Page 1 of Savage Bond

CHAPTER 1

AVA

Itighten the straps on my gloves one more time, not because they’re loose—but because my fingers won’t stop twitching.

The docking bay smells like scorched metal and ion grease. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes and tells your skin you’re somewhere important. Floodlights beam down in cold shafts, illuminating the flanks of the transport ship looming ahead of me like a sleeping beast. Its hull is gunmetal gray, every panel sharp and bolted with intent. No curves. No warmth. Just purpose.

This ship doesn’t care who I am. That’s good. Neither does anyone else here.

My boots hit the ramp with a sharp clang, and I tell myself not to flinch. Every step I take is measured, precise. No fidgeting. No hesitation. I’ve been rehearsing this walk in my bunk for days.

I belong here.

Even if every nerve in my body is screaming ‘prove it’.

A voice, sharp as a slap, cuts through the mechanical hiss of hydraulics.

“Junior Lieutenant Marlowe?”

I snap to attention. “Sir.”

Lieutenant Serix Vale steps out from a control panel to my right, his uniform immaculate, not a thread out of place. He’s tall—taller than I expected—with shoulders like an IHC war statue and a jaw so sharp it could draw blood. His silver insignia glints under the dock lights, and his face is carved from the same metal as the ship: cold, impersonal, and not here to be impressed.

“You’re late.”

I blink. “Sir, I arrived five minutes early.”

He raises one brow. It’s the only part of his face that moves. “You’re late to me.”

My lungs freeze. But I swallow the urge to defend myself and nod. “Yes, sir.”

He studies me like I’m a stats readout he doesn’t particularly like. “You’re here because Command says you scored high marks on simulation and theory. But this isn’t a console and a classroom. This is live transport. You screw up, people bleed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t care about your family name. I care that you follow protocol and don’t make me regret signing off on your clearance.”

“Yes, sir,” I say again, jaw tight.

A flick of his hand, and he turns. “Follow me.”

I do, trying not to let my eyes drift over the tech as we walk. The ship’s inner corridor is narrower than I expected, claustrophobic. Pipes line the ceiling like veins, pulsing with quiet coolant flow. Warning panels blink red and amber in the corners of my vision. Somewhere deep inside, engines whine to life.

We round a corner, and that’s when I feel it.

Not see. Feel.

Like a shift in pressure. Like the moment before lightning strikes.

The hallway widens into a sealed observation corridor, its far wall reinforced with thick transparent duraglass. And behind that glass—floating midair in a circular containment chamber—is something that doesn’t belong to this world.

The artifact.

I slow before I realize it. My boots drag a fraction of a second. It hovers weightless, encased in a containment field. No wires. No clamps. Just… suspended. A sphere of layered metal and stone—old and pitted—but pulsing with an internal glow that shifts colors in waves. Purple. Then green. Then something I can’t name. There’s no hum, no sound at all, but it still makes the skin on my arms rise like static.

My breath catches.

It’s beautiful.

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