The Praedyth slid into position with silent precision, the ship’s docking clamps extending and locking onto the mining rig’s reinforced platform with a heavy metallic clang. The faint vibration reverberated through the floor beneath Servius’s boots, a confirmation that the ship was in place. The airlock indicator flashed green.

  Servius stood at the threshold of Bay 3, his sharp green eyes scanning the cargo within. The Munitorum containers, stacked neatly in the back, were the primary objective. But there was more here—processed ore, salvaged mechanical components, and scattered supplies that could prove valuable. His tail flicked once as he considered his next move.

  “Praedyth,” he spoke into his comm-link. “Status?”

  The ship’s voice crackled to life in his earpiece, cold and clinical. “Docking sequence complete. Cargo retrieval systems online. Area remains unsecured—recommend expedience.”

  Servius grunted in acknowledgment. The last surviving raider had fled into the depths of the rig, but he wasn’t concerned. If the coward wanted to live, he’d stay hidden.

  The feline warrior strode to the nearest container, his claws scraping lightly against the worn surface as he inspected it for tampering. The locking mechanism was intact. He keyed in the override codes he had lifted from Vassor’s terminal, and with a hiss, the lid released. Inside, stacks of neatly packaged ammunition and rations gleamed under the dim cargo bay lighting. Servius ran his eyes over the supplies, confirming their condition before stepping back.

  “Cargo’s intact,” he said into his comm. “Start loading.”

  “Affirmative,” the ship responded.

  The automated retrieval arms extended from The Praedyth’s open cargo bay, mechanical limbs moving with precise efficiency as they locked onto the containers and began lifting them aboard. Servius watched the process in silence, his mind already moving ahead to the next step.

  This was a successful job—clean, efficient. The kind that built a reputation.

  But there was still the matter of the case.

  As the last container was secured, Servius turned his attention to a small, nondescript crate tucked away in the corner of Bay 3. Unlike the others, this one was different—reinforced with ceramite plating, its surface unmarred by age or damage. His tail flicked sharply. It didn’t belong with the standard Munitorum supplies.

  He crouched beside it, running his claws along the edges. No markings, no serial numbers, no identifying sigils. That alone made it suspicious.

  “Praedyth,” he muttered, “scan this.”

  There was a brief pause before the ship responded. “No active Warp anomalies detected. Material composition suggests high-security containment.”

  He tapped his claw against the crate’s surface. It was sealed tight—no obvious release mechanisms. He could force it open now, but instinct told him to wait. There were too many unknowns. He had already purged one daemon from the Praedyth. If this crate held something similar, he wasn’t about to deal with it here, in the open.

  Instead, he activated his mag-lock clamps and secured the case to his belt. He’d examine it later. Somewhere safe.

  Servius stepped onto the Praedyth’s ramp, his ears twitching as he took one last look at the abandoned rig. The air was still thick with the stench of blood and ozone, the aftermath of his assault lingering in the rusted corridors.

  He had left bodies in his wake.

  That was nothing new.

  What mattered was the message left behind—the kind that spread through whispers in places like these. A lone predator had walked through their den and torn it apart with precision. The next time a band of scavengers thought about stealing from the wrong people, they’d remember this.

  He keyed the ramp controls, sealing the ship’s hatch behind him. The engines hummed with power, the familiar vibration thrumming through the floor as the vessel prepared for departure. Servius made his way to the bridge, his gaze flicking across the displays as the navigation systems came online.

  “Cargo secured,” he stated, dropping into the pilot’s seat. “Take us out.”

  The ship responded immediately. “Sublight engines primed. Disengaging docking clamps.”

  With a faint hiss, the clamps released, and the Praedyth pulled away from the rig, its sleek frame slipping back into the swirling void of the Warp. Servius watched the mining station shrink into the distance, its rusted silhouette fading against the endless abyss.

  The job was done.

  But his mind was already on the next one.

  He reached down, his claws tracing the edges of the mysterious crate at his belt. Whatever was inside could change everything.

  Or it could be the beginning of a whole new problem.

  Either way, he was ready.

  The Praedyth glided through the Warp’s swirling abyss, its engines humming with steady precision. Inside the cockpit, Servius leaned back in his seat, watching the swirling madness of the Immaterium through the reinforced viewport. The mining rig was long behind him now, reduced to little more than a faint marker on the ship’s tactical display.

