Page 1 of Zayrik

1

Nyla

KATAR STATION WAS SUPPOSEDto be safe. A place to lie low for a few days. Somewhere nobody asked questions as long as you paid in full.

Turns out, the galaxy was full of liars.

“You could have chosen a less conspicuous entry point,” Nav chimed from my wrist device as I slipped through the maintenance hatch. “Security logs indicated three separate scans of your biometric signature in the last hour.”

I pulled my jacket collar higher, concealing the small lump where Zep curled around my neck. The little Laupin’s warmth was the only comfort in this chilly station. “Noted. Now shut up before someone hears you.”

“I am communicating directly through your neural implant. No one can hear me except you, which you would know if you’d bothered reading the manual I—”

“Mute,” I whispered, and blessed silence followed.

I melted into the crowd, moving through Katar’s central market. The sprawling bazaar teemed with species from across the galaxy—perfect for disappearing. Merchants hawked everything from illegal tech mods to exotic fruits that changed color when touched. The mingled scents of cooking meat, engine exhaust, and too many bodies pressed together made my nose wrinkle.

The ship I’d stowed away on would be leaving soon. I needed supplies, credits and a plan—in that order. The bar at the edge of the market would work for now.

I slipped onto a stool and ordered something cheap. The bartender, a four-armed Quaxian with bored eyes, slid a glass of purple liquid toward me. I lifted it to my lips without drinking, using the moment to scan the room.

That’s when I heard it.

My name.

Not shouted. Not spoken. Whispered.

Passed between traders, quiet and deadly, like a virus spreading through the market.

“...Nyla...”

I froze, glass halfway to my mouth. They’d found me.

A cold prickle crawled up my spine. I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to react. Not to run, not yet.

I knew this feeling. The moment before a hunt began. That quiet, suffocating stillness in the air. A tightening in my ribs, my instincts screaming move. I’d felt it before. More than once.

I spotted one guy near the docking bay entrance. The second by the market stalls. Both human. Both carrying blasters poorly concealed under light jackets. Both scanning the faces in the crowd.

Vask’s men. Had to be.

I lowered my glass, left a credit chip on the counter, and stood. Casual. Unhurried. Just another traveler finishing her drink.

Zep stirred against my neck, his tiny claws pricking my skin in warning. He sensed the danger, too.

I reactivated Nav with a tap to my wrist. “Need an escape route.”

“So we’re speaking again?” came the dry response. “How delightful.”

“Nav—”

“Fine. Calculating optimal escape routes.” A pause. “You have three viable options. The maintenance corridor to your left offers seventy-eight percent probability of successful evasion.”

I slipped into the corridor, quickening my pace once I was out of sight. The narrow passage was dimly lit, smelling of engine grease and recycled air. My boots barely made a sound as I navigated the twisting route.

“Take the next right,” Nav instructed. “Proceed up the service ladder to level four.”

I followed, muscles burning as I climbed. Nearly there. Just a few more levels and I could reach the secondary docking bay. Maybe find another ship to stow away on. Maybe—

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