could. That was the worst part

  Syra clenched her jaw, her boots crunching over scorched dust, stomach twisting tighter with every step. She stared down the path, past jagged buildings and dark corners.

  The entrance yawned ahead, a corridor stretching into shadow—deep, endless, too still. Her pace faltered completely.

  “Nope,” she muttered, stopping dead. “Absolutely not. That looks like a trap.”

  Rix nudged her forward and she gritted her teeth. She didn't want to die. Her blood was racing through her ears — the paranoia of being watched by a predator made the hair in the back of her neck stand to attention.

  They stopped outside the massive archway, but she was on edge the entire time. She could feel it—something in her bones, some primal coil of dread tightening under her ribs. Her body screamed at her not to go in. Not this time

  Rix didn’t pause.

  “Rix.” Her voice wavered. “I’m not going in there. I—gods, I can’t.”

  He didn’t argue.

  Didn’t explain.

  He just reached back, grabbed the back of her jacket, and pushed her forward with enough force to break her hesitation.

  Syra stumbled inside with a choked breath, her boots echoing into the dark. The temperature dropped instantly. The silence swallowed her whole. But nothing leapt from the walls. No shadows moved. No teeth. No claws.

  Just dust.

  Just the hollow stillness of something long dead.

  She spun to glare at him, but Rix had already moved past her, pacing toward the heart of the corridor. His breathing was steady, controlled—but his eyes were locked on something ahead. Something he already knew was waiting.

  “Push me again and I'll leave you here,” she hissed, voice bouncing off the old stone.

  “You’d have kept stalling,” he said simply. “And we’re not here to stall."

  Rix moved like he belonged there. Like the ruin recognized him. He didn’t hesitate—just strode forward through the hallways, navigating collapsed corridors and faded murals with cold precision. The armor he wore barely made a sound as he walked, except for the occasional rasp of his blade’s sheath brushing against his hip, and Syra became starkly aware that she was defenseless.

  Syra followed behind him, breath echoing beneath her respirator, her boots crunching over cracked tiles and dust. Her wrists throbbed in the cuffs, skin raw where the metal clamped around them. She didn’t speak. Not because she had nothing to say—she had plenty—but because her voice felt too small here. Like the Citadel would swallow it whole before the sound left her lips.

  They passed what must’ve once been a grand hall, wide and columned, with a domed ceiling that had half-caved in. Rix didn’t glance at it. Syra did. The mural painted across the stone was faded and broken, but she could still make out fragments: a figure in purple and white, arms outstretched. A people kneeling. A red star burning above them all.

  “What is this place?” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  “Keep walking,” Rix said, without looking back.

  She scrunched her face up in annoyance. "You can't answer a single fucking question?"

  "No."

  "Fuck you." Syra spat.

  For an imperceptible moment, she could've sworn he smirked but when she looked at him again his face was neutral. She

  They kept moving. Rix took a narrow stairwell that spiraled downward into a deeper part of the Citadel. Rix pulled out the device she'd seen that had shown him the destruction of his home. It resonated and then light bloomed from it, illuminating the walls in bright light. Brighter than Syra expected.

  Her unease deepened with every step. She didn’t like how the walls seemed to curve, like they were leading them into the belly of something ancient. Something that had been sleeping—and might wake up.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Her wrists burned now. She hissed under her breath, shifting them, trying to ease the sting. Rix finally glanced over his shoulder, as if just remembering she existed.

  “Keep up,” he said.

  “I'm walking aren't I?” she snapped.

  He didn’t respond. Just turned forward again and kept going.

  And still, she followed.

  They walked in silence for a stretch, the passage narrowing before opening into a vaulted chamber. It was vast—unnatural in scope—with remnants of a tapestry painted on the ceiling and humming faintly with residual energy. Rix approached a pedestal at the center, a stone pillar no higher than her waist.

  He pulled his dagger out with a quiet metal shick, and then pulled off his glove, flexed the muscles of his hand and watched as he sliced open his palm—deep, without hesitation—and let his blood drip into the grooves carved around the pedestal. Faint, silvery lines ignited on contact.

  Then he turned to her.

  She backed up instinctively. “Oh no. Don’t even think about it.”

  “It needs two sources,” he said calmly. “Human and Valthari.”

  “That's why you brought me here?”

  “You want out of this ruin? You’ll help unlock it.”

  "Oh fuck you," she spat, "I saved your damn life and this is the thanks I get? Go screw yourself."

  "Don't be dramatic. You wouldn't have come if I told you why."

