Page 27 of Bound to the Marak

He stepped into the room like a storm wrapped in flesh.

His armor was like living metal, black as the void, threaded with subtle lines of iridescent silver that pulsed with internal energy. It clung to his massive frame, accentuating the rippling strength of his chest and arms. His pauldrons arched outward like crescent blades. His cloak whispered behind him, fluid and soundless.

His mask was different now—sharper, deadlier. War-shaped.

He looked like aconqueror.

Leonie’s blood ran cold.

She flinched before she could stop herself. Even the sound of his boots—those perfectly silent steps—made her stomach twist. Thepresenceof him filled the chamber like a crushing wave, and she was still strapped down.Trapped.

This wasn’t just an alien.

This was somethingancient.Weaponized.

He held the translator stone in his gloved hand.

Leonie’s voice scraped its way out of her throat. “You…”

She swallowed hard. “You knew this was going to happen. And you didn’t tell me.”

He said nothing.

His silence was worse than anything.

She thrashed once against the restraints, a sharp burst of anger rising over the fear. “You just left me here.Strapped down.While your ship shakes apart—while I’m locked in like a lab rat.”

Still, he didn’t answer.

It was like talking to a statue made of iron and wrath.

Then the stone pulsed.

“For your protection,” came the familiar filtered voice—his voice, now cool and absolute.

Leonie’s eyes burned. “I don’twantto be protected like this. I want to beinformed. I want to be treated like aperson, not some kind of helplessthing!”

Her voice cracked—but she didn’t look away from him.

For a moment, he simply stood there, massive and unmoving, a monolith of dominance and silence.

Then—at last—he raised a hand.

With a sharp gesture, the restraints hissed and pulled away, receding into the chair like water evaporating into air.

She leapt to her feet immediately, her limbs stiff, her wrists sore. She rubbed them furiously, breath unsteady.

They stared at one another in tense, heavy silence.

“I returned,” came his voice again, filtered but low, steady. “As I said I would.”

She shook her head. “No. You didn’tsayanything. That’s the problem.”

Something shifted.

A muscle in his jaw, maybe. A subtle lift of his shoulders.

Then—slowly—he stepped closer.

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