Page 15 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“Two million credits is pathetic,” Orion says, trailing off and shaking his head. “You don’t even know what you have.” He runs a hand through his shimmering green and brown hair.
“That’s all I need to know. If I needed to read a library of knowledge for every item I acquired and sold, I’d never get anything done. Besides, I’m not just talking about two million credits. I’m talking about my freedom.”
For the first time since I’d entered the lab, his expression gentles and his eyes shine with some unnamed emotion.That better not be pity.
“This isn’t just a chunk of metal for some payday,” he insists, hefting the idol and holding it in front of me.
The glow catches in his eyes, painting him in soft gold. For one awful moment, I see what he sees—something sacred, something worth protecting. I hate how beautiful that makes it look.
“If you say so, Ranger,” I reply with a shrug.
He stares at me for one heated moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
“I wish I could help you understand its importance,” he says.
“Well, we’ve got time. Maybe you can convince me that your golden doll is worth more than what I could get from it,” I answer sarcastically. I keep my tone light, but my pulse is racing. He doesn’t realize how close he’s getting to the truth—what doesheknow about the Dark Star? “But go ahead—shoot your shot.”
After a pause, he nods and clears his throat.
“Before the dawn of the universe—before stars and planets and life, nothing existed except Father Darkness…”
As he starts, I roll my eyes—then stop. His voice changes, low and reverent, and I can’t quite bring myself to interrupt. I fold my arms fold across my chest and keep my mouth shut.
“In the void of black space, he shivered with cold loneliness, staring at an eternity that sprawled before him and stretched behind him with the kind of hollowness that aches. Eventually, his shivering generated enough warmth that something new sprang from the energy, the first thing to exist that wasn’t icy darkness. The Solar Mother. She was the first thing of beauty that Father Darkness beheld—bright and warm and golden and glowing.”
Orion’s words weave a tapestry of beautiful imagery, and I lean against the door frame, momentarily content to listen to his story.
“Their first coupling produced the stars and suns, their second coupling brought forth rocky planets, meteors, and asteroids, and their third coupling—which they’d had after a particularly nasty argument—gave rise to ice worlds and gas giants. The Solar Mother was overjoyed with her children and lavished attention on them, beaming down on the worlds with warmth and weaving patterns of life everywhere she could. But Father Darkness grew jealous and angry. He wanted the Solar Mother all to himself. He longed to feel her heat when she was away, caring for her children. His resentment soon grew too weighty and became the first black hole.”
Orion stares at the idol in the palm of his hand. I’d swear it starts to glow.
“One day, while the Solar Mother was tending our green world of Xylothia, Father Darkness snuck up on her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her away from her children and holding her tightly against him. The tighter he held her, the more his darkness crushed her, pressing her light and warmth in on itself. Knowing that his love would be her destruction, the Solar Mother flung out her brilliant energy, sending it to help power her children and allow her universe to grow without her nurturing care.”
I blink and let out a shaky breath, hoping Orion can’t see the emotion in my eyes. Yeah, a parent sacrificing themselves in the hope that their kid might live a better life? Why would something likethatupset me?
“This creation story is seriously messed up,” I say, and he offers me the slightest of smiles.
“Well, when Father Darkness saw what he’d done, his grief tore him apart—literally. Rather than face eternity without her,he stretched himself out as far has he could—the omnipresent darkness of space, rarely allowing himself to come so close and snuff out one of the Solar Mother’s precious children,” he explains.
“So, your people have worshipped a martyr and a murderer since the dawn of time,” I say wryly. “And they made a sparkly little doll to celebrate her.”
He frowns, straightening. “Our ancestors gathered the most coveted resource on our planet—in our star system, really—and crafted this statue. The painstaking gathering of enaurium speck after enaurium speck took hundreds of years alone. This idol is a labor of love, faith, devotion, and sacrifice. Legends say that if the statue ever leaves the temple, Xylothia will crumble to dust, taking her people with her.”
He places the statue back inside the stasis cabinet and the glowing dims a bit. When he turns back to face me, his eyes have gone cold. Guilt—hot and sharp—slices through me, but I shove it down. If I let myself feel it, I’ll start to wonder if I really am the villain in his story—and I can’t afford that kind of self-reflection. Not now.
“That’s what you stole,” he says matter-of-factly. “Not just something to be fenced to the highest bidder. You plucked one of the last beacons of hope from my people—from me. If you’re going to use it to barter your freedom, you should at least know the cost.”
“Thecost,” I echo. I stare at him, tamping down my guilt to focus on the white hot rage building in my chest. Because if I don’t get angry, I’ll start to feel small. And small gets you leashed, arrested, or killed.
Stepping around the work table to stand in front of him, I jab a finger in his chest. “Get one thing straight, Ranger. Your ancestors’ bedtime story is touching and all, but I will pay any price—every price—to get out from under Brill. Freedom is a fineabstract idea for people who have it. For those of us who don’t, the pursuit of it is all consuming.”
He isn’t intimidated by my anger. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just watches me with that maddening calm that says he sees more than I want him to. He merely raises a brow and folds his arms across his chest in that disapproving manner again.
“And then what? When you have your freedom—what's next? Back to pickpocketing your way across the galaxy in a shiny new ship, soaked in alcohol and half-sated by somevelliaslave with tentacles?” he sneers.
The words hit something raw. For a heartbeat, I picture it—the silence after the chase, the empty bed, the next job that never ends. The thought terrifies me more than Brill ever could.
I bristle. “Maybe! How is it any of your business?”
