It took another ten seconds until the stranger’s vessel came into view—a lean, predatory thing, built for speed.

  “Sleek black seems to be this decade’s trend.” Gravel clicked his tongue. Black with streaks of red lining its underbelly, he knew that kind of custom job that wasn’t for show but for functionality. The coating meant to scatter sensor readings, while the paint was designed to break visual tracking against the void. A ghost ship in all but name.

  “Lurik-class frame,” Gravel said, more to himself than anyone else. “Not Republic. Not McPherson. That’s a homebrew job.”

  Hunter raised a brow. “So? I think we’ve established that.”

  “So,” Gravel leaned in, narrowing his eyes, “that model comes from the Rellan Verge.”

  Fang frowned. “That’s . . . far.”

  “Yeah. The ass-end of the galaxy, where trade routes go to die. That kinda far.” Gravel scratched his jaw. “That’s an old frontier model, stripped and rebuilt a dozen times over. They don’t make ‘em anymore. Hell, they barely made ‘em back then. You only see these in independent systems where people have to build their own damn fleets out of scrap.”

  “Wasn’t that different from your last vessel,” Fang snickered. “That thing was wack.”

  “Like this one you built is any better,” Gravel replied. “Back to business. The hell’s a Verge-runner doing here?”

  The rogue ship remained at a careful distance, close enough to keep pressure on them but far enough that it didn’t look like a threat.

  “Heat signature’s stable, but the engine output’s got irregular readings.” He glanced at Gravel. “Ship that old shouldn’t be moving this smooth.”

  “I mean it’s not old,” Gravel murmured. “Not anymore.”

  The stranger’s voice came through the comm. “I have the only ship here capable of scrambling McPherson’s target locks long enough for you to make a clean break. You break left, I break right. I’ll scramble their long-range targeting. When they recalibrate, you have a thirty-second window to hit full burn and drop off their scope before they compensate.”

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  “Then how are you gonna escape?” Hunter asked.

  “Three corp ships? I’ve handled worse with a busted reactor and half a wing missing.” Gravel could imagine the stranger’s smug face, if that face looked like Gabriel Mog from the movie Space Collars.

  “Sure, play hero. I’ll buy it for now.” He tapped the comms. “Fang, you heard the man. Get ready to run.”

  Fang cracked her knuckles, already shifting power to the thrusters. “Been ready. Hope this guy’s as good as he thinks he is.”

  The stranger said, “Now run.”

  The moment he said it, his ship veered. It wasn’t just speed—it was an artful kind of chaos, a ship moving like it had no mass, twisting and doubling. That seemed to have thrown McPherson’s targeting AI into a fit. They were still for a second, not knowing what to do.

  One of the McPherson ships fired a proximity pulse, trying to force a lock, but the stranger’s ship slipped through the net like smoke through fingers.

  A second later, a decoy signal flared in the opposite direction, mimicking an engine burst at full burn. The McPherson sensors hesitated, momentarily splitting their focus between two targets.

  Just as promised.

  Hunter let out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level bullshit. What the hell is that technology? Anyone’s got any info on that?”

  Priest’s visor pulsed with fresh data. “Their systems are trying to recalculate, but whatever scrambling tech he’s running, it’s keeping them in a constant feedback loop.” He paused. “He’s not interfering with our comms.”

  “What, you expected him to?” Fang asked, adjusting course.

  “Standard move if you’re trying to force a negotiation,” Priest murmured. “Lock down comms, push them to a private line, control the conversation.”

  Gravel’s fingers tapped against the console. “Guess our boy here wants us talking. Too bad we don’t have many friends.”

  Their ship soon thread a dangerously tight arc around the nearest asteroid cluster.

  “Steady,” Priest’s voice was stable. “One McPherson ship is breaking formation.”

  “Not fast enough,” Fang said, teeth bared in a grin. “We’re almost clear.”

  Behind them, the rogue ship was doing a Tango, raw momentum bending to the will of its pilot. One of the McPherson vessels twisted in pursuit, but its bulk couldn’t match the rogue ship’s movements.

  Then the stranger’s voice cut through on a private line. “Have fun. Drop your coordinates from here. And don’t even think about trying to outrun me.”

  The Black Fang was already deep into the void, slipping from McPherson’s grasp. The rogue ship remained a shadow at their backs.

  Gravel tapped at the scanner logs, brow furrowing. “Huh.”