Page 28 of Claimed By the War Brute
I curse in Vakutan, Alliance–block, and the old tongue of black marketers. We’re down to scraps. Shields hold just long enough—another hit, and we crack.
I flip to the sensor panel, radial sweep blinking red: no escape route, no ally contact, no nav opening.
Then the intercom catches a voice—ice-cold, unnervingly intimate. “Sydney.” Her father’s voice, crisp and final.
Her face bleaches. Some internal cord snaps. Her hands clench so tight I can feel her nails brush my forearm. “Daddy,” she spits, venom-laced grief. “Still calling in hits like it’s a fucking family meeting?”
He doesn’t flin^\er. “You made yourself a threat. And I don’t leave threats unresolved.”
His words drop like glass-blades. No remorse. No hesitation. Not the confused betrayal that war often brings. Just merciless finality.
Then immersion. A third strike slams into the engine core directly. Sparks rain down like crimson fireworks. I fling my body over Syd’s harness, shield her with mine. The core explodes, fire blooming behind the steel door.
The world erupts into blinding white and molten banshee screams. The captain’s console flickers and collapses. Alarms scream in mutating chords. My ears ring; dizziness claws at myvision; protective instinct drives me back. I hold her tight as systems collapse.
Darkness swallows us whole.
I wake to the jarring creak of decompression. Cold, endless emptiness. The world feels muted—sounds are distant thuds. My exhale forms mist before me. I taste burnt circuits and stale metal. Everything pulses thin and brittle.
I reach for Syd. Thin straps hold her down tightly in the crash harness molded in scarlet-lit steel. She lies limp but breathing—still conscious. A sharp beam of emergency light flickers overhead—threatening to die before it truly illuminates.
I struggle out of the harness, shifting to cradle her upper torso, pressing a single flattened hand to her jawline. Her eyes open slowly. Fire meets waking confusion.
“He hit us.” My voice is gravely growl, every word sharpened by molten adrenaline still raging in my veins.
Syd brings her free hand to the console beside her, then meets my gaze directly. “He wants me dead.” Her voice is weak but brittle, a threat melded with disbelief. “He’s... willing to kill me to keep his name clean.”
I swallow. Rage sears in my chest. “We knew this was coming,” I say, voice as raw as exposed wire.
She laughs—dark humor with no humor in it: “We might not have known this.”
I reach for her hand and grip it until my knuckles whiten. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezes back—defiance wrapped in fragile strength.
I pull in a breath. “If we survive?—”
“When we survive,” she interrupts, eyes sharpening with flame. We both know that 'if' is no longer optional. We're forged together in this crucible—weapon and ward turned something... more.
I nod. My chest tightens with pride that fights to assert itself amid the pain. “Then we’ll burn every access point. Scrub every bit of code. Eradicate every registry that has our signal.”
She manages a grim smile, still pale but steady. “Then let him chase ghosts.” Her voice flutters. “One after another.”
I press my forehead to her temple. “We’re ghosts now.” I promise. The word slides between us like cold iron.
Syd draws a ragged breath. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t wear our ashes.”
I nod, understanding. We’ll be more than survivors. We’ll be hunters now.
Our world glows dim, the emergency lighting pulsing slow. Behind me, the engine bulkheads buckle, hissing—our window to hyperspace shuttered by Malmount's interference.
I pull her up enough to press her back against me. My arm wrap across her chest, shoulder, and arm—her blood seeps through my sleeve.
“Syd,” I whisper. “Stay close. Don’t let the darkness get between us.”
I know she'll comply. I’d see it in her burning gaze even when unconscious: she’s not broken. Not done. And she belongs here, in this fight, not silenced.
We sit in primitive stillness. Our breaths sync. My tail loops between her legs to anchor her. My free hand tracks the cracked panel where the last warning lit up: oxygen 58%. We’re running low.
No hyperdrive. No backup. No help from Alliance or Coalition. Just us. The enemy’s arrival imminent. But we’re still breathing. Still undaunted.
