Page 83 of Ravaged By the Reaper
"Status?" I bark at a passing ensign.
The kid flinches. “Still secure. Chamber sealed. Comms encrypted per Amara’s protocol.”
“Time?”
“Seventeen minutes in.”
Seventeen. Feels like a lifetime. I nod once, dismissing him, and return to pacing.
The chamber’s outer wall pulses faintly with activity. Lights blink across the interface, the only sign that something is happening behind it. But the soundproofing is flawless. I can’t hear a damn thing. Just the pulse of my own blood pounding behind my ears.
I run a hand over my scalp. My claws nearly spark against the plating at my temple. My fingers itch for Bloodfont. My blade lies strapped to my back, cold and patient. But it won't help here. Not unless Malem crosses a line.
And Amara, sheknowsthat line.
She’s walked it before. Walked it right up to death’s door and dared it to blink.
I slam my palm against the wall, teeth grinding. Not enough to dent it. Just enough to keep myself from combusting.
I hate this.
Not the waiting or even the helplessness.
I hate that Icarethis much.
She used to be a wildcard. An asset. Then a nuisance. Then a necessity. Then—somewhere along the line—a match. And now?
She’s the storm I kneel before. Not because I’m weak, but because I’ve never seen anything stronger.
She holds her power in silence. Wields it with words sharper than any blade. And Malem—Malem will test every limit she’s found. Every scar she’s earned.
“Captain Haktron.”
I turn sharply. Commander Yentil stands there, face set, voice even.
“She asked me not to interrupt,” I say before he can open his mouth.
“I know.” He folds his arms. “But I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like a Reaper trying not to rip the galaxy in half.”
I snort, short and sharp. “Takes effort.”
“She’s earned it.”
I look at him then. Really look. The lines of his face, the set of his jaw. He’s scared. Not just for her. Foreveryone. For the fragile thing she’s trying to build out of shattered loyalties and decades of bloodshed.
“You’d follow her, wouldn’t you?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. “To hell and back.”
“She’s already been there.”
“Which means she knows the way out.”
That hits. Deep.