  "You're damn right I wouldn't have." She stared at him, chest tight, pulse thudding. Then—swearing under her breath—she stepped forward, snatched the blade with her wrists joined in cuffs, and pricked her finger with the tip. No way was she cutting into the tender nerves of her hand like this psycho. She hissed as it pierced the skin.

  Blood fell.

  The pedestal lit up like a pulse igniting in the stone.

  The ground trembled beneath them, ancient machinery whirring to life, dust lifting from the air like a breath finally released. A low hum filled the chamber, rumbled through Syra's body. Like a blaster charging up before exploding. The light spread from the pedestal, through the concrete and the marble floor, igniting the room in light. Another rumble and the pedestal cracked open and began to descend into the ground.

  Syra stared, breathless, as the relic rose slowly from its cradle—suspended in a magnetic field, humming with power. It looked like the artifact Rix had, except this one was triangular, almost pyramid shaped.

  She glanced at Rix, whose eyes were fixed on the object. "What, Dominion just so happened to miss an artifact on their way out?"

  "They would never have been able to activate the pedastal. Only someone with Valthari blood, tainted by the Ember."

  "Tainted by the Ember? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "The Ember alters your body. It's why my blood has its shade of blue."

  With his ungloved hand, he reached for it, his expression unreadable. But for the first time since she’d met him, Syra could feel it.

  This wasn’t just a mission.

  This was a birthright.

  "The Ember changed the color of your blood? That's...insane."

  The artifact hovered midair, casting its soft, otherworldly glow over the chamber. It pulsed—not like a machine, but like something alive. Something breathing. Its shape was simple, smooth, weightless in appearance, but Syra felt its presence in her chest like thunder rolling through her bones.

  She kept a hand clutched over the fresh wound on her arm, glaring. “Are you going to tell me what the hell that thing actually is?”

  Rix didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the artifact, and his voice came quieter, steadier than she expected.

  “It’s the Formgiver,” he said. “This is what made Valeri Prime livable in the first ages of our planet.”

  Syra's eyes widened and she took a step back. “That thing terraformed the whole planet?”

  Rix finally turned, clutching it in his hand and then locked it into a spherical container, sealing it away. He attached it to the side of his armor, hidden beneath his cloak. “Not just Valeri Prime but several others. It was meant to be used again. Someday."

  "How did you know where it was?"

  Rix's eyes flicked to her. “My family protected it for thousands of years. Passed down from generation to generation.”

  "And Dominion knew about this?"

  Rix muttered something under his breath, "Of course not."

  Syra swallowed. “And now you have it.”

  “I have three of them,” Rix said, voice low. “The Ember. The Paragon. Now the Formgiver.”

  Her stomach turned. “What happens when we get the fourth?”

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She thought about the potential for another war. But figured him on his own couldn't do much to threaten the stability of the Dominion now.

  "Let's go."

  “Can you at least uncuff me? I’d like a chance to get away if we get attacked by something.”

  “No.”

  She groaned.

  They walked in silence, the echo of their steps swallowed quickly by the ruin. No more than fractured walls and collapsed ceilings marked the path back toward the ship, and still, Syra’s spine wouldn’t relax.

  No sign of monsters. No movement in the dark. No death.

  Too easy.

  She didn’t trust it.

  Every few seconds, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the shadows. Nothing. Still, her fingers curled tighter around the stolen Dominion blaster at her hip.

  “I can’t believe nothing’s tried to kill us yet,” she muttered, more to herself than to Rix. “Maybe they were just stories.”

  Rix said nothing. Just walked a little ahead of her, his gaze sweeping through the remnants of what had once been his home.

  Then, without warning, he veered left—toward a broken corridor that led deeper into the heart of the Citadel, not away from it.

  Syra stopped. “Where the hell are you going?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She jogged after him. “Hey—Rix. This is not the direction of ‘getting off this haunted rock.’”

  Still, silence.

  She caught his sleeve. “What are you doing?”

  A flicker of something passed across his face. “I just need to see something.”

  She stared at him. “What?"

  He didn’t respond. That was answer enough. It was personal.

  She huffed, but followed, heart thudding louder the further they got from the main corridor. It was just one last detour, she told herself. Just one last look.

  They passed an open arch, one Syra didn’t remember seeing on the way in.

  And then she felt it.

  That presence. A crawling instinct that scraped the base of her skull.

  She looked in—and froze.

  Inside the dark chamber, a creature stood on four muscled, trunk-thick legs. Its body was low and long, covered in armor that looked almost organic—dark plates glinting in strips of light, spiked like jagged glass. A long tail scraped across the stone behind it. Its head turned slowly, its predator’s eyes locking onto hers.

