Page 43 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

"I'm suggesting," Neon's enhanced eyes sweep the assembled captains, "that someone in this room has been feeding our secure routes to outside parties. The evidence is in the transmission logs—if you know where to look."

"The Brotherhood doesn't appreciate baseless accusations," K'vex says smoothly, though I notice how her hands have stilled completely—too still, like a predator trying to avoid detection.

The bond-sickness surges again, turning my vision red at the edges. But I force myself to stand straight, to maintain the facade of strength even as my wings tremble with the effort. "Then prove them baseless. All of you will submit your ships' logs to Neon for analysis. Complete access, no exceptions."

"You're asking us to surrender our autonomy," Vornak booms, his scales rippling with barely contained fury. "The Brotherhood wasn't built on blind obedience."

"No," I growl, letting my wings flare despite the agony it causes. "It was built on trust. Trust that's been betrayed by someone in this room. I won't let more of our people die because someone decided credits matter more than loyalty."

The assembled captains exchange glances, weighing options, measuring risks. K'vex's expression remains carefully neutral, but I see how her hands have resumed their contradictory movements—some reaching for weapons while others make soothing gestures. The tells are subtle, but to someone watching for them, they might as well be screaming confessions.

"I'll submit my logs," Ralith says suddenly, breaking the tense silence. "I have nothing to hide."

One by one, the other captains nod their agreement. Only K'vex hesitates, her multiple hands still moving in those telling patterns.

"Of course," she says finally, her voice smooth as polished steel. "Though I maintain this is an overreaction to a few unfortunate coincidences."

"We'll let the evidence speak for itself," Neon replies, her enhanced eyes lingering just a moment too long on K'vex's restless hands.

"This meeting is adjourned," I manage, though the words come out rougher than intended. "Zara will coordinate the log transfers. The rest of you are dismissed."

Zara opens the chamber door and follows the captains as they file out quickly, their previous concerns about my health seemingly forgotten in light of the more immediate threat to their operations. But as the last of them leaves, my strength finally fails. My knees buckle as another wave of fever hits, and only Neon's quick reflexes keep me from collapsing.

"Stubborn, reckless idiot," she mutters, but her touch is gentle as she helps me toward my quarters. "You could have gotten yourself killed pulling that stunt."

"Had to be done," I growl, though each step sends fresh fire through my veins. "Had to show strength, even if—"

"Even if it kills you?" She stops suddenly, forcing me to meet her gaze. "That's not strength, Cirdox. That's pride. And it's going to destroy you if you don't let someone help."

The words hit harder than they should, perhaps because of the genuine concern I see in her enhanced eyes. Or perhaps because deep down, I know she's right. The bond-sickness is progressing faster than I expected, turning simple tasks into battles of will. Soon, I won't be able to hide it at all.

"Let me help you," she says softly, her hand coming up to trace the burning lines of my tribal markings. "Not because of the bond, not because of fate or biology or whatever cosmic force threw us together. But because I choose to. Because I want to."

The admission hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us is quite ready to voice. But I feel it in the way she supports my weight, in how her enhanced senses track my everylabored breath. Something has shifted between us—a barrier crumbling, a truth neither of us can deny anymore.

We make it to my quarters just as another spike of fever hits. I sink onto the bed, my wings spreading limply across the sheets as the bond-sickness burns through my defenses. But Neon's presence helps, even as it intensifies the primal need coursing through my blood.

She settles beside me, careful not to jostle my wings. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths and growing understanding. Finally, I gather the courage to speak the words that have haunted me since McCoy's revelation.

"Lyra," I say softly, feeling her stiffen against me. "That's your real name, isn't it? Not Neon. Not the mask you show the world."

She shifts slightly, her enhanced eyes dimming as if trying to hide from the truth. "Lyra died the day she realized how corrupt the system really was. The day she watched her mentor betray everything they'd fought for." A bitter laugh escapes her. "Neon knows better. Neon survives."

"And which one is real?" I urge gently, though the fever makes even that small effort cost. "The survivor or the dreamer?"

The question hangs between us, weighted with implications neither of us wants to voice. I feel her tension, the way her eyes scan the shadows as if searching for threats that lurk just out of sight. After fighting the bond for so long, this newfound vulnerability clearly terrifies her.

"Who hurt you so badly?" I ask softly, my wings curling tighter around us. "Who taught you that caring means losing?"

She stiffens against my chest, then forces herself to relax. When she speaks, her voice carries echoes of old wounds. "It wasn't just one person. One betrayal." Her fingers trace absent patterns on my skin, as if the movement helps her organize painful memories. "But Kira... she was the worst."

The name hangs between us like a drawn weapon, though its power to wound hasn't diminished despite my familiarity with it. Kira—the sister-figure turned traitor who now hunts Neon with terrifying precision. I've watched how the mere mention of her makes Neon's implants pulse erratically, seen the shadows that darken her enhanced eyes whenever another piece of code bears Kira's signature. Even now, knowing she's actively working with the Eclipse to destroy everything we're fighting to protect, that name still carries the weight of betrayal and lost trust.

"She was more than my mentor," Neon continues, each word carefully measured. "She was... family like Kai... after my parents—" She breaks off, fingers curling into my shirt. "After everyone else left or died. She taught me everything I know about hacking, about surviving in a galaxy that sees humans as inferior. And then she disappeared and sold her soul to the Eclipse. The same people who killed her brother."

The raw pain in her voice makes my wings curl protectively around us, creating a sanctuary of shadow and shared warmth. "So you became Neon Valkyrie instead. Created a new identity, a new purpose."

"A better one," she says fiercely. "Neon doesn't trust. Doesn't need anyone. Can't be betrayed because she never lets anyone close enough to matter." Her fingers trace absent patterns on my chest, just above where the bond-sickness burns hottest. "It worked, too. Until you."

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