Page 53 of Ravaged By the Reaper
“You don't get to protect mefromthis. We’re already in it. We burn together, or not at all.”
I grab her wrist, press her palm flat against my heart.
“We burn,” I say, “but I’ll be damned if I let them take you first.”
She looks up, fire in her eyes.
“Then we make them bleed.”
Commander Yentil blinksat me like I’ve just declared myself Emperor of the Stars.
“You’re saying Malem Karag is leading a Coalition fleet here—personally?” His voice is clipped, trying to stay civil, but the way his fingers twitch near the comm panel tells me all I need to know.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Commander.” I lean forward, resting my claws on the edge of his polished desk. “They’re coming. Soon. You’ve got hours, maybe less.”
Yentil looks me over—slow, like he’s scanning a predator in a cage that hasn’t been locked properly. His gaze lingers on the bone spurs protruding from my forearms, the crimson-black armor patched with a dozen battles’ worth of scars. Then to Amara, standing behind me like the ghost of defiance made flesh. She doesn’t flinch under his scrutiny.
“I assumed you were exaggerating,” he mutters. “Or posturing. But you’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
He exhales, straightens his coat. “Alright. I didn’t get this post by being a coward.”
He turns to his aide without hesitation. “Put the station at DEFCON 2. Lock down all nonessential sectors. Prepare interceptor squadrons and double-check our atmospheric seals.I want diplomatic shields extended around the human sector and our guest.Immediately.”
The aide nods and vanishes like smoke.
I grunt approval. “Didn’t peg you for one with a spine.”
Yentil smirks faintly. “You wouldn’t be the first. But I’ve seen war, Reaper. I just prefer my battles with structure and warning, not screaming and blood in the corridors.”
“You might get both.”
“I figured.”
He taps a command panel, and a holographic field shimmers into existence over Amara, marking her in Alliance gold and violet: Diplomatic Protection Initiated. It won’t stop a plasma round, but it’ll complicate things if anyone tries to make her vanish quietly.
“Should buy us time. Maybe force a conversation instead of a massacre.”
I snort. “You ever met Malem Karag?”
“I’ve read his files. He’s... clinical.”
“He’s a fucking vulture in a silk scarf.”
Yentil doesn’t argue.
Amara brushes her fingers across mine, just enough to anchor me. I’m still vibrating under the skin, every nerve on a knife’s edge. The base feelswrong. Tense. Like it’s holding its breath.
I follow her out of the command deck, refusing to let her walk alone. I’m her shadow now, hulking just behind her—too close for comfort, too far to catch a sniper round.
The station knows. Every crewman, every tech, every translator—we pass, theyknow. The word spreads fast: Reaper alert, DEFCON 2, diplomatic girl with silver hair and a predator on her leash.
Except no one leashes me.
I can smell the change in the air—like plasma coils warming before a firefight. Ozone and adrenaline. Metallic fear. The base bristles, crackles with readiness. Weapons are checked twice. Boots echo louder.
She glances at me. “You’re twitching.”
