His hand stilled, and his breathing deepened again.
Sliding off the edge of the bed, she stood there trembling as she watched his face for any sign of consciousness.
Nothing.He slept on.
She moved to the dresser on silent feet.The crimson gown would be useless for running, but there were practical clothes folded in the bottom drawer… dark trousers, a fitted top, a soft jacket.Every second counted, so she didn’t bother with underwear.She changed fast, her fingers clumsy with adrenaline.Her boots went on last.She zipped them with her teeth clenched against the sound.
Shit, she needed to leave a note.
Grabbing the cream stationery from the desk and the stylus beside it, she forced herself to focus, but her hand shook so badly the first line came out as a jagged scrawl.She concentrated harder.
I’m sorry.
He’d want to know she wasn’t taken.He’d know it was her choice.
And maybe, maybe, one day he’d forgive her for making it.
She folded the note once and set it on the nightstand where he would see it.Then she pulled the burner comm from her pocket and tapped the screen.A message glowed green against the black.
Cargo Bay 4.Pilot waiting.0500.Don’t be late.
She looked at him one last time.The rise and fall of his chest.The loose hair across his face.Her mother would have called this weakness.Standing in a dark room, memorizing a man who was never supposed to be hers.
Her jaw tightened, and she walked out without a backward glance.She didn’t dare to.
The door panel accepted her palm print with a soft beep, and she slipped through the gap before it fully opened.The corridor beyond it was empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Hurrying away down the corridors, she made sure to keep close to the walls, hoping that her dark clothes blended with the shadows.Silently, she counted the section markers as she passed them.
She passed a patrol at the next intersection.Two warriors, armed, filling the corridor with the sheer bulk of them.Her pulse jumped, but she didn’t break stride.They glanced at her, a human female in everyday clothes, and just as instantly dismissed her.Without her guards and the fancy gowns, she wasn’t the Emperor’s mate-to-be.She was just another soft thing moving through their world.
The comm screen showed the route.Left at the junction.Down two levels via the maintenance lift.Through a cargo processing area.Past the sealed bulkheads into another sector.
The maintenance lift groaned when she pressed the call button, and she flinched so hard she nearly bit through her lip.The doors opened on a car that smelled of grease and stale air.Stepping in, she hit the button for Deck Twelve, which held cargo bay 4, and pressed her back against the wall.
Her reflection stared at her from the scratched surface, and she winced.She looked like a ghost of herself.
Good, she thought.Ghosts didn’t leave footprints.
The lift deposited her in a corridor that was colder than the levels above.The lights here were spaced further apart and more industrial, leaving long stretches of shadow between pools of sickly yellow.The air tasted stale, either recycled too many times or not at all.The irregular tick of cooling pipes and the distant, echoing drip of condensation filled the air.
Cargo Bay 4 was at the end of the corridor.The doors were massive, industrial loading doors meant for freight, not people, and they stood half-open, a gap between them wide enough to walk through.
She paused.If she did this, there was no going back.
The air washing through the gap was colder still, carrying the sharp smell of engine fuel.The bay beyond was dark, lit only by a handful of emergency floor strips that cast everything in dim red.This was it.The pilot would be in there, and the ship that was her ticket off this station and out of the Emperor’s life… and Raaevik’s.
No, she didn’t want to think of that.Pressing her nails into her palms, she used the little bite of pain to focus her.
Do it.Walk in.Get on the ship.Don’t look back.
She stepped through the gap.
The cargo bay was huge with crates stacked high against the walls, creating a maze of alleyways.In the center of the open floor, a small, sleek shuttle sat waiting.Its engines hummed, a low vibration that rattled in her teeth.
Lucy stood near the shuttle’s ramp, arms wrapped around herself.Her red hair caught the dim lighting like a flame.
“Lucy!”Emily called out, relief flooding through her so intense it almost buckled her knees.She hurried forward, her footsteps echoing on the metal deck.“I made it.I’m here.”
