Page 76 of Phoenix's Last Heist
“We got him! The Xylothian is down!” one yells.
In the chaos, Vega swings the cruiser around. I sprint through the haze and dive into the open hatch.
“Go!” I yell.
The ramp seals behind me as the cruiser lifts off. We bank low and vanish into the lower lanes, weaving into traffic as innocuous as possible, given that we just blew up an entire section of the Epsilon-6’s docks. Unbidden, my memories return to Lyra—to the gleeful way she mentioned blowing up the casino on Mallorus. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch the fireball being extinguished by a mobile unit of firebots.
Minutes later, inside the cruiser’s cockpit, Vega’s hands fly over the controls.
“Idol’s secure, feeds are spoofed, and the fake crash is already hitting the station’s news circuit. Congratulations, Orion Asterth. You just died horribly.”
I pull off the helmet and toss it onto the dash. “Great. Although next time you get to play the flaming corpse.”
Vega lets out a low chuckle, flashing a grin punctuated by fangs. “Tempting. But you sell it better. Angsty martyr’s written all over you. I can tell why Lyra’s pulled you into her orbit.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He flicks a glance at me, all casual mischief with something unreadable behind it. “Man, you’ve got it bad. Can’t say I’m surprised. She’s something else—one in a million.”
“I didn’t realize you knew her that well,” I reply, barely recognizing the growl in my voice. My petty jealousy is making my synesfores flicker black and red in an irritated rhythm.
“I don’t—not really. But you know, she’s definitely the type to leave an impression,” he laughs. “You and Lyra must’ve made a hell of a pair.”
I glance at him, jaw tight. “It’s none of your business.”
“Touchy.”
We’re slicing through the mid-lane traffic of a new sector, Vega piloting smoothly like he was born in the cockpit. Low amber light glows from the control panels, bouncing off the cruiser’s worn chrome interior, making it look warmer than it is. Outside, the city falls away in sharp tiers of neon and carbon steel, endless as the ache in my chest.
“She’s not mine,” I add, quieter. “Not really.”
“Didn’t say she was,” he says, voice infuriatingly calm. “But I see the way you look when I say her name. Like you’re bracing for a solar flare.”
He’s not wrong.
There’s a silence between us, brittle like rusted metal. I shift in the copilot’s seat, shoulders tight under the damp cling of my shirt, still sticky from the sprint and the fake crash. The adrenaline’s gone, but the weight in my chest hasn’t lifted.
“I spotted her on Epsilon-6,” Vega says, eyes still on the lanes of weaving traffic ahead. “She was ducking cameras, not well, Imight add, and I recognized her from my case files. Slippery, too clean for the jobs she was attached to. So, I started watching.”
“Creepy.”
“Observant,” he corrects, a little defensively. “Most people don’t notice patterns in a station this size. I do.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The image of Lyra—alone, hiding, feral and brilliant—makes something twist painfully under my ribs.
“She kept showing up at this ridiculous amusement park of a café, right? Laced bodices, fake fireplaces, longing gazes, and steamy declarations shared over tea trays. I figured it was bait—no way could someone like that be so taken in by something so cheesy. And for someone trying to keep a low profile, returning to the same place, same time, every cycle? Pfft. But there she was, reading about pirates on the high seas and sipping moonshine-spiked tea like she didn’t have a bounty the size of a defense satellite on her head.”
“So what, you pulled up a chair and played brooding?” If this conversation doesn’t end soon, I’m going to break something. Even odds on it being Agent Vega’s face, or his ship’s console.
He smirks. “Skintight breeches and everything. Got laughed at by the hostess. But Lyra gave me a seat—and some thinly-veiled insults. Two hours later, we were debating whether the pirate captain’s declaration in the second act counted as emotional manipulation.”
Something about that image makes my molars grind. “Did you seduce her?”
Vega actually laughs. “Please. She could've broken me in half and flossed her teeth with my spine. I wasn’t dumb enough to try. I leveled with her a few hours in—told her I was Fed, had a fat file with her name on it, and made her an offer she couldn't refuse.”
“Which was?”
“Get Brill to chase the Solar Mother idol. Make it her idea. She grabs it, brings it to me, I swap in a surveillance decoy. Brill thinks he’s holding divine power; instead, he’s handing us front-row access to every backroom deal in his damn network.”