  Unblinking. Aware.

  It didn’t roar. It didn’t move. It just watched.

  And that was somehow worse.

  Syra’s mouth went dry. “Rix—”

  Suddenly, a low growl rumbled from the darkness ahead, freezing Syra in place. The sound was unlike anything she'd ever heard—deep and guttural, like the growl of a beast that didn't belong on any planet. She felt Rix tense beside her, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon strapped to his thigh.

  “Quiet.” Rix snapped, but his grip tightened on her arm, pulling her back against the wall. His eyes were locked ahead, and when the growl came again, closer this time, Syra felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. Her breaths came out in short quick bursts, heart quickening with fear.

  White hot dread was like molten lava all over her body. "Oh, no," Syra breathed, her heart hammering in her chest. "No, no, no..."

  Rix muttered something in Valeri, unholstered his blaster with one slow smooth motion, but he didn't fire. Not yet. The beast let out another growl, this time louder, a warning that rattled the walls around them.

  The air was thick with tension. The beast sniffed the air, taking a slow, menacing step toward them. Syra's breath caught in her throat, her eyes darting to Rix, who remained steady, his blaster aimed directly at the creature's head.

  "Get ready to run," Rix muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Syra to hear.

  She didn't need to be told twice.

  The beast's muscles coiled, its eyes narrowing as it prepared to strike. And then, without warning, it lunged.

  Syra barely had time to scream as Rix shoved her to the side, his blaster firing in rapid succession. Her body hit the ground, hard. The world tilted on its side and an awful, guttural snarl filled the air. The shots hit the beast, sending a spray of sparks into the air, but the creature didn't stop. It roared in fury, swiping its massive, clawed hand at Rix, who dodged just in time, rolling to the side and firing again. Everything moved so quickly. Syra was already scrambling to her feet and bolting down the hall, the sound of the creature's roar echoing behind her. She didn't look back, didn't dare. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all sound as if she were submerged in water, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she ran, the cuffs on her wrists clanking with every step.

  The walls blurred around her as she sprinted through the dark corridors, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. What the hell was she doing here? Why had this idiot brought her along?

  She skidded around a corner, her boots slipping on the slick floor, and nearly crashed into a metal door. Frantically, she tugged at the latch, but it wouldn't budge. Of course not. "Come on, come on!" she hissed, her fingers fumbling as she tried to pry it open.

  Behind her, she heard the creature's roar again, followed by the rapid shots of Rix's blaster. He was still fighting. Still buying her time.

  With one final tug, the door gave way, and Syra tumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her. She pressed her back against it, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The room was small, dimly lit by a light she couldn't see but glowed within the room, and she could hear the distant sounds of the beast's growls growing fainter as Rix led it away.

  The eerie silence that followed was almost worse than the battle itself. Syra pressed her ear against the door, listening, heart pounding as the sounds of the beast's roars faded into the distance. There was no telling what had happened to Rix, but she had to know. She had to see if he was still alive.

  Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle, wincing at the cold metal against her skin, and slowly, cautiously, pulled the door open. The dim light from the corridor spilled into the small room, casting long shadows across the floor. She squinted, her pulse racing, and peered into the hallway.

  For a brief moment, she saw nothing—just the dark, endless hall stretching ahead. Then, without warning, a figure stepped out of the shadows, making her jump. Rix.

  Blood covered him—splattered across his face, smeared down his arms, and soaking his clothes—but he was standing, breathing hard and steady. His expression was unreadable, his violet eyes still sharp, still alert despite the carnage he'd just endured.

  Syra exhaled in relief, her tense shoulders dropping. "Thank the gods, you—"

  Before she could finish, something moved behind him. A flash of movement, a blur of black and silver, and then Rix was yanked back violently, his body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. He didn't even have time to react before he was being dragged down the corridor, his plasma gun slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.

  Syra's breath hitched, her heart seizing in her chest. "Rix!" she screamed, eyes wide with terror. She watched in horror as his body was dragged further into the darkness, the beast's monstrous growl echoing through the hall.

  "Unlock me!" she screamed, her voice shrill with panic. Her mind raced as she tugged at the cuffs, knowing she was powerless unless she was free.

  To her shock, the cuffs clicked off as if responding to her command. She rubbed her raw wrists for only a split second before her instincts kicked in. She dove for the plasma gun lying on the floor, her fingers fumbling with it. The gun felt unfamiliar in her hands—heavier, sleeker than anything she had used before. This wasn't some standard Dominion-issue blaster. This was high-grade tech, cutting-edge, and expensive. The kind of weapon you'd expect from someone like him.

