Page 3 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
The silence afterward is deafening. Not a soul joins in. The fear is a physical thing now, smothering, wrapping around everyone’s throats like a choking vine.
The commander’s—Kernal’s—head swivels toward me. Slowly. Deliberately.
A drone whirs close. Too close. I feel the pulse of its field brushing against my skin like static, the hairs on my arms rising in warning.
I take a step back.
He smiles at me.
It's the smile of a man who sees every person as a pawn, and every dissent as a delicious opportunity to demonstrate consequences.
“A dissenter already?” he asks, voice oozing like sap. “How refreshing.”
The crowd ripples. Some step away from me. Cowards.
“I have a name,” I snap, lifting my chin.
He hums, amused. “Of course you do. And a family, no doubt. Friends. A place here.”
My stomach flips. Iknowwhat this is. Psychological warfare dressed as faux-courtesy. Threats polished into diplomacy.
“Youthinkyou have power,” I say through gritted teeth, aware now that every eye in the square is on me. “But this colony—these people—weearnedthis place. You don’t get to walk in and play overlord just because your boots are shinier.”
For a moment, silence again.
Then he laughs.
The sound is monstrous—low and wet and triumphant.
“My dear girl,” he says, “I don’t play at overlord. Iamone.”
He turns back to the crowd.
“Let this be your lesson. Integration can be peaceful. Or... painful. Choose wisely.”
I feel the shift then. Not in him—but inthem.In the crowd.
They aren’t rushing to join him, but they’re pulling away fromme.
Because standing next to the one person yelling at the Vortaxian colonel with a murder squad behind him is dangerous.
I am the spark, and no one wants to be caught in the fire.
I want to scream. I want tocry.But I don’t. I fold my arms tighter and keep my mouth shut—for now.
But I won’t forget this. The way their silence felt like betrayal. The way my name became a warning in someone’s mouth.
And I sure as hell won’t lethimwin.
Not while I’m still breathing.
The night bleeds red-orange over the rainforest, like the sky itself got wounded and doesn’t know how to stop leaking light. The last rays of the twin suns skim across the treetops, casting long, warped shadows that stretch over the colony like fingers trying to strangle it from above.
And that gods-damned ship is still there.
It hovers silently above us, suspended like an arrogant golden parasite, its underbelly lit with cool, artificial floodlight that throws the colony into two tones: too-bright and too-dark. The Vortaxian capital ship doesn’t need to fire a single shot. It justexists, a constant reminder that we’re under the boot of something massive and merciless and smug.
I sit at the edge of the rainforest, legs tucked up under me, spine pressed against the smooth bark of a native duskroot tree. The bark smells faintly sweet, like burnt sugar and damp moss, and usually that’d calm me—bring me back to center. But tonight? The scent makes my stomach turn. Everything I used to love about this place feels twisted, like the ship above us distorted reality just bybeing here.