  The job had gone smoothly—perhaps too smoothly.

  He had secured the Munitorum supplies, eliminated the raider threat, and even come away with an unexpected prize: the reinforced crate now resting in the ship’s cargo hold. The Nexus’s threads still lingered faintly at the edge of his perception, stirring as though in anticipation of something yet to come.

  Servius’s tail flicked once behind him as he exhaled through his nose. He didn’t believe in fate, but he had learned long ago to trust his instincts. And right now, they told him that this job wasn’t quite finished.

  “Praedyth,” he said, his voice even. “ETA to Outpost Krelos?”

  The ship’s mechanical voice responded instantly. “Sublight travel nearing completion. Estimated arrival in four minutes. No anomalous readings detected.”

  That was good. But Servius had been in the void long enough to know that a quiet return trip was never guaranteed.

  He tapped his clawed fingers against the armrest of his seat, his sharp green eyes flicking to the cargo manifest displayed on the console. Everything was accounted for—the stolen shipments, the salvaged materials, and of course, the case. He had yet to open it, and the idea of doing so without more information didn’t sit right with him.

  Jek had only mentioned the stolen supplies. Not this.

  Which meant it was either a mistake... or something the scavenger conveniently forgot to mention.

  His tail flicked sharply behind him. “Praedyth, adjust visual feed to forward scanners. Give me a long-range read on the outpost.”

  There was a brief pause before the ship’s sensors responded. The holographic display flickered to life, painting a grainy but detailed image of Outpost Krelos. The cluster of scavenged structures looked much as it had when Servius had left—still half-buried in the shadows of the asteroids, its exterior lights flickering in uneven patterns.

  But something was different.

  The landing platforms were active. A small shuttle—uglier than Jek’s rusted hauler—sat docked near the central hub, its hull marked with old battle scars and barely legible sigils.

  Visitors.

  Servius’s ears flicked forward slightly. He zoomed in on the ship’s markings, scanning for any familiar insignias, but found none. That was... interesting.

  Jek probably wasn’t the type to bring in extra muscle unless something had him worried. Either he was preparing for trouble, or trouble had already arrived.

  Servius wasn’t a fan of surprises.

  “Praedyth, bring us in slowly,” he ordered. “Minimal power signature. Let’s see what I’m walking into.”

  “Adjusting approach vector. Reducing energy output,” the ship confirmed.

  The Praedyth angled itself toward the outpost, its sleek frame slipping between the drifting asteroids as it moved with calculated precision. Servius’s claws flexed against the control panel as he watched the outpost grow larger in the viewport.

  Something wasn’t right.

  And he intended to find out exactly what.

  The docking clamps engaged with a heavy thunk, and the Praedyth settled onto the landing platform with practiced ease. Servius rose from the pilot’s seat, rolling his shoulders as he double-checked his gear. His bolt pistol was secured at his hip, a fresh magazine slotted into place. His knife rested across his chest, its power field dormant but ready.

  The reinforced case was still locked tight in the ship’s cargo bay. For now, it was staying there.

  “Praedyth,” he murmured as he moved toward the exit hatch, “keep the ship ready for a quick departure. If things go sideways, I want to be gone in under a minute.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The airlock hissed open, and Servius stepped onto the outpost’s rusted metal decking. The moment his boots hit the ground, his sharp eyes swept the surroundings, cataloging every detail.

  The outpost looked the same as before—dilapidated, barely functioning—but there was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there when he left.

  A pair of armed men stood near the landing pad, their weapons slung but their stances rigid. Not the same scavengers from before—these ones were more disciplined. The way they carried themselves told Servius everything he needed to know. Mercs.

  One of them—a stocky man with cybernetic augments covering the left side of his face—watched Servius closely as he approached. His companion, a wiry figure with a long rifle strapped to his back, remained silent but ready.

  Servius stopped a few paces away, his tail flicking behind him as he crossed his arms.

  “Didn’t know they had expected company,” he said coolly.

  The augmented merc smirked. “They got a lot of things she doesn’t mention. Like you.”

  Servius’s green eyes narrowed slightly. “That so?”

  Before the merc could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tense air.

  “Easy, boys. No need for that.”