  She crouched low, her breath coming fast as she tried to remember how to handle a gun like this. She hadn't fired a weapon in a long time, but muscle memory took over. She checked the charge, noting it was nearly full, and flicked off the safety with a quiet click. The hall around her felt suffocating, her senses heightened as adrenaline coursed through her.

  In the distance, she could still hear Rix struggling, the beast's snarls growing louder. There was no time. She gripped the gun tightly, her fingers steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. The glow from the gun's barrel cast an eerie light on the hallway as she cautiously made her way toward the direction Rix had been dragged.

  The corridor twisted and turned, every shadow playing tricks on her mind. She had no idea what awaited her at the end of this, but there was no turning back. Not now.

  She rounded a corner and froze. The beast was there—massive, hulking. It had Rix pinned against the wall, with his blade stuck in the side of its head. Blood oozed from the wounds, and though Rix was struggling, it was clear he was weakening. His violet eyes flickered with pain, but still, he didn't cry out. He just glared at the creature with a fury that seemed to burn from deep within him.

  Syra's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't hesitate. She aimed the plasma gun at the creature's exposed flank, where its armor plates didn't quite meet, and pulled the trigger.

  A bright, blinding bolt of energy shot from the barrel, hitting the beast with a deafening crack. It roared in agony, rearing back and releasing its hold on Rix. The creature turned, its glowing eyes locking onto Syra. For a moment, she thought it might charge at her, its fury unrelenting. But then, with a final snarl, Rix pulled his sword clean out of the beasts head, and then shoved it through its eye. The best recoiled violently, thrashing against the walls like a mortally wounded animal. Rix snatched the gun from her and fired off six quick shots to its underbelly silencing it.

  Syra gasped, eyes flicking to Rix’s. Her hands shook as she stared at him.

  Syra opened her mouth and Rix held up a hand silencing her. “Do not speak.” he said hoarsely, "Let's go,"

  “Next time you’ll listen to me or you’ll get us both killed.”

  Rix shifted slightly, wincing as he did—and that’s when Syra saw it.

  Blue, almost metallic, blood soaked through the side of his armor. It shimmered faintly, like it carried its own light. When it dripped, it left bright streaks on the ground, unnatural and striking. The gash from earlier, the one he’d insisted didn’t need tending yet, had torn open—too much strain, too much movement, too much fucking bravado.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said, voice thin.

  “I noticed,” he muttered, staggering back against the wall. His breathing was uneven now, clipped and shallow.

  Syra stepped closer, reaching out before she even thought about it. “Sit down before you pass out.”

  Rix ignored her and tried to push off the wall. "Let's just get to the ship before any more of those things show up."

  The Ember lines beneath his skin were glowing faintly—those strange blue fractals that stretched over his shoulders, usually subtle, now brighter. She didn’t know if it was pain or adrenaline or something else, but they pulsed like they were alive.

  “You didn’t run.”

  She glanced up at him, startled. “What?”

  “You had the cuffs off. You had the gun. You could’ve run.”

  Syra blinked. “Yeah, and leave your stubborn ass to be chewed in half? Not my style.”

  He looked at her then. Just for a beat. Long enough for something to pass between them that wasn’t irritation or snark.

  And then, of course, he ruined it.

  “Let's go."

  The moment the Citadel was behind them, Syra didn’t hesitate.

  She sprinted up the Elysium’s ramp and slammed her hand against the controls, sealing the door with a satisfying hiss. The moment it locked, she staggered to the cockpit, heart pounding, lungs burning, blood still roaring in her ears.

  Outside, the wind howled against the hull like something was trying to follow them in. She didn’t wait to find out. With a sharp flick of her wrist and a curse under her breath, she powered up the thrusters.

  “Hold on,” she muttered, not even checking if he was strapped in.

  The ship lurched off the ground in a jolt of fire and fury, engines whining as they lifted through the swirling red haze of Valeri Prime’s broken sky. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but she didn’t give a damn. They were off that cursed planet—and alive.

  Barely.

  She didn’t breathe again until the clouds thinned and the stars began to pierce the atmosphere. The view turned clearer. Distant. Safe.

  Only then did she finally slump back in her seat, letting out a shaky exhale.

  Behind her, she heard movement—slow, strained. Rix, leaning against the bulkhead, was tending to the gash across his ribs, blood still seeping down his side in thick rivulets of blue. He was using the last of the med-patch gel, wincing slightly as it hissed over the wound.

  “Thanks,” he said gruffly, his voice rough from exhaustion but sincere beneath the grit.

