Page 10 of Hunted By the Wraiths
I snatched my hand back. But I SAW it. Just as he seized, right on his temple. A single scale flashed a deep, perfect emerald for a fraction of a second before the sick gray-green drowned it. A glitch. A data ghost. I dismissed it and stepped back.
Poison. My proximity was poison.
I stepped back. Fast. Put two meters of space between us.
He sagged immediately. The rigid stillness drained away, replaced by exhausted slumping. His breathing evened out.
The bond. That’s what he had said. Proximity to me caused him agony. I’d been standing right next to him for five straight minutes while I worked on his shoulder. Forcing him to endure not just the burn treatment, but the bond pain on top of it.
Exhaustion hit me. I sat on the opposite cot. The metal frame creaked.
I pulled out my datapad and the data chip from the shipyard. My hands were still shaking. “Time to see what we’re paying this price for.”
I slotted the chip. The decryption finished. The file opened. It was exactly what Thoryn said it would be: shipping manifests. Just dry data. Routes, dates, call signs.
I scrolled through the list, my stomach tightening. “This is it. These are the runs. Call sign ‘Venture,’ ‘Lucky Star’... all mine.”
I found the cargo codes. “Restricted Medical,” and over and over again, “Specimen - Bio-Sample.”
I looked up at him. “This is just what I told you. Dry data. Routes and cargo codes. It doesn’t prove anything.”
Thoryn had gone still. “What was that last code?”
“Specimen - Bio-Sample. So?”
“The data Deyric found,” he said, his voice rough. “The Synthesis Project... it was all built around ‘Bio-Sample’ acquisitions. We suspect it wasn’t just samples , Maris. They were subjects.”
The words just hung there. My datapad felt impossibly heavy. I looked back at the screen, at the long list of shipments. ‘Bio-Sample’. Not samples. Subjects.
“I transported people.” The words came out flat. Simple fact. “I shipped sentient beings like cargo.”
I was a slaver.
The thought looped through my brain on repeat, mechanical, relentless. Every breath tasted like failure. My fault. All of it. All those runs I’d made, moving crates of “restricted medical supplies.” Premium rates because the cargo was sensitive. Don’t ask questions because the clients paid for discretion.
I’d been so proud of myself. Building a legitimate shipping business. Taking corporate contracts.
“Stop.” Thoryn’s voice cut through my spiral. “Can hear you thinking from here.”
“You can’t hear thoughts.”
“Can hear breathing. Yours changed. Faster. Shallower.” He paused. “Guilt pattern.”
Of course, he recognized my guilt breathing.
“I transported them.” The words came out flat. “I moved the cargo that... I was a tool for slavers. That’s not guilt. That’s just reality.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“To who?” I looked at him across the small room. He still looked like he was in agony. “The people in those containers don’t care that I didn’t ask questions. They’re still... wherever they are. Because of me.”
“Because of the Consortium.”
“Using my ships. My routes. My manifests.” I pulled my knees up, wrapped my arms around them. Smaller. Contained. “I should have known. Should have looked closer. Should have?—”