  Jek stepped into view, a smug grin plastered across his face, but there was something forced about it—something tense.

  Servius didn’t move. His instincts told him everything before Jek even spoke. This wasn’t a friendly welcome.

  Jek spread his hands. “Glad you made it back, Cat.”

  Servius’s tail flicked once, sharply. “I got what you wanted.”

  “Yeah. About that...” Jek rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Servius and the mercs.

  Servius exhaled slowly through his nose. “Something you forgot to mention?”

  Jek chuckled nervously. “Look, I might’ve left out a few details.”

  Servius’s sharp green eyes locked onto him like a predator sizing up its prey. “Start talking.”

  The merc with the cybernetics spoke up instead. “It’s simple, really. You’re carrying something valuable. And Jek here has debts that need paying.”

  Servius’s claws flexed at his sides, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. “Debts,” he repeated coldly.

  Jek held up his hands. “It’s not personal. Just business.”

  Servius’s expression didn’t change. His mind was already moving, already calculating the angles. The case in his cargo hold was the real reason these mercs were here. Jek had set him up.

  Servius tilted his head slightly. “Who do you owe?”

  The augmented merc grinned, his augmetic eye glinting in the dim light. “That’s not important.”

  Servius’s tail flicked. “It could be.”

  Silence.

  The air was thick with anticipation. The mercs weren’t pointing their guns yet, but they would. Jek was sweating. Servius could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

  Servius exhaled slowly. This could be fun.

  Servius’s ears flicked as the tension in the air settled thick and heavy around the landing pad. The mercenaries’ fingers rested lightly on their weapons, postures exuding the confidence of men used to having the upper hand. It was confidence Servius knew would crumble the moment they realized who they were dealing with.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The woman from the throne room emerged from the shadows of the outpost’s corridors, her sharp, calculating gaze flicking between Servius and the mercs. She was flanked by two of her own scavengers, armed but relaxed—a stark contrast to the mercenaries’ tense stances. Her thin lips curled into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Seems we’ve got ourselves a situation,” she said, her voice carrying that same cold authority Servius had noted before. “And you’re the center of it, Cat.”

  Servius’s sharp green eyes locked onto hers, unflinching. “Seems that way. Who are they?” He nodded toward the mercs, his tone sharp and cutting.

  “Debtors,” the woman replied with a shrug. “They’re here to collect. And, as it happens, you’ve brought back something valuable enough to cover the outpost’s... financial difficulties.”

  One of the mercs, the stocky man with the cybernetic augments, stepped forward with a grin that was equal parts cocky and menacing. “Let’s make this simple. That crate you brought back? It’s not yours, never was. Hand it over now, and we might forget how easy it’d be to turn your fancy ship into scrap metal.”

  Servius’s tail flicked once behind him, a sharp, deliberate motion that hinted at his growing irritation. His claws flexed slightly at his sides, but he didn’t reach for his weapons. Not yet.

  “Bold of you to think you’re still holding cards,” he said, his voice low and cold. His sharp eyes flicked between the mercs, assessing their stances, their weapons, the distance between them and himself. “And bolder still to imagine you’ll leave here breathing if I decide you’ve wasted enough of my time.”

  The merc’s grin faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, his augmetic eye whirring faintly as it focused on Servius. “Watch yourself, Cat. We’re not some half-starved scavs playing soldier—we’re professionals. Try anything, and you won’t be making it back to that pretty ship of yours.”

  The woman on the throne had remained silent, watching the exchange with a faint smirk. Now, she spoke up again, her tone mocking. “You’re outnumbered, outgunned. Might be a good time to cut your losses.”

  Servius’s gaze snapped to her, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. “Losses?” he echoed, his tone dripping with quiet disdain. “The only thing I’ve lost is patience.”

  He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his tail flicking behind him as he closed the gap between himself and the leader. The woman’s hand twitched toward her weapon, but Servius’s sharp eyes caught the motion before it completed.

  “Draw that pistol,” Servius said softly, his voice a dangerous whisper.

  She hesitated, the weight of Servius’s presence pressing down on her like a physical force. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, until the woman finally broke it with a laugh.

  "Easy now," she said, raising her hands just enough to signal control. "No one’s bleeding yet, and I’d prefer to keep it that way—for now. So, how about we all take a breath and reconsider our options?”

