And through the haze of pain and terror, one thought pulses over and over like a drumbeat:
I should’ve told Troka.
CHAPTER 35
TROKA
Iwalk faster than I think I should. The city below me trembles in halflight, rain-slick streets mirroring holo-ads that drip color—neon blues, bleeding pinks—across puddles. The air smells like ozone and wet concrete, like a storm coiled in its own anger. My boots splash through water on the platform; each drop an echo against steel girders.
At a junction, I duck into a transit hub underpass. The fluorescent panels flicker overhead, stuttering like dying stars. There’s a holo news feed terminal in the center—floating in an atrium of grey concrete and PLEX glass. I stop cold.
Smoke pillars coil up from the shopping mall she said she’d go to. Sirens clamour. The holo splits in four views: hostages pressed against walls, gunmen in black tactical gear barking orders, red laser sights cutting through crowds. A mother holds a child to her chest. A man kneels, gun raised at his temple. The signage reads AIV-JUSTICE over the chaos.
My heart lurches to a pause.
I raise my compad. My texts to her blink unanswered: ALAINA, WHERE ARE YOU, RESPOND. Silence.
Then the holo-call icon flashes: UNKNOWN. My fingers hesitate—then strike accept. The image ripples.
A man appears. Name tag flickers in the feed: Marrok Caine — leader of AIV-Justice. He’s tall, angular, skin scorched in places, one eye blazing red cybernetic iris, the other dark and human. He’s perched in a steel cage platform, backlit by burning mall corridors, gun-toting silhouettes moving behind him.
“Troka Vass,” he says, voice oily, smooth as tar. “You’re late to your own famine feast.”
My jaw clenches. “Release them.”
He smiles—a jagged flash of teeth. “So impatient. Beautiful, but shallow. The mother. The child. We’ll release them. At our terms.”
He leans forward. The feed shifts; behind him I glimpse the hostages, huddled, terrified. I see Alaina clutch Caelix, lip split, hair wild, trembling. My blood blisters.
Marrok continues: “We demand full pardon of every AIV-Justice operative. Complete transfer of war credits. A flagship escape cruiser. And the resignation of top IHC commanders. If even one demand isn’t met?—”
He leans to one side, as though whispering to wires. “Your precious hostages will be gone. Disappeared. Off-world human experiments. Your mate, your child—they’ll vanish into nightmares. And you’ll watch the tape.”
He pauses, enjoying the silence. “You still want them? You want to fight through fifty squads of us? Maybe I’ll let youtry. Maybe you’ll reach me. Or maybe they’ll die before you even enter the building.”
The echo of gunfire crackles behind him.
“You think this is leverage?” I hiss. “This is war. I won’t bargain. You release them now, or pray that I don’t survive what I’m about to do.”
He laughs. The sound ripples through the holo. “War? This is show business. Ratings. Sympathy. You’re a wild animal pledging for his babies. The crowd will eat it up. They’ll cheer our morality. Our vengeance. But you? You’ll be their hero or their lesson. No in-betweens.”
He stands, gun arm raised. “Now, I think we both agree on one thing: I’m not bluffing.”
The holo dies.
I slam the compad on concrete. Sparks. My fingers bleed. I taste metal, ash, grief. My palm throbs like a wound. Yet I feel more alive than in years.
People swirl past me in the hub. Faces blurred. Rain drips off their umbrellas like sorrow. None know, none see. None yet.
I tap my wristcomm cluster. “Larek. Get me encryption key on Marrok Caine’s secure feed. I want live sat-cams on his squad positions.”
Static crackles. “You really escalating, Vass?” Larek’s voice is calm—toocalm. “You sure about this?”
He doesn’t understand. He can’t. “They haveher. Andhim. I’m going in.”
“We’re not soldiers anymore.” Larek’s tone echoes the caution I’ve buried. “You’ll tear yourself apart.”
“Let ’em try to stop me,” I say, voice thick. “Let me break every law, every barrier, every mind that stands between me and them.”
