The ship shudders again, harder this time, the strain building as I push it further past design limits, and I can feel the resistance in every control input now, the system fighting to maintain integrity while I force it into something it wasn’t meant to be.
“You’re going to break something,” the system says.
“Not before I get there,” I reply.
The enemy vessel grows clearer on the display, its mass resolving into defined structure, weapons arrays, shielding arcs already shifting in anticipation of engagement.
“They see you,” the system says.
“Of course they do.”
“They’re powering weapons.”
“Let them.”
I adjust course again, sharper now, closing the distance faster than they expect, the angle wrong for a standard assault, too direct, too aggressive.
“They’re recalculating,” I say.
“Enemy targeting adjusting.”
“They think I’m reckless.”
“Are you?”
I almost laugh.
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m precise.”
The distance collapses fast now, too fast for hesitation, and everything narrows into a single line—target, vector, timing.
I can feel the ship shaking around me, systems screaming under the load, heat building in the cockpit, the air thick and sharp with it, but none of that matters anymore.
Only this.
Only her.
I tighten my grip on the controls, my focus locking completely onto the intercept point as it resolves into certainty.
“I’m coming,” I say, the words low, steady.
And this time, there’s nothing left in me that hesitates.
CHAPTER 28
STACY
The estate isn’t what I expected, and that realization settles into me the moment the shuttle doors open and the air changes, thicker here, warmer, carrying the scent of polished stone, old money, and something faintly floral that feels manufactured rather than natural. It’s quiet in a way that doesn’t belong to peace, the kind of silence that comes from control rather than absence, and as I step down onto the landing platform, I can feel eyes on me before I see anyone directly.
“Welcome back,” one of the guards says, his voice carefully neutral, though the tension in his shoulders gives him away as he shifts his grip on the weapon at his side.
I glance at him briefly without slowing, letting my gaze pass over him as if he’s incidental rather than relevant.
“I didn’t realize this qualified as a return,” I reply, my tone even, almost conversational, as I continue forward.
The guard doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens slightly, and another one behind me adjusts his stance, more alert now.
“Keep moving,” the second guard says, his voice firmer, though not aggressive, as if he’s trying to maintain control of a situation he doesn’t fully understand.