  Servius didn’t move, his sharp green eyes locked onto the leader like a predator sizing up its prey. After a long moment, he stepped back, his tail flicking sharply as he broke the tension.

  “Let’s keep this simple,” he said, his voice carrying an edge that left no room for argument. “What’s in my hold stays in my hold. You want it? Come and take it”

  The woman raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “And if we do?”

  Servius tilted his head slightly, his claws flexing at his sides. “Then you’ll learn the difference between scavengers playing warlord and someone who’s been hunting since before you could walk.”

  The woman studied him for a long moment, her gaze searching his sharp features for any hint of weakness. She found none. Finally, she sighed and gestured to the mercs. “Stand down.”

  The stocky merc growled in frustration, but he obeyed, stepping back with a glare that promised this wasn’t over. Servius didn’t bother acknowledging him.

  “I admire your confidence, Cat,” the woman said, her tone laced with amusement. “But confidence only gets you so far out here. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Servius’s tail flicked once behind him as he turned away, heading back toward the Praedyth. “And you’d do well to remember I’m not your enemy,” he said over his shoulder. “Unless you make me one.”

  The woman chuckled, her laughter echoing faintly across the landing pad as Servius disappeared into the Praedyth’s airlock.

  The hiss of the closing hatch sealed the outpost’s noise outside, leaving behind only the steady hum of the ship’s systems. Servius exhaled through his nose, ears flicking slightly as he paced toward the cargo hold. The situation was unfolding as expected—thugs with too much confidence, a leader with just enough sense to step back, and an inevitable betrayal brewing beneath the surface.

  It was almost refreshing in its predictability.

  The ship’s voice chimed in as he entered the bridge. “Atmospheric scans complete. Outpost activity remains stable. However, external forces remain in proximity.”

  Servius slid into the pilot’s seat, claws tapping lightly against the armrest. “They’re watching,” he muttered, amused rather than concerned. “Of course they are.”

  His eyes flicked toward the tactical display, where the mercenary shuttle sat idling at the edge of the outpost’s docking zone. They weren’t leaving yet, which meant they were weighing their options—waiting for a reason, or an opportunity, to make a move.

  Servius smirked. “They’re going to talk themselves into doing something stupid.”

  “Probability of hostile escalation remains significant,” the ship confirmed.

  “Good. Let them.”

  He powered down the external weapons, a deliberate choice. The Praedyth was a hunting vessel, but this wasn’t a battlefield—not yet. If they wanted to come after him, they could make the first mistake.

  But first, business.

  His tail flicked as he approached the marked crates. Most of them were standard enough—munitorum-grade materials, scavenged supplies, and whatever was left of the rig’s stolen inventory.

  But one crate stood out.

  It was the same one he had noted back at the rig, its surface marked with old, faded sigils that neither fit the Imperium nor the crude markings of the raiders. It was reinforced, too—not just standard containment plating, but something designed to withstand heavy impact.

  “Let’s see what makes you special,” Servius muttered, running a clawed hand over the edge.

  He retrieved a small plasma cutter from nearby and activated it, the blade’s blue-white glow flickering as he traced it along the crate’s seal. The metal hissed, then gave way with a faint pop as the locking mechanism released.

  The lid groaned open.

  Inside, cushioned by layers of shock-resistant padding, was an object wrapped in dull metallic cloth. Servius carefully pulled back the covering, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he took in what lay beneath.

  A box, smaller than he had expected, made from a dark alloy that shimmered faintly under the dim cargo bay lighting. Its surface was covered in intricate patterns—neither purely mechanical nor overtly arcane, but something between the two, their etchings catching the light in strange ways.

  Servius tilted his head, his tail flicking once in quiet intrigue.

  “Interesting.”

  He reached out, claws brushing the surface.

  Nothing happened. No sudden surge of Warp energy, no hidden defenses lashing out. But there was something—an itch at the edge of his awareness, faint and fleeting, like a whisper in a language he couldn’t understand. His ears flicked, tail curling in thought. Whatever this was, it wasn’t immediately hostile—just... dormant. For now.

  He straightened, the fur along his neck bristling slightly as he re-sealed the crate.

  “Praedyth,” he called, straightening. “Scan this.”

