Page 121 of Star Claimed Omega
Her footwear blinked with pulses as she made her way down the shaft, guiding her deeper into the shadows.
He cursed and turned, bolting down the corridor.
There was no time to wait for a skimmer or ride one down to the Cold Sector.
The second he got to the railing edge leading to the Central Shaft of the massive ship, he jumped.
At the same time, he shifted, his body surged, muscles elongating in spectral flicker.
His wolf-wraith power lit under his skin as he flitted between matter and phase.
He descended in a controlled, rapid descent.
He parsed through walls and levels, vaulting over maintenance walkways and skimming down auxiliary ladders in a rush of grit, rage, and fear.
He stormed through the dilapidated prison decks, welded doors, rust-slick barriers, air damp with cryogenic condensation, and silence.
Miral’s voice spoke into his neural node. ‘You’ll reach her in less than ninety seconds if you maintain that trajectory. She’s passing through the checkpoint above the vault now. She has some live device hacking the codes to get past the security system, and I can’t seem to cycle them fast enough to stop her.’
His breath steamed as he burst into the isolation chamber where, high above him, swung the gravity-null hover cage.
He landed with a heavy thud on the bottom plating.
The reinforced cavity groaned overhead, where the seclusion vault hung like a suspended mausoleum, with thick steel suspended and rotors whispering in the air.
Around it spun automated defense sentries, their red beacons flashing, motion-triggered and lethal.
A figure floated toward it like a phantom in a cold-lit dream.
His heart thundered as he recognized the silhouette that he was once so familiar with.
‘I see her,’ he growled.
Soleil’s boots pulsed blue light, thrusting her closer to the high security enclosure like a ghost drifting into the jaws of a myth.
Her face was cold, her expression focused, anguished, illuminated by the glow of the vault.
On her back was her duffel bag, bulky, filled with items.
Inside the chamber, watching her with an unmistakable hunger, stood Varnok Gage, tall and skeletal-thin now, with eyes narrowed and copper hair matted like oxidized wire.
In red jail sweats, his cuffs clinked like ceremonial chains.
Even from below, Santi caught the gleam in the bastard’s stare.
Recognition, and freakin’ anticipation.
Soleil hovered in anti-grav boots above the cantilevered platform in front of the vault.
Her arms stretched out for balance as she landed, her face pale, haunted, alight with grim focus.
A shattering fury surged in Santi’s chest.
‘Fokk,’ Santi whispered.
He took an inhale, tamping down his ratcheting fury and bewilderment.
‘SOLEIL!’ he shouted, his roar ringing like a gunshot.
