The terminal beeped as Gravel emerged from the corridor, eyes locked onto his holo-broadcaster. The screen flickered with the live feed of a Flickball final—one of the biggest matches of the season. Aslan IV from Haret against Teven Monsan from Crimson-1. His grip tightened as the energy disc zipped across the court, both players locked in a brutal back-and-forth.

  “Come on,” he muttered, pacing slightly. The score was tied. The next serve could decide the entire match.

  The server stepped up, paddle poised—

  Then the screen cut to black.

  A cheerful voice filled the room. “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an exclusive investment opportunity!”

  Gravel froze. The holo-screen now displayed a rotating 3D model of a dull, crater-pocked asteroid.

  “Own a piece of the future! Secure your very own plot of prime asteroid real estate on the fringes of the Koman solar system. Connect with the bold pioneers of humanity’s expansion from Earth and its twin planet, Haret! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

  Gravel’s eye twitched.

  “Who the fuck puts an ad right before an important serve?”

  He jabbed at the holo-broadcaster, cycling channels, but the damage was done. The match was gone, lost beneath the droning sales pitch of some poor sap promising ‘frontier luxury’ in the middle of a frozen rock belt.

  Gravel groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hope their whole asteroid gets repossessed.”

  Priest’s visor flickered as he pulled up the latest Republic enforcement logs and projected it for the crew to see. A moment later, the screen filled with official warrants and bounty postings. The words WANTED FOR ARREST stared back at them in bold red text.

  Hunter waved at Gravel. “Can you watch the highlights later? Seems like there’s another announcement concerning ourselves you’d like to know.”

  Gravel leaned in, a cold glass of beer-flavored caffeinated water in his hand. “Sure. Whatever. Alright, let’s see how famous we are.”

  Then the words hit him.

  Unauthorized Impound Seizure. Assault on Enforcement Personnel. Theft of Restricted Data.

  He spotted the number. His eye twitched even harder than when looking at the asteroid ad earlier.

  “Fifty hundred thousands?” Gravel leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s it?”

  Hunter, arms folded, raised a brow. “You mad about being a wanted man, or mad about being cheap?”

  “I’m mad about the lack of respect.” He gestured broadly at the screen. “We stole a ship, punched out some officers, made a daring escape, and we’re worth less than an old freighter on the salvage market.”

  Priest, still scrolling, made a quiet noise. “McPherson’s offering more. Nine point five hundred thousands, private bounty.”

  Gravel scoffed. “See? They get it. Though they really couldn’t add an extra fifty and make it a million. I like the ring to ‘million dollar outlaws’ much better. Rolls off the tongue.”

  Hunter smirked. “Well, the bounty would’ve shot up if we had ‘Conspiracy Against Republic Interests’ over our heads.”

  Gravel clicked his tongue. “Missed opportunities.”

  Then Fang’s voice cut through, tight and urgent. “Are our real names on there?”

  Priest tapped through a few more screens, checking the database. A moment later, his visor flickered. “Aliases for most of us, except for Sloan.” A pause. “Fang—your real name’s listed.”

  “I told you to use a codename. Don’t whine about it now.” Gravel peeked at the projection closer. “At least I don’t see a last name.”

  Fang’s fingers curled against the console, pressing so hard it ached, but she barely noticed. Her skin prickled with an anxious heat that made it impossible to stay still. She flexed her hands, then balled them into fists.

  “Worried your loverboy’s gonna find out?” Gravel smirked, sipping his drink. “What’s he gonna do, ground you?”

  Fang barely heard Hunter’s sigh before she continued, words spilling too fast. “I promised him. I told him I’d visit.”

  Hunter exhaled, tilting her head toward Fang. “You’re acting like he’s got Republic alerts on speed dial. If he finds out, he finds out. But spiraling about it won’t change anything.”

  Fang’s nails dug into her palms. “You don’t get it.”

  Hunter folded her arms. “I do. You just don’t want to hear it.”

  Gravel leaned back, swirling his drink. “You’re actually gonna entertain this?” He scoffed. “The kid chose this life. That childish nonsense is the least of her worries. She should be worried about getting a positive credit score.”

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  Fang snapped her head toward him. “It’s not nonsense.”

  Gravel shrugged. “If it’s so important to you, you figure it out. Because unless he’s got some secret pirate life you never told us about, you two don’t belong in the same world. Tough luck, kid.”

  Hunter shot Gravel a look. “Not helping.”

  “I’m not here to help.” Gravel set his drink down with a dull clunk against the console. “I’m just being realistic.”

  Fang bit the inside of her cheek.

  Priest, still scrolling, finally spoke. “Fang. Can you operate?”

  Fang’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to inhale, slow and measured, before nodding.

  Priest didn’t look up. “We need to move. Get to the cockpit and steer us to outer orbit—now.”

  She pushed off the console, turning on her heel.

  Gravel clicked his tongue. “Why does she listen to you without a word and she just has to bark back at me?”

  Hunter smirked, arms still folded. “Because you’re an ass.”

  “Go console the kid then, if you’re such a nice and understanding person.”

