Chapter 1
Merrilee
The corridor leading to the conference chamber hummed with the ambient thrum of the Ardeese Valout's life support systems. I walked beside Jala, each footfall heavier than the last.
My boss moved with unusual tension—her pale golden pelt almost luminescent under stress, blue-gold eyes fixed straight ahead, distant and guarded.
"You're quiet," I ventured as we passed through the observation deck. "Is everything okay?"
Jala's jaw tightened. "The Prime rarely leaves Calpa."
The weight of that statement hung between us as we approached the chamber doors. The security detail was triple the usual complement, their eyes tracking us with uncomfortable intensity.
What kind of crisis required the Prime's physical presence?
The doors whispered open, and I stepped into a room that suddenly felt far too small for the power it contained.
The Prime stood at the head of the conference table—over six feet tall, with a creamy-colored pelt that seemed to glow under the chamber's lighting. Her golden irises set in cobalt blue sclera held me frozen as her gaze swept over me. Duke Ako stood to her right, his pale Aljani skin luminescent against platinumhair, ivory horns curving from his forehead. Admiral Cullen Blackwood occupied the far side, his gray-green eyes studying me like a problem to be solved. War Chief Xabat dominated the space beside him—massive, green-skinned, his presence alone shifting the gravity in the room.
My heart hammered. Whatever was about to happen was far bigger than anything I'd imagined.
And the way they were all looking at me...
Oh God. This was aboutme.
The Prime slid a datapad across the table. "Miss Sanchez, perhaps you can explain these."
My hands trembled as I picked up the device. The screen flickered to life, and my stomach dropped. Images. Dozens of them. Station layouts. Security protocols. Personnel schedules. Meeting notes. The evidence of my betrayal laid out in perfect, irrefutable detail.
The room tilted. Black spots danced at the edge of my vision.
"Your glasses, Miss Sanchez." The Prime's golden eyes fixed on me. "We know they're Meta glasses. Recording devices. Remove them. Now."
My hands moved automatically, fingers shaking as I pulled the frames from my face. I handed them to Admiral Blackwood who stepped forward, unable to meet his eyes.
He examined them with a scanner. "Confirmed. Meta tech. Military grade."
"You've been working with Declan Hewes." The Prime's words weren't a question.
The world narrowed to a pinpoint. Eighteen months. Eighteen months of living with this crushing weight on my chest, of waking up every morning wondering if today would be the day they caught me. Of jumping at every summons, every unexpected meeting, every time someone looked at me too long.
And now they knew.
Relief and terror warred inside me, a nauseating cocktail that made my knees weak. Part of me—God help me, part of me—felt almost grateful. The constant vigilance, the paranoia, the soul-crushing guilt every time I smiled at someone whose trust I was betraying... it was over. I didn't have to pretend anymore.
But the other part—the part that understood what happened to traitors—wanted to run. To bolt from this room and never stop running.
The sob tore out of me before I could stop it—raw and desperate. "I didn't—I had no choice!" The words tumbled out in a torrent. "He had them. He had Ana and Sebastian. My brother and sister. He said if I didn't help him, he'd kill them. I couldn't let them die!"
I was sobbing openly now, my whole body shaking. "I hated it. I hated what he made me do. But he threatened that if I said anything, he'd kill them—"
"Ana and Sebastian?"
Xabat's deep rumble cut through my breakdown. I looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, not understanding.
The War Chief leaned forward. "Your brother and sister. Are they Ana and Sebastian Sanchez?"
I nodded, unable to form words.
