Page 58 of Honor Bound

Zoak closed the schematic, rising to his feet with a smooth, fluid grace, ignoring the food Hodge brought. He never ate anything he didn’t pick out. His movements were almost too quiet, too controlled, those of a predator stalking its prey.

The freighter shuddered beneath him, a reminder that they were nearing Cryon II. He would only have to wait a little longer. Soon, Dorane would die.

And if he was lucky…

He would get to face an Ancient Knight before the whole moon imploded.

* * *

Three hours later, Zoak crouched on the edge of the supply crate, his breathing slow and even, his sharp eyes following every flicker of movement. He had always thrived in the shadows, where every action had to be precise, every breath calculated. Patience had been drilled into him from the first day of his training on Turbinta—discipline, silence, and death in a single breath.

Hodge and Boil weren’t disciplined. They weren’t killers. They were opportunists, greedy and careless. The kind of men who could be useful, but only for a short time.

Zoak had no tolerance for short-term tools. They became liabilities far too quickly.

He tapped the side of his thigh, fingers grazing the hidden knife tucked beneath his sleeve. He didn’t mind cutting loose ends. In fact, he preferred it.

Memories flickered across his mind. His training in the black spires of Turbinta, where survival meant turning on your closest ally before they did the same to you. The nights spent in the labyrinthine city, crawling through shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Turbinta had raised him to be a ghost, a hunter, a weapon wielded by the highest bidder.

He’d killed his first target at nine. His mentor had laughed when Zoak slit the man’s throat and said, “Remember this—no one is indispensable.”

It was a lesson he’d taken to heart—as he slit his master’s throat.

Hodge and Boil would learn that lesson now, too.

The door opened with a hiss, and Hodge entered first, his steps hesitant. “Zoak, we’re almost there,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flicked nervously around the room, already sensing something wasn’t right.

Boil followed behind him, lugging a small data pad. “Security clearance updated,” Boil muttered, tapping on the screen. “We’re good to go in ten minutes. The shuttle is prepped.”

Zoak smiled faintly. “Ten minutes. That’s all I need.”

He moved fast—a blur of motion. His knife flashed in the dim light, the sharp edge slicing cleanly across Hodge’s throat. The man barely had time to gasp before he collapsed, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath him.

Boil’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening to scream, but Zoak was already on him. He drove the knife into Boil’s chest, twisting it with practiced precision. Boil crumpled, his data pad clattering to the floor.

Zoak wiped the blade on Boil’s shirt, his expression calm, almost serene. He crouched, retrieving the data pad and scanning the updated security clearance. Everything was in order.

No loose ends.

He straightened, tossing the bodies into a nearby crate and sealing it. The freighter’s engines rumbled beneath his feet, signaling their imminent arrival.

The timing was perfect.

Zoak strode toward the shuttle bay, the data pad tucked securely under his arm. His boots echoed in the empty corridor, the sound a steady, deliberate beat. Each step brought him closer to his target.

Twenty minutes later, the shuttle landed with a soft thud, the hiss of the hydraulic systems filling the small cabin. Zoak rose smoothly, his movements fluid and controlled. He adjusted the collar of his coat, his hand briefly brushing the hilt of the knife hidden beneath it.

The door slid open, revealing the interior of Cryon II. The docking bay was vast, a labyrinth of steel and shadows. Rows of supply crates lined the walls, and a cluster of freighters rested on the far side of the hangar, their hulls gleaming under the dim overhead lights.

The hum of the station’s environmental systems filled the air, blending with the distant clatter of machinery. Zoak inhaled deeply, his eyes scanning the area with practiced precision.

A small, satisfied smile played on his lips.

Dorane thought Cryon II was a fortress, impenetrable and untouchable—just as he considered himself.

Dorane was wrong.

Zoak stepped out of the shuttle, his boots clicking softly on the metal floor.

---