  The ship’s systems hummed in response. “Object detected. Material composition: unknown alloy. Energy readings: minimal but present. Source unidentified.”

  Servius smirked faintly. “Not exactly helpful.”

  “Statement stands,” the ship replied, its tone as flat as ever.

  He exhaled slowly, gaze lingering on the strange container. It was valuable—maybe not to Jek, or the outpost, but to someone. And that meant it belonged to him now.

  Satisfied, he re-sealed the crate and marked it for his personal share before moving on to the rest of the cargo. He would take his cut, drop off the rest, and be done with this place.

  The outpost could handle the fallout however they pleased.

  The airlock hissed open, and he stepped out onto the rusted decking of the landing pad. This time, the mercenaries weren’t just standing around, they were waiting.

  The cybernetic merc from earlier stood near the docking ramp, arms crossed, his augmetic eye glowing faintly in the dim light. His wiry companion was perched on a stack of crates nearby, cleaning the barrel of his long rifle with deliberate slowness. Both of them watched Servius approach.

  Servius stopped a few paces away, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “You two always stand around looking useless, or is this a special occasion?”

  The cybernetic merc smirked. “We’re here to make sure everything goes smooth.”

  “That your polite way of saying you don’t trust me?”

  The wiry one chuckled, tapping the barrel of his rifle. “No, Cat. It’s our polite way of saying we don’t trust anyone.”

  Servius tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Smart.”

  He moved past them without another word, stepping into the outpost’s corridors. The halls were the same—dim, grimy, lined with rusted bulkheads and flickering lights. The tension in the air hadn’t dissipated, though. If anything, it had thickened, like the whole place was holding its breath.

  As he reached the central chamber, Jek was already there, waiting.

  The scavenger’s usual smirk was in place, but Servius could see the strain behind it. Jek was a man who liked to play at confidence, but right now, he was in a position he didn’t fully control. That meant Servius had leverage.

  The woman who ran the outpost was also present, seated on her makeshift throne, watching with the same unreadable amusement. Her scavengers stood nearby, not quite relaxed, but not overtly hostile either.

  Servius stopped a few steps away from Jek, crossing his arms. “The supplies are in my hold. No damage. No losses.”

  Jek exhaled, nodding. “Good. Real good.” He glanced toward the outpost leader. “See? Told you he’d get the job done.”

  The woman smirked. “That remains to be seen.”

  One of her scavengers stepped forward, retrieving a dataslate and tossing it to Servius. He caught it with one hand, eyes flicking over the inventory list. It matched what was in his hold.

  “Docking clamps are unlocked,” the woman said. “We’ll offload the supplies.”

  Servius didn’t move, scanning the list again before speaking. “And my cut?”

  Jek hesitated a second too long.

  The cybernetic merc shifted slightly, and that was enough to confirm what Servius already knew.

  Ah.

  Servius exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he looked at Jek. “Something on your mind?”

  Jek scratched the back of his neck, forcing a chuckle. “Look, Cat—situation’s a bit more complicated than we thought. The mercs, they—”

  “They want the crate.” Servius finished for him, voice flat.

  Jek hesitated again, then sighed. “Yeah.”

  The woman on the throne watched the exchange in silence, her fingers tapping idly against the armrest. She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t interfered—just observed. She was waiting to see how this played out.

  Servius’s tail flicked. “I took what was agreed upon. That crate was not on your list.”

  The cybernetic merc stepped forward, his metal fingers flexing slightly. “Doesn’t matter. It’s ours now.”

  Servius tilted his head slightly, his sharp green eyes meeting the merc’s augmetic one. “Then take it.”

  Silence.

  The merc didn’t move.

  The tension in the room was thick enough to cut.

  Servius stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his claws tapping against his belt. “Go on,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “Walk onto my ship. Open my cargo hold. Take it.”

  The merc’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move.

  Servius smirked. “As I thought.”

  He turned back to Jek, his expression sharpening. “You want to settle debts? Fine. But you won’t be paying them with my property.”

  Jek swallowed, his smirk faltering. “It’s just business, Cat. Nothing personal.”

