The sky had emptied, and with it, whatever thin veneer of oversight had existed. Whether the Alliance wanted to give a false sense of security or had been called away for some other reason, I couldn't say. Maybe they'd decided Fange City wasn't worth the fuel costs. Maybe they'd gotten what they came for and moved on.
Either way, it meant trouble.
And trouble in Fange City always drew a crowd.
I was halfway across the salvage district when the buzz started—voices rising, bodies moving with that particular urgency that meant something interesting had arrived. I caughtfragments as I pushed through the throng. Alliance ship. Prisoner. Human. Female.
My blood went cold.
I'd thought it was insane—sending a human female into this hellhole, into Persico's territory, with nothing but a cover story and desperation to keep her alive.
Now I knew it was worse than insane.
It was a death sentence.
By the time I fought my way to the outskirts of Persico's compound, she was already inside. The crowd had thinned, disappointed they wouldn't get to see whatever happened next. I stood in the shadow of a half-collapsed transport hull, trying to think past the rage building in my chest.
Nansar had asked me to help her. To keep her alive long enough to get close to Hewes. To make sure she didn't end up as another corpse in Fange City's endless graveyard.
I'd said yes because I wanted Hewes dead, and I didn't care who helped make it happen.
But standing there, staring at the fortress Persico had built from the bones of crashed ships, I felt something shift. This wasn't just about Hewes anymore. This was about a woman who'd walked into hell because she had no other choice.
And I'd let her do it alone.
"You looking for something, or just admiring the view?"
I turned to find Roone watching me from the shadow of a cargo container, his small frame barely visible in the gloom. Negitas were common in Fange City—small, quick, good at staying alive in places that killed bigger, stronger species. Roone had been here longer than most, which meant he knew things. Saw things.
"The human," I said, keeping my voice flat. "The one who just arrived."
Roone's whiskers twitched—amusement or disgust, I couldn't tell. "Ugly thing. Don't know why everyone's so excited. Humans always look half-starved to me."
My jaw tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "I need to see her."
"Why?" His dark eyes were sharp, calculating. "You got business with Persico's new toy?"
"Maybe."
He studied me for a long moment, then shrugged. "Your funeral. Come on."
He led me through a maze of salvaged corridors, moving with the easy confidence of someone who knew every shortcut, every hidden passage. We ended up in a narrow alley between two hull sections, and Roone pointed to a barred window set high in the wall.
"There. You can see into the main hall from here. But if anyone catches you—"
"I know."
He melted back into the shadows, and I was alone.
I pulled myself up to the window, my hands finding purchase on the rough metal as I climbed, and looked inside.
And forgot how to breathe.
She stood in the center of Persico's throne room, surrounded by guards, her dark hair falling past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim light. Slender, but with curves that even the shapeless prison uniform couldn't hide. Heart-shaped face. Full lips. Dark eyes that held something I recognized—fear, yes, but also defiance. The kind of stubborn courage that got people killed in places like this.
I'd thought Nansar's mate Chloe was lovely. Delicate and fierce in equal measure, with that particular grace human females seemed to possess.
But this woman—
