Page 67 of Zayrik

“Sort of?”

“He enforces the rules he agrees with,” I said with a shrug. “Most of the time, that works in my favor.”

Zayrik nodded, taking that in. But I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes. The way his jaw tightened, the subtle shift of his body that said he was already planning for trouble.

I didn’t blame him.

This wasn’t his world.

But it had been mine.

“You trust him?” he asked. The question held importance. More now than it would have before what happened between us. Before whatever this thing was that made me feel his concern like it was my own.

I hesitated, then guided us into the final docking pattern. Muscle memory taking over while my mind raced through possibilities, through all the ways this could go wrong.

“Cal’s out for himself,” I said finally, choosing honesty. “But he hates Vask more than he likes money. And he owes me.” For things I’d rather forget. For debts written in blood and favors and the kind of promises that never quite wash clean.

Zayrik’s brow lifted. “Comforting.”

The word was dry, but underneath it I heard what he wasn’t saying. That he didn’t like this. Didn’t like me walking into asituation where trust was conditional. Where loyalty had a price tag.

I didn’t answer.

Because trust had a shelf life.

And Cindrel Station wasn’t the kind of place that let you forget it.

It wasn’t the kind of place that forgave weakness.

Or attachment.

Or whatever this thing was growing between Zayrik and me that made everything more complicated.

More dangerous.

More worth fighting for.

The docking clamps engaged with a metallic groan, and I felt it in my bones. That moment of no return. Of stepping back into a past I’d thought I’d left behind.

He doesn’t belong here. Not in this place. Not in this memory. But he came anyway.

This time I wasn’t alone.

And somehow, that made it both better... and infinitely more terrifying.

22

Zayrik

THE DOCKING CLAMPSlocked into place with a dull thud, the sound echoing through the ship like a countdown. Like a warning.

I pushed up from my seat, rolling my shoulders, trying to ignore how my mind still hummed with awareness of her. With the need to protect.

Nyla didn’t move right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the station outside, lips pressed into a tight line. Like she was bracing for something. Like she was remembering things she’d rather forget. The look in her eyes made something in my chest tighten, protective, and possessive, aware.

I understood that feeling all too well. Coming back to places you’d left behind was rarely simple, especially when you’d left for a reason. When you’d carved yourself new scars just to escape.

“You’re not going to like him,” she said, her voice carrying an edge I was starting to recognize. The one that meant she was worried about more than she was saying.

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