  Servius’s tail flicked sharply. “It always is, right up until it isn’t.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away, his sharp ears catching the whispered conversations that followed. He wasn’t worried. If the mercs wanted a fight, they would’ve started one already. Instead, they were left standing in the outpost, weighing whether they had the stomach to push their luck.

  As Servius stepped back onto the Praedyth, the airlock sealing behind him, he allowed himself a small smirk.

  The ship’s voice chimed in. “Hostile escalation probability reduced. No immediate pursuit detected.”

  Servius exhaled, settling into the pilot’s seat. “Told you they’d talk themselves out of it.”

  “Observation: temporary outcome. Additional complications likely.”

  Servius smirked, claws tapping idly on the console. “Let them try.” His gaze flicked to the tactical display, lingering on the distant outpost. Somewhere out there, debts were piling up, alliances shifting, and whispers spreading. Whatever came next, he’d meet it head-on.

  The Praedyth lifted off, its engines humming softly as the outpost dwindled into the swirling abyss of the void behind him. The tension of the landing pad melted away, replaced by the steady rhythm of the ship’s systems and the cold silence of its interior. Servius leaned back in the pilot’s seat, claws tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the console.

  His green eyes flicked to the tactical display. The outpost now registered as little more than a faint blip—a fragile cluster of scrap and greed hanging precariously in the shadows of the asteroids. He let out a slow exhale, his sharp ears twitching as he replayed the encounter in his mind. The mercenaries had expected fear, submission. What they’d found was something else entirely.

  “They’re going to do something stupid,” Servius murmured under his breath, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  The Praedyth’s mechanical voice chimed in, clinical as ever. “Temporary withdrawal observed. Continued surveillance of external forces recommended.”

  Servius tilted his head, watching the tactical display as the mercenary shuttle remained docked at the outpost. They weren’t gone yet, and that didn’t surprise him. They were still weighing their options, licking their wounds. Predators that had suddenly realized they weren’t at the top of the food chain.

  “Let them try,” Servius said softly, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “They’ll figure it out. Eventually.”

  The ship fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the engines. For a moment, Servius allowed himself to settle into the rhythm of the vessel, his claws tracing the edges of the armrest as his thoughts turned inward.

  He had completed the job: no losses, no setbacks, and no damage to his reputation. The kind of success that spread whispers across places like Outpost Krelos, where power was fragile, and reputations were everything.

  But the loose ends nagged at him. Jek’s debts. The mercenaries’ posturing. The case sitting in his cargo hold, silent but impossible to ignore. It all felt... too neat. Too easy.

  Servius exhaled sharply through his nose, standing from the pilot’s seat and padding back into the depths of the ship. His tail flicked behind him, the soft metallic hiss of his claws against the floor filling the silence. The reinforced crate sat in the hold, sealed once again, its faintly glowing patterns mocking him with their quiet mystery.

  “Praedyth,” he called. “Re-scan the cargo. Focus on the alloy composition.”

  The ship’s sensors hummed to life, flickering through the data streams as Servius crouched beside the crate, his sharp green eyes scanning its surface. The same strange etchings greeted him—neither mechanical nor truly arcane, their patterns catching the faint light in ways that seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking. Something about them tugged at the edges of his awareness, faint but persistent.

  “Scan complete,” the ship reported. “Material composition remains unidentifiable. Energy output unchanged. Dormancy persists.”

  Dormancy. That word lingered in his mind. Whatever this thing was, it was waiting. For what, he couldn’t say. But he would find out.

  “Mark this for secured storage,” he said finally, standing and stepping back from the crate. “Category: unknown asset.”

  The Praedyth’s systems chirped in acknowledgment as the crate was locked into place, its mystery postponed but far from forgotten.

  Back on the bridge, Servius settled into the pilot’s seat once more. His claws tapped absently against the console as his mind sifted through the possibilities.

  Jek had been sweating when the mercs arrived. That meant they were owed more than thrones—something personal, something dangerous. And Jek had made the mistake of thinking he could use Servius to settle the score. That mistake wouldn’t be forgotten. Neither would the debts the outpost now owed him for dragging him into their mess.

  “Fools,” Servius muttered, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced at the faint marker on the display where the outpost still sat. “They thought they were buying time. They thought they were the ones with control.”

  He leaned back, smirking faintly as the Praedyth began to pick up speed, slipping further into the Warp’s swirling embrace.