Page 100 of Ravaged By the Reaper
And cheer.
They howl like wolves, like victors, like believers. Blood pools around Gurrak’s unconscious form and not one of them moves to help him.
She pulls back just enough to whisper, lips brushing mine, “Told you I’d be useful.”
I grin. “Remind me to piss you off more often.”
Later, Panaka summons us.
His private quarters are a mess of old weapon racks, half-drained decanters, and leather seating that’s seen more war than comfort. He doesn’t offer us drinks. Just gestures for us to stand.
He eyes Amara first. Not like prey. Not anymore.
“You’ve turned my raider ship into a damn opera house,” he grunts, voice like sandpaper dragged across steel.
She raises an eyebrow. “Would you prefer a funeral dirge?”
He huffs something that might be a laugh.
“But it works,” he admits. “You’ve kept my kill count low and my vaults fat. I didn’t think it could be done.”
She folds her arms. “You’re welcome.”
He tosses a datachip on the table between us. “That’s command authorization for a ship of your choosing. Yours. Permanently. Full crew. No oversight.”
I glance at her.
She glances at me.
I defer—because this is her war now, too.
She leans forward, picks up the chip, and says, “Only if we choose the missions.”
Panaka grins, all teeth and old scars. “You’re learning, girl.”
And just like that, we’ve got a ship.
Not stolen or temporary. Ours.
We walk out of his quarters side by side, the air around us humming like a charged field.
I look at her profile—the curve of her jaw, the gleam of her collar, the way her fingers curl around that chip like it’s a weapon.
She doesn’t notice me staring.
Because she’s already planning.
Plotting.
Commanding.
She’s not just my equal.
She’s the storm I follow into fire.
And gods help anyone who stands in her way.
CHAPTER 28
