Page 64 of Ravaged By the Reaper
“Try not to die, and maybe you’ll hear it again.”
Another squad of X-91s closes in. I punch the afterburners, dive toward the magnetic slipstream above the station's thermal exhaust vent.
“Firing arc’s narrow!” she warns.
“Don’t miss.”
“I never do.”
She doesn't.
The tunnel lights up with enemy wreckage.
There’s a moment, just one, where it’s just us and stars and wreckage spinning like confetti.
And in that quiet between firestorms, she glances at me.
And smiles.
Not like a lover.
Like a weapon.
One that chose me.
The Companion and the Reaper.
Not monsters. Not relics. Not tools.
Just us.
Alive.
Anddangerous.
CHAPTER 19
AMARA
We limp back to base on thrusters that sound like dying beasts.
Hull groaning. Systems flickering. The cockpit reeks of ozone, sweat, and burnt composites. Warning lights strobe against my skin like heartbeats—too fast, too many.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
Not from fear.
Fromfury. From the adrenaline still corkscrewing through my veins like liquid fire. From the afterglow of destruction. From the unbearablehighof surviving.
Ofwinning.
I’m still clutching the sidearm, knuckles white, my pulse drumming in my throat like a war drum. My flight harness bites into my shoulders. Every breath I take tastes like heat and ozone and Haktron.
We fought like gods.
And now we’re crawling home like devils.
The shuttle scrapes into the emergency dock with a teeth-on-metal shriek. Pressure seals engage. Systems wheeze. The engines sputter once, twice… then die.
