Page 87 of Ravaged By the Reaper
“Among pirates,” I whisper. Dangerous confession. The word tastes like salt and excitement. Like I’m naming myself.
A gasp escapes her lips. “Pirates?”
I nod. “Yes.”
No.Because.
“Panaka contacted me,” I say, quiet. “He offered alliance. Not just with Gamma, but with his crew. A chance to build something outside the letter of laws. A council of free people, not politicians.”
The lieutenant’s jaw drops. She glances at the repair crews, the Alliance fleet officers by the docks—some shocked, some considering it. Then she meets my gaze, unblinking.
“That’s… irreverent.”
“Maybe.” I smile, sharp and wild. “But it's honest.”
Another breath. The station hums around us—cautious, fragile. I taste possibility. Not promises, but choices. Real ones.
“You’ll make a fine diplomat someday,” she says, voice steadier now.
I laugh, low and genuine. “Diplomacy is easy when you’re framed by expectations. But out there? I want chaos. I want freedom.”
She nods slowly. “Then I’ll tell them.”
I watch her go, feeling the weight of her words settle in my bones. She’s not the first to offer me high halls, cushioned seats, Diplomatic Pretender titles. But I refuse them.
I’m not that kind of myth.
The future is messy, dangerous, raw. Perfect.
From the balcony, I descend and walk through corridors still smelling of burnt ozone and new paint. Engineers wave. A technician hands me a fresh coffee—black, sharp, hot.
I take it. The steam curls like a promise.
“Thank you,” I murmur at her.
She smiles. “Thanks for not leaving us to die.”
The coffee tastes like purpose.
I head toward the hangar where the pirates—mostly Reaper-affiliated, but not all—have gathered. They’re brushing dust from weapons, laughing at stories only half-remembered. Their eyes lock on me.
Not with fear. With expectation.
I approach just as Panaka steps forward, the Lieutenant of the Widowmaker behind him, trimmed beard sharp as a blade. His smile is wry.
“You’ve done the unimaginable,” he says. “You turned war into a choice.”
I lean into him, pressing the warmth of my shoulder to his chest.
“Now let’s decide the next stage.”
He nods. “The bar’s where we begin.”
I laugh, light and wild. “Finally something civilized.”
And then—we walk into the hangar together, the hum of engines and pirate laughter folding around us.
The galaxy beyond still bleeds. But here—on this ragged station, rebuilt by defiance and promises—we build something else.
