Page 68 of Zayrik

That got a reaction out of me. Made something warm settle in my chest despite the tension. “Didn’t think I was going to like anyone here.” Anyone who knew her before. Anyone who might have let her down.

She hit the hatch controls, and the ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss. The sound felt final. Like crossing a threshold, we couldn’t step back from.

The moment we stepped out, I felt it. That change in her energy. The significance of going back to a place she hadn’t expected to see again. My body responded to her tension, to the way she held herself like she was ready for anything.

The station air hit us first, recycled, stale, carrying hints of machine oil and desperation. The kind of place where secrets went to die. Where people disappeared without questions being asked.

I shifted slightly closer to Nyla, not touching, but close enough that my presence would register. Close enough to react if needed. The warrior in me cataloged escape routes, defensive positions, potential threats. The mate in me focused entirely on how her breath caught when we stepped onto the deck. How her fingers twitched toward where I knew she kept her blade.

I felt the way she held herself like she was expecting a fight. Like she was remembering how to be the person this place had made her.

Then....

“Well, I’ll be damned, kid. You didn’t die after all.” The voice held authority. History.

A familiarity that made my instincts sharpen, that made me want to step between them. But I held back, watching. Learning.

Nyla turned toward the voice, a smirk tugging at her lips, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands. The way her pulse jumped. “Not for lack of trying.”

He stood just past the docking zone arms crossed, stance casual but ready. Eyes keen despite the gray threading through his dark hair. Older, worn, but still dangerous. The kind of man who didn’t need to show off to remind people he could take them apart. The kind who’d taught Nyla to survive.

I stepped up beside her, letting my presence settle into place. Not possessive, but clear. Unmistakable.

The old Merc’s gaze flicked to me. Then back to her. Assessing. Calculating. Then, he grinned, the expression making him look both more dangerous and more human.

“Happy you finally settled down and let someone take care of you, kid.”

The words hit something in my chest. Something that recognized the truth in them, even as Nyla bristled.

She groaned. “Not this. Not today, Cal.” But I caught the undertone in her voice. Not denial, just deflection. Like she wasn’t ready to acknowledge what was growing between us. Not here. Not with someone who knew her before.

I hummed low in my throat, watching her get flustered. Enjoying it more than I should. “Is that why you were checking the ship logs so much?” I mused. “Making sure my name was next to yours?”

Her head whipped toward me, eyes narrowed. The look should have been a warning, but all I felt was heat, and pride. And something possessive that made my blood run warm.

Cal just laughed, the sound knowing. “Oh, I like him.”

I liked how she responded to me. How something in her reached for me even when she was trying to maintain distance.

He uncrossed his arms, nodding toward the ship, but his eyes never stopped assessing. Never stopped watching how we moved in relation to each other. “So, you running jobs again, or did you finally piss off someone with real reach?”

The question changed everything. Brought reality crashing back.

I felt Nyla tense beside me, felt the shift in her energy from annoyed to alert.

She sighed, but it wasn’t just exhaustion in her voice. It was resignation. Fear. “Second one.”

I muttered, “Biggest understatement of the year.” Because calling Vask ‘someone with reach’ was like calling a supernova a warm day.

Cal’s grin faded, and I watched him transform. From gruff mentor to something harder. More dangerous. “Who?”

She hesitated, and I felt her struggle. Not because she didn’t trust him. But because once she said it, there was no taking it back. No pretending this was just another job gone wrong. My hand twitched toward her, wanting to offer support, to remind her she wasn’t facing this on her own.

“Vask.”

The name hung in the recycled air like a death sentence. Like a challenge.

Cal’s expression didn’t flicker. But something cold settled in his eyes. Something that spoke of old wounds and older grudges.

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