  Hunter rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t need consoling. She needs time.”

  “You just suck at it as much as I do, but you don’t wanna admit it.”

  Hunter scoffed. “I don’t suck at it. I just know when to back off, unlike a certain someone.”

  Gravel gestured vaguely toward the cockpit. “And what, letting her sit up there stewing in her own head is better?”

  Priest finally looked up from his screen. “We’re wasting time.” He pulled up a new set of star maps, his visor flickering as he highlighted a sector. “We’ll need a port that doesn’t care about Republic warrants.”

  Hunter glanced at the screen. “You have one in mind?”

  Priest tapped the map, bringing a distant system into focus. “Mendax-12. No central authority, plenty of black-market traffic, and an old relay station we can use to reroute our signal.”

  Gravel grinned. “I don’t love the fact I can’t go to Fujima-8 to watch medball anymore, but sure, Mendax it is.”

  Sloan strolled in like she hadn’t been absent for half the conversation, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the viewport beside them. The Black Fang didn’t have many windows—too much risk, too little need—but the reinforced observation panel in the common area gave a clear view of the void beyond.

  She stopped just short of the table, her gaze lingering outside. The endless black, punctuated only by distant stars, stretched on infinitely.

  “Mendax-12?” she said, almost distractedly. “Bold choice.”

  Gravel didn’t even look at her. “Oh, great. You’re here. Happy to hear knowledge from someone who’s never been to space before.”

  Sloan didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she exhaled slowly, almost like she was grounding herself. “It’s bigger than I expected.”

  Gravel snorted. “What, space?”

  She shot him a dry look. Her fingers tapped idly against the edge of the console as she kept looking out.

  Priest didn’t react, but Hunter raised a brow. “You never even looked out a port window back on Kestris?”

  Sloan’s lips pressed together. “Kestris skies are orange with smog. This is different.”

  Gravel leaned back, unimpressed. “Great. She’s having an existential crisis. Can we get back to the part where you tell me how Mendax is problematic and your vision of an ideal port planet is so much better?”

  Sloan finally turned from the viewport, arms still crossed. “Mendax isn’t problematic. Just inconvenient.”

  Gravel raised an eyebrow. “You saying that because it’s true, or because it’s the first time you won’t have the luxury of walking in with some corpo badge backing you up?”

  Sloan’s expression didn’t flicker, but her fingers curled slightly against her arm. “I’m saying it because half the syndicates operating there will sell you out for half your bounty. If you don’t know the right people, you’ll barely last a cycle before someone decides you’re worth more dead than alive. And as far as my professional network goes, I don’t have any viable contacts in that region.”

  Gravel tilted his head. “Alright, then. You got a better alternative?”

  Sloan didn’t hesitate. “Juno’s Drift. It’s got independent docking stations, looser security screenings, and a trade hub that isn’t crawling with bounty runners looking for easy credits.”

  Gravel snorted, already shaking his head. “Yeah, Mendax it is. Not trusting you to pick where we land.”

  Sloan exhaled, her patience visibly thinning. “Then why ask?”

  Gravel grinned. “Wanted to see if you’d actually contribute something useful. Jury’s still out.”

  Gravel stretched, already pushing up from his seat. “Alright, I’m done with this conversation. Hunter, you wanna hit the rec lounge? Play some—” He waved a hand vaguely. “—Flickball?”

  Hunter raised a brow. “You sure you wanna lose again? Or are you just a glutton for punishment?”

  Gravel scoffed. “Bold of you to assume I didn’t go easy on you.”

  Sloan made a face. Gravel caught it instantly.

  He smirked. “What? You look like you swallowed a bitterberry.”

  Sloan gestured at the room around them. “You have a dedicated space for sports?”

  Gravel leaned against the doorway, watching her reaction. Obviously unhappy she gets a glorified storage closet while we have room for a damn game lounge. He clicked his tongue, pretending to consider something.

  Then, with a dramatic sigh, he shrugged. “Alright, fine. You wanna come?”

  Sloan blinked, clearly not expecting that. “I’ve never heard of Flickball before.”

  Gravel grinned. “Sucks to live your life, then.”

  Hunter snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”

  Sloan exhaled slowly, like she was regretting every choice that had led her here. “I’ll pass.”

  Gravel mock-gasped. “Unbelievable. A former high-ranking corpo officer, and yet, no sense of competition.”

  Hunter rolled her shoulders, already heading toward the lounge. “Less talking, more losing, boulder boy.”

  Gravel shot her a look but followed, tossing one last glance over his shoulder at Sloan. “Suit yourself, corpo. Enjoy your thinking time or whatever.”

  She didn’t respond. Just leaned back against the console, arms still crossed, her expression cloudy.

  The door hissed shut behind them.

  For a long moment, Sloan didn’t move. Behind her, the quiet tap-tap of Priest’s fingers against the console filled the space, the soft flicker of the star maps still glowing on the screen in front of her.

  She exhaled through her nose, tapping her fingers idly against her arm.

  Then, without looking, she reached for the protein ration Priest had given her earlier and peeled it open.