The ship was older, dated, and not as well maintained asThe Sombra.
The contrast was stark, and a slight shiver ran down Mak’s spine as they landed.
On disembarking, they were met by a small flyer, flanked by Sidani armed guards.
Mak raised his chin to them, his mind racing.
In the grand scheme, he wasŠarover the Sauvage clan, but Zolan was the rebelŠarkhanof The Sidan.
If anything went wrong today, it could ignite an all-out war between them.
The stakes were high, but there was no turning back now. Only time would tell who would prevail.
Chapter 33
MAK
Kaal, Asa, Kelam, and Mak prowled along the gray utilitarian ship corridor, lit with flickering lights.
Other than their Sidani escorts, no one else seemed to be around.
Mak had expected their weapons to be taken from them, but at no point had their guides requested that they hand them in.
They marched, two at the front and two at the rear, stone-faced, in black gear and boots, their laser rifles in hand.
The air was thick with tension as they made their way to the end of the hallway toward a set of double doors.
They stopped as the lead chaperone pressed the doorbell, and the group exchanged narrowed looks.
Chimes sounded inside, followed by the whir of a camera.
Footsteps approached, and after a brief pause, the door opened, revealing a tall man with a shaved head and tattoos covering his arms.
Zolan’s brother, Shan.
His eyes flickered over the Sauvage men, appraising them.
‘Cousin,’ he grunted, his voice gruff.
‘Shan, let us thefokkin,’ Mak muttered, muscling his way to the front. The Sidani entourage stepped aside, allowing him into the vestibule.
‘Wait here,’ Shan growled.
Despite his anxiousness to see his wife, Mak obeyed. He jerked his chin at Shan as he tracked off, disappearing into the bowels of the dark interior.
Silence fell over the minimal space. Mak’s eyes flicked over the inside.
The chamber had a distinct style.
The synth steel walls were covered in paintings, and the inner doors were antique, elaborately carved timber surfaces.
The interior design featured engraved furniture, carpeting, and tables crafted from hand-woven lattices and intricate patterns.
It didn’t scream wealth, but it had a touch of refinement.
A hint of bitterkahawablended with the scent of spiced cooking.
The murmur of women’s voices out of sight and toward the rear made the suite of rooms appear welcoming. Far removed from Mak’s imagined idea of where Zolan Asivan might have lived.
