Page 34 of Honor Bound

He spun on his heel, leaving the bridge, his rage boiling just beneath the surface. The failure burned in his chest, heavier than any wound, sharper than any blade.

And if Roan survived, he would learn exactly what it felt like to face the full force of the Legion’s wrath.

* * *

The familiar weight of his father’s staff settled into Roan’s grip, the cool metal humming faintly against his palm as if it remembered who it truly belonged to. A symbol of power, once perverted by Coleridge, now reclaimed.

He ignored the ache radiating from his ribs, the deep bruises a reminder of his father’s fury—pain that he refused to let define him. There wasn’t time for weakness. Not now.

The freighter jolted violently as Legion fighters swarmed around them like predators scenting blood.Roan slid into the co-pilot’s seat, his hands instinctively finding the controls. La’Rue’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel.

“My ship. My command,” she snapped.

Roan didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll both command it,” he shot back, fingers already working through the navigational data. He’d flown through these frozen islands before—knew the fractures in the ice where others would crash.

La’Rue finally relented, muttering curses under her breath as she sprinted toward the gun turret. Sergi followed, leaving Roan with Julia in the cramped cockpit.

She didn’t say anything, but he felt her eyes on him. Worried.

His jaw clenched. She should be.

But not because of his injuries—because of what was coming.

The Legion fighters descended, their formation tight and ruthless. He knew their tactics. How they would attack. He had trained many of them.

Roan’s hands gripped the controls, weaving the freighter through jagged ice towers, the ship’s engines screaming in protest. The cold of the frozen islands was both their shield and their trap.

Lasers streaked past the viewport, searing too close for comfort. Behind him, Julia’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Roan—your side!”

He jerked the controls, narrowly avoiding a blast that would’ve gutted them. The maneuver sent a fresh wave of pain through his ribs, but he bit it down, refusing to show weakness. Not in front of her.

He trusted La’Rue and Sergi to handle the gunners, knowing the odds were stacked against them. Too many fighters. Not enough firepower. It didn’t help that he was facing off against starfighters with a freighter.

Roan spared a glance at Julia—her face was pale but steady, her hands clenched around the edge of the console. She wasn’t a soldier. But the courage in her eyes said otherwise.

Their gazes met, and for a brief second, the chaos faded.

She was scared. Not of the battle—of losing him.

That realization hit him harder than any blow his father could have given him. The only ones who had ever looked at him with love and compassion were his grandparents… and his mother. The last was a faded memory that he had clung to during the early years of his father and uncle’s brutal training sessions.

The freighter shuddered violently as a blast struck one of the rear engines. Roan cursed, fighting the controls as the ship spun out, spiraling toward the icy cliffs below.

“H, divert power to auxiliary thrusters!” La’Rue’s voice barked through the com.

Smoke briefly filled the cockpit as a circuit overheated before the automated air filter cleared it. Roan blinked to clear his vision and wiped at his burning eyes. His hands slipped on the controls, slick with sweat and blood from a cut on his knuckle that had opened back up. The ship clipped the edge of a frozen cliff, sending shards of ice cascading like shattered glass.

“Brace for impact!” Roan shouted.

Julia’s hand shot out, gripping his forearm. Tight. Grounding.

The freighter slammed into the ice, skidding violently before tilting at an impossible angle—its nose hanging over the edge of a fractured shelf. Roan’s heart pounded, not from fear, but from the sheer determination to keep from going over the edge.

They weren’t done. Not yet.

Roan released his restraints, his breath ragged. His hands flew to the controls, assessing the damage. They needed to get the engines back online. The shields were at less than thirty percent. They wouldn’t hold long.

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