TAMSIN
Back in the cargo bay of theWandering Star, the Syndicate inspector's four arms moved in a hypnotic pattern across our cargo crates, each scanner sweep accompanied by soft electronic chirps that made my teeth itch.
I perched on a medical supply container, watching the pale functionary work his way through our forged manifest. The recycled air carried the metallic tang of the station's atmosphere processors mixed with something else—the faint, sour smell of fear and desperation that clung to places like The Maw. Even the air tasted like suffering here.
"Emergency pharmaceuticals for Paxseru system outbreak," the inspector announced, his translator rendering his clicks and whistles into flat, mechanical Standard. "Documentation cross-references acceptable. Organic compound signatures within expected parameters."
Talon lounged against the bulkhead, but I caught the way his right hand stayed near his concealed sidearm. His cobalt sigils seemed darker in the cargo bay's harsh lighting, stark lines against gray skin that made him look more predator than merchant. The inspector hadn't looked twice at him—another advantage of traveling with someone who radiated quiet lethality. People tended to avoid prolonged eye contact.
"Clearance authorized for immediate offload," the inspector continued, gathering his scanning equipment. "Transfer begins at twenty-two hundred station time. Bay workers will handle cargo rotation."
"Appreciated," I said, sliding off the crate. "The colonies are desperate for these supplies."
The inspector's compound eyes fixed on me briefly—calculating, evaluating. For a heart-stopping moment I thought he'd seen through our cover. Then he simply nodded and moved toward the airlock, his job complete.
Only after the outer door sealed did I allow myself to breathe normally.
"Nervous?" Talon's voice carried that hint of dark amusement I'd learned to recognize.
"Terrified," I admitted, pulling up the station schematics on my data pad. "We just lied to armed slavers while smuggling illegal gear into their fortress. Anyone who isn't scared in this situation needs psychological evaluation."
The technical drawings spread across my display. The trauma of my capture had seared the station's layout into my memory, and I'd spent the years since filling in the gaps with every scrap of intel I could find. That terrified child's survival map was about to become our advantage.
"Twenty-two hundred gives us a seven-hour window," I said, forcing my voice steady. "The plan is simple. We go in as maintenance during the shift change at twenty-three thirty. I'll use my knowledge of the schematics to get you to the vault level. You crack the vault. We use the chaos of the handoff to get out."
"So you'll maintain overwatch from here?" Talon asked.
"No." The word came out harder than I'd intended. "That's not the plan anymore."
His red eyes sharpened. "Explain."
"I'm coming with you. Into the station. To face Kelloch."
The temperature in the cargo bay seemed to drop ten degrees. When Talon spoke, his voice carried the lethal authority I'd first heard when he'd cut through my hull.
"Absolutely not."
I stood, meeting that intimidating stare head-on. "Look at this," I said, highlighting the security grid on my display. "Six checkpoints between the docking bay and vault level. Biometric scanners, access protocols that change every four hours. You'll trigger alarms before you reach the second floor."
"I've breached more secure facilities."
"Have you breached this one?" I gestured to the maze of corridors and security measures. "Because I was a prisoner here, Talon. I know which maintenance tunnels connect to restricted areas and which ones lead to dead ends. I know where the sensor blind spots are and exactly how long they last because I used them to hide."
His jaw tightened. "The risk?—"
"Is acceptable." I stepped closer, close enough to smell that clean, metallic scent that belonged uniquely to him. "This isn't just about the Regalia anymore. Kelloch is in that command center right now. The man who murdered my family, who turned my world into ash—he's fifty meters of corridor and six security doors away from me."
"The mission takes priority."
"The mission succeeds either way. But I don't walk away from this. Not again." My voice carried years of carefully controlled rage. "I've been planning this moment since I was seven years old. Since I watched him look into my eyes and tell me I'd never see my mother again."
Something shifted in his expression, predator recognizing prey that refused to run. "If you come?—"
"I follow your lead until the prize is secure. No heroics, no personal vendettas. I get you through their security, you get us both out alive." I paused, letting him see the determination that had kept me breathing through years of servitude. "But after that, Kelloch is mine."
The silence stretched between us, his protective instincts warring against the reality of what I offered.
"The Syndicate sees maintenance staff as furniture," I continued, pulling uniforms from our supply locker. "Necessary but beneath notice. We go in together during shift change, use the chaos to reach the vault level."
