Page 76 of Honor Bound

Hold on, Roan. You have to make it. You have to.

“We’ve got to go, Julia,” Josh said, his voice snapping her back to the present.

Julia nodded, determination hardening her features.

* * *

Weapon’s Room: Minutes before

The weapon’s lab shuddered, each explosion drawing closer, the bulkheads trembling with growing intensity. Coleridge Landais leaned heavily against the support beam across from the containment unit. His breath mere ragged gasps as his body began to shut down.

The containment unit in front of him caught his attention. Its once-bright, glowing liquid had dimmed into a lifeless black. The iROS parasites—his and Andri’s creation, their masterpiece—were gone, snuffed out by his son.

Roan.

The name burned through him like acid. Even in his weakened state, Coleridge’s lips curled into a twisted smile. His son had won this round, but the game was far from over.

His right hand rose to his chest. Blood oozed from the wound in it, soaking the front of his uniform. His vision blurred, but the intensity of his fury kept him conscious. His strength was waning, but his mind remained sharp—too sharp for comfort.

A soldier shouted when a large piece of equipment fell, creating more chaos in the room that had become their prison. Sparks rained from severed conduits, and the air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wires.

The soldier at his side was panicking, his hands pressing uselessly against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. “General… I need to get you out of here, sir. Let me help you to the door.”

Coleridge lifted his head, his eyes narrowing with disdain. “You don’t understand, do you?” His voice was thready but laced with steel. “There’s no running from this. No escape. Not for you. Not for any of us.”

The soldier blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “General…?”

Coleridge ignored him, his attention shifting back to the now-dead containment unit. A twisted smile curled his bloodied lips. The storm he had felt building had hit with a devastating force, but it wouldn’t wipe away everything.

Roan’s stubborn defiance had always been a thorn in his side. Even as a boy, he had refused to bow to authority, had challenged every order, every expectation.

It had driven Coleridge mad with frustration, but deep down… deep down, there had been a flicker of something else—respect, perhaps. Admiration for his son’s resilience, his unwillingness to break.

That admiration had long since curdled into something darker—envy and jealousy.

“You thought you could win, Roan,” Coleridge whispered to the empty air, his voice barely audible above the screeching of failing machinery. “But winning isn’t always about who lives.”

He bowed his head, his vision fading in and out. His hand moved slowly to the communicator strapped to his broken wrist, his thumb brushing across its surface. Three transmissions, pre-programmed and waiting for this very moment. The first message sent, the second queued, the third poised for delivery.

Each one a thread of chaos he had spun long before stepping onto this cursed space lab.

The first… A whispered order. One that would set the galaxy ablaze if the person he had chosen follows his orders.

The second… An offer too tempting for even the most cautious to refuse. The kind that could topple even the mightiest.

The third… Ah, the third. A promise. This one wrapped in shadows and riddles. Just enough to sow suspicion, just enough to unravel everything from within. Especially in the mind of someone already fearful of the shadows.

He pressed his thumb down, activating the transmissions. A soft beep confirmed their delivery.

Coleridge leaned back, his breath rattling in his chest. Satisfaction coiled in his gut like a constricting serpent, curling tighter with each passing second. He had always been a master of long games. Even in death, he would have the last move.

The soldier beside him murmured something, his voice lost in the growing cacophony of destruction. Coleridge barely registered it. His eyes half-lidded, his thoughts drifted back to Roan.

Stubborn boy. Always defiant. Always blind to the lessons he had tried to teach.

And Andri… His brother. Always watching, always scheming.

“You’ll learn, dear brother,” Coleridge whispered, his voice barely audible over the escalating chaos. “They’ll all learn.”

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