  Syra glanced over her shoulder. His jaw was clenched, his face pale. Still standing, somehow.

  She blinked, then gave a short nod. “You owe me.”

  “I know.”

  The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the engines and the low pitch of consoles.

  "What do I call you?”

  Syra froze.

  Three days. Three days of surviving, bloodshed, cuffing her, dragging her through ruins—and now he wanted to know?

  She turned halfway in her seat, expression dark. “You’re joking.”

  Rix looked up, eyes calm, unreadable. “No.”

  Her mouth parted in disbelief. “You really dragged me across a dead planet, nearly got us killed, cuffed me like a prisoner—and you didn’t even know my name?”

  He stared at her. “Didn’t need to.”

  She barked a humorless laugh. “Of course you didn’t.”

  “Well?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Syra.”

  “Syra,” he repeated, testing it like it was a piece of intel instead of her damn name. Then he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Thank you, Syra."

  “Next time you drag me into a nightmare death temple, I’m staying by the ship and you’re going in by yourself.”

  Rix didn’t argue.

  He just nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching like maybe, maybe, he almost smiled.

  Syra yanked off her breathing mask and tossed it onto the console with a sharp exhale. Her voice was raw with irritation and leftover adrenaline.

  “So what’s the plan now? We got your stupid artifact, nearly got killed for it—can I go home?”

  Rix didn’t look at her right away. He was peeling off the last of his ruined armor, blood smearing the inside. His movements were slower now, like the weight of everything had finally settled into his bones.

  “Where’s home for you?” he asked, voice quiet.

  She hesitated. “The Scattered Weave. Aralia system.”

  Rix gave the barest nod, expression unreadable. She couldn’t tell if he knew where that was or didn’t care.

  “We get to Vextar,” he said, still not meeting her gaze. “Find a Valthari priest. He’ll tell us what we need to know about the artifact. About why it marked us.”

  Syra frowned. “Are you sure he’ll know?”

  “He's the one who knew where to find it,” he said. “So, he’s the only one who might.”

  “And then I’m done?” she pressed, tired, wary. “That’s it?”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “But I’ll get you to Vextar. Find out what we can about the artifact. After that...you’ll be free to go.”

  Syra crossed her arms and leaned back into the chair, gaze fixed on the stars ahead.

  “Sure,” she muttered. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Rix didn’t argue. Didn’t promise. Just sat there in the dim light, staring down at the artifact like it might whisper something he didn’t want to hear.

  ∞

  The ship’s bathroom was barely big enough to turn around in, but it was the only place she could lock the door and pretend for five minutes that she wasn’t still stuck on a ship with a man she didn’t trust, after nearly dying twice in forty-eight hours.

  Syra sat on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows on her knees, face buried in her hands.

  Breathe.

  Just breathe.

  The hum of the ship’s systems vibrated faintly through the walls—reassuring, in a way. At least it meant they were flying. At least it meant she hadn’t imagined the whole godsdamn nightmare.

  She pulled her hands away and stared down at them. They were shaking. Not a little. A lot. Her knuckles were scraped, fingers raw from gripping that unfamiliar weapon too tightly, wrists sore where Rix had cuffed her.

  She ran her tongue over her dry lips. The taste of blood was still there.

  For a long moment, Syra didn’t move. Just stared at the tiled wall like it might blink back. Her reflection in the chrome faucet looked pale, smudged with dirt and stress. She wasn’t used to this. Not like this. She’d been through hard missions. Ugly ones. But this was different. There was something about this man, this planet, that dug into places she hadn’t let anyone touch in years.

  And the worst part?

  She’d panicked.

  She’d frozen.

  That wasn’t like her. She could usually talk her way out of anything. She was smart. Quick. She handled shit. But back in that hallway, with that beast roaring and Rix bleeding and everything falling apart—

  She squeezed her eyes shut, bile rising in her throat.

  Don’t cry.

  Her breath hitched. Too late.

  Tears welled up, hot and unwanted, sliding down her cheeks before she could stop them. She didn’t sob. Just sat there in the sterile silence of the bathroom, face in her hands, letting it happen. Quiet. Shaking.

  After a few minutes, she got up, rinsed her face with freezing water, and stared at herself in the mirror. Red eyes. Dirt-streaked cheeks. A rip in her shirt.

  Her reflection looked back at her, unrecognizable.

  "Get it together," she whispered to herself. "Just get through Vextar. Then you’re gone."

  Syra straightened her spine, dried her face, and pushed the weight of it all back down into the place she kept for things she didn’t want to feel. Not yet.

  Not until she was safe.