The base is calm.
Dead calm.
Which makes it worse.
Like the storm’s already passed, and none of us noticed it hit.
I spot Kelsey near the intake valve, tapping through requisitions. She sees us—two men geared up for war—and raises a brow. “What the hell?”
I kneel beside Dar, who’s half-asleep in her arms.
“Keep him,” I say quietly. “No matter what happens. You keep him safe.”
Her face tightens. “Kaz?—”
“No time. You trust me?”
“With my life.”
I touch Dar’s curls. He stirs, murmurs something about juice and spaceships, then drifts again.
My chest cracks.
But I stand anyway.
Because Nova’s out there. And I’m not losing them both.
Verzius leads the way to the far end of the hangar where emergency deployment gear is stashed under lock.
“Code won’t work unless we have clearance,” I say, already bracing to smash something.
“We don’t need clearance.”
He pulls out a tiny data key—slick, matte black. No markings.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Stark’s tech, Remi. Owes me from a… situation on Vastral II. Let’s just say I made a scandal disappear.”
The doors slide open like they were never locked.
Inside is armor. Modified.
Verzius grabs a suit with Vakutan gold stripes and power assist braces. It gleams in the light, half ceremonial, half killstorm.
“Youstillpaint your combat kit?”
He smirks. “Intimidation’s an art form.”
“You know this is suicide, right?”
He clicks his helmet on, voice muffled now. “Still Vakutan, motherfucker.”
I laugh. It’s short. Bitter. But real.
Then we suit up.
We load into the skimmer—light, fast, designed for stealth entry.
