I drift in and out, blinking against blinding white and buzzing fluorescents.
Pain hums behind my eyes.
There’s a cold floor under me. Metal. Grimy.
My wrists burn. Restraints.
Containment bay.
I know the shape of it from the inside of schematics. He’s got me in one of the prototype med-pod shells, stripped down for transport. Probably planning to slide me into the array housing like an extra battery.
I’m cargo now.
Just like the manifest says.
"You shouldn’t have snooped," he murmured before I blacked out—his voice echoing even now like static under my skin.
I don’t move.
Don’t breathe too hard.
I hear footsteps moving away.
Heavy. Deliberate.
He’s not worried.
He thinks I’m out.
He thinks he’s already won.
But I was ready for this.
Always had a contingency.
Verzius taught me that much.
I twitch my left thumb just enough to press the pad of my fingertip against the small embedded chip sewn into the lining of my glove.
It hums—silent, low-frequency—and blinks once.
My backup signal fires off.
Pre-coded.
Encrypted.
Three words only.
He has me.
CHAPTER 41
KAZ
The bottle’s half empty. So is my patience.
The screen on my wall keeps flashing briefing reminders I’m never gonna show up for. Screw 'em. I’m not in the mood to talk about flight paths or anomaly thresholds. Not when the world tilted sideways three days ago and hasn't righted since.
