Silent.
I jerk back, leveling the gun out of instinct.
The figure raises their hands slowly.
No weapon drawn.
No immediate threat.
My vision’s swimming, but I blink hard and refocus.
It’s a woman.
Tall. Lean. Armor battered but serviceable.
Blonde hair twisted into a harsh knot.
Cold gray eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
Recognition slams into me like another blow to the ribs.
Silpha.
Alone.
No guards.
No backup.
Just her.
Standing between me and whatever future’s still bleeding out through my fingers.
And she’s not smiling.
Not gloating.
Just staring.
Like she’s been waiting a long, long time for this.
CHAPTER 14
TRAZ
Silpha doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The dust from the wreck swirls between us, thick and choking, the heat from the crashed freighter licking at my back.
I keep the barrel of my gun locked on her chest, finger tight on the trigger.
"Ten seconds," I rasp, voice jagged. "Say something real good."
Her hands stay up. Slow. Steady.
"I’m not here to fight."
