“Inside!” the privateer barks.
I shove Jolie up first, then follow, the ramp slamming shut behind us with a heavy clang.
The interior vibrates as the engines kick, the throbbing sound building fast into something louder, more powerful.
“You picked a hell of a time to show up,” the privateer mutters.
“You let us on,” I reply.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m questioning that decision already.”
Jolie leans against the wall, breathing hard, her grip still tight on the device.
“We made it,” she says.
“Not yet,” I reply, glancing toward the cockpit as the ship lurches.
The engines roar.
The floor shifts under us as the ship lifts.
“Now we’re getting there,” I add.
CHAPTER 37
JOLIE
The ship doesn’t lift so much asripitself free.
The moment the ramp seals, the entire hull shudders under us, a deep, violent vibration that travels up through my boots and into my spine, and the roar of the engines builds so fast it feels like it’s trying to peel the air out of my lungs. The metal walls hum, not steady like the base, but strained, pushing against gravity hard enough to make everything feel heavier for a split second before it drops away.
“Hold on!” someone shouts from the cockpit.
“Wasn’t planning on letting go,” I mutter, grabbing the nearest support as the floor tilts under us.
The ship lurches sideways mid-ascent, a sharp, gut-wrenching shift that slams my shoulder into the wall, and I grit my teeth as my ribs scream in protest.
“Yeah,” I hiss under my breath. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
Hrask steadies himself beside me, one hand braced against the bulkhead, the other already moving toward the forward section.
“We’re not clear yet,” he says.
“No kidding,” I shoot back, pushing off the wall and following him.
The cockpit opens up in front of us, tighter than I expected, layered with controls that flicker between analog override and digital interface, and the pilot—Kilgari, broad-shouldered and completely unfazed—is already working the system like he’s done this a hundred times under worse conditions.
“They’re on us,” he says without looking back.
“Define ‘on us,’” I reply, stepping in behind him.
“Multiple interceptors lifting from the eastern platform,” he says, tapping a control that pulls up a tactical display. “Fast, coordinated, and very motivated.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That sounds about right.”
The display flickers, locking onto several fast-moving signatures climbing hard behind us, their trajectories tight and aggressive.
“That’s not a casual pursuit,” Hrask says, stepping up beside me.
