Page 105 of Zayrik

It wasn’t from combat.

It was from power. Pure, controlled, deadly power.

I looked up just as the shadows shifted across the station’s hangar. The hull above us groaned, the docking bay lights shorting for a second under the surge.

Then she appeared.The Velean.

A Protectorate warship, long and angular, its hull marked with the silent language of dominance. Every shadow she cast spelling death for those who’d dared touch my mate.

She didn’t land.

She descended.

Confident. Silent.

Like she already knew she owned this space.

Like fate itself had bent to accommodate her arrival.

“Bay Twelve secured,” the comm crackled in my ear. “Initiate containment field. Lock out all outbound signals.”

Each word precise against the pain pulsing through our bond.

Against the way her presence in my mind grew fainter with each passing moment.

Raxor’s voice cut in next, clear and calm and lethal.

“Zayrik. We breach on your lead.”

My jaw locked.

I was already moving.

Following the pull of our bond like a targeting system.

The moment I stepped into the forward airlock, a full squad fell in behind me. Four rows, each one carrying gear that made Vask’s hired thugs look like street rats.

They didn’t speak.

Protectorate warriors don’t need to speak when the mission is clear.

And this? This wasn’t a mission, or a duty. It wasn’t even about revenge.

This was retribution.

The bay door sealed behind us, the vacuum lock hissing as our boots hit Vask’s ship. Every step timed to her heartbeat. Erratic, distant, slipping through my grasp.

I raised my arm. But the real signal was through our bond. Pain, determination, dimming strength.

The thread between us sparking, thinning.

No. No. No.

Hold on, K’sha. Just hold on.

“Raxor,” I said. “We go silent. Now.”

“Acknowledged.”

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