Page 2 of Fated to the Dragon Alien
But not from her.
The mech scanned them all as they stepped off the lift, its single red sensor sweeping through the group like a searchlight. Rows of tool racks lined the wall—picks, scrapers, micro lasers. Cerani reached for her usual set without looking, the grip of the precision scraper shaped to her hand after so many cycles.
A green light blinked on her wrist panel. Her coordinate flashed: T-7L. She checked over Jorr’s shoulder—his was T-7M. Close.
The tunnel they were assigned curved away from the central shaft, tight walls pressed with old drilling scars and the dull, flickering lamps bolted into the rock. Cerani fell into step beside Jorr. His walk was uneven again. When they reached the split in the path, a mess of fallen rubble forced them to slow.
She dropped to one knee, shoved some of the loose rock aside, and turned her head toward him. “You want help getting over this?”
“Depends,” Jorr said. “You offering to push?”
She grinned. “Don’t tempt me.”
He laughed, but it turned into a wheeze. She held out her hand. He stared a second too long before taking it, and she hauled him past the bigger slabs. Once on the other side, he leaned against the wall and pulled in a shaky breath.
“Thanks,” he said.
Cerani nodded and bent to clear more debris from the edge of her path. “I used to move irrigation stones twice this size. No machines at the settlement to help. We used our backs.”
“I thought Teria was all fruit trees and clean air.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to Teria,” she said. “My people live on what we thought was a farming settlement.” She tapped the side of her neck. “Didn’t think much of the symbols here. Every newborn receives some. It’s just our designation. Then I saw everyone here has marks on their skin just like mine and learned the truth the hard way. No one on Settlement 112-1 knows they’re living in an Axis penal colony.”
“I remember some of your story.” Jorr’s brow pulled. “You were taken from there by raiders, right?”
“Yes.” She was glad he was talking with her. Lately, he’d been more and more distant with everyone. “A black ship showed up just before my friend’s bondmate ceremony and took us to an auction.” Her hand tightened around the handle. “They read my number like I was inventory.”
He leaned his head back and stared up at the sloping ceiling. “That’s what we are, you know.”
She didn’t answer. Just angled her scraper against the wall and let the blade flex beneath her fingers. The crystal veins here were tight and delicate—like glass threads wound through rock.It took patience. Jorr shuffled a few meters to the left and began on his own work.
“I was a cook,” he said finally. “In New Vails. Until I poisoned an Axis official.”
“Was it an accident?” she asked. This was the longest conversation she’d had with Jorr, even though they all lived in the barracks together. Conversing about nonessentials was prohibited.
Jorr flashed a quick, weary grin. “Nope.”
They talked until the work got too intense to allow for distractions, then the only sounds were those of the suit respirators and the scrape of tools on rock. Cerani placed the delicate crystals she removed with care into a box with padded sections. She’d filled most of them. Her and Jorr’s shift was nearing its end and she looked forward to getting off her feet and getting a meal. They fed the miners well, at least, and that was the one and only plus to this awful place. She had much more food here than she’d had at the settlement.
A sound broke through the steady rhythm of their work—boots on metal, unhurried but loud enough to prick at Cerani’s nerves. She looked up. The scraper stilled in her hand.
The corridor widened at the bend to her left, letting the light from overhead flicker off a tall figure striding toward them. He stood out, even before his wings caught the light—broad and folded against his back, the same deep, sapphire blue hue as the scales that lined the sides of his neck and the backs of his hands. He was Zaruxian, just like the overseer back at Settlement 112-1—though he’d had purple scales instead of blue. Cerani hadn’t seen another of their kind since, and she’d learned they were rare, almost never outside Axis control centers.
He didn’t wear an EP suit. Apparently, his body was unaffected by the radiation. The uniform he wore didn’t crinkle. It hugged his tall frame, spotless and dark, with the Axisinsignia gleaming at his collar. According to the other prisoners, his name was Stavian. Cerani had picked up the name from whispered shifts and ration lines. Everything about him looked sharp—his features straight and clean, his jaw set, the weight of his silver gaze piercing whoever it landed on.
That gaze landed on her.
Cerani held still, not because she was afraid—though maybe she should have been—but because it was impossible not to look back. His eyes were clear silver, bright as the offworld moons, and heavy with something she couldn’t place.
It wasn’t judgment.
It wasn’t sympathy either. Still, something in her chest pitched off-balance.
The controller moved past Jorr, glancing at the scant crystals tucked in his box. Then he turned toward her. His boots made no sound on the smooth floor plating, and when he slipped one gloved hand behind his back to cradle the small inspection tablet, Cerani noticed how precise every movement was. Controlled. Like everything in him had been trained to stay in tight lines.
He stopped two meters from her.
She didn’t lower her gaze. He didn’t speak.
