The maintenance tunnels were cramped and poorly lit, designed for repair drones rather than full-sized beings. He moved through them at a half-crouch, his muscles screaming in protest. Every few minutes he paused to listen, straining his ears for any sound of pursuit, but there was nothing. Either the Grorn hadn’t discovered this route yet, or they were too arrogant to consider it. He hoped for the latter.
His thoughts raced faster than his feet.Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.Even accounting for the time it would take the Grorn to organize their search pattern, they could already be at his docking bay. They could already have Emma.
No.He refused to consider that possibility. She was smart, resourceful. She’d follow his instructions and stay hidden.
But the fear wouldn’t release its grip on his heart.
He emerged from the tunnels three sectors away from his docking bay, immediately pressing himself into the shadows of a narrow alleyway. The corridor beyond was busier than it should have been—beings of various species hurrying past with their heads down, their body language screaming fear.
The Grorn had definitely been through here.
He adjusted his hood and slipped into the crowd, moving with the flow of traffic while angling steadily toward his destination. He could see the entrance to the private docking bays ahead, guarded by a pair of bored-looking Vexians who were clearly more interested in their conversation than in checking credentials.
He was fifty feet away when he saw them.
Three Grorn warriors, their dark uniforms with the fanged skull insignia stark against the grimy station walls. They were speaking to a dock worker, and even from this distance, he could see the terror on the worker’s face.
His hand dropped to the pulse pistol concealed beneath his cloak, but he forced himself to stay calm. Three warriors. He could handle three. But if there were more inside...
The dock worker pointed toward the private bays, and his blood ran cold.
He didn’t think. He didn’t plan. He simply moved, cutting through the crowd with a speed that drew startled looks and muttered curses. The Grorn were already heading toward the bays, their long strides eating up the distance.
Thirty seconds. Maybe less.
He reached the entrance just as the warriors disappeared inside. The Vexian guards opened their mouths to challenge him, but one look at his face silenced them. He was past them before they could decide whether to sound an alarm.
The private bays were a maze of corridors and docking clamps, each one numbered in a system that only made sense if you’d been using it for years. He ran, his boots pounding against the metal floor, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Bay seventeen.
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a Grorn warrior. Instinct took over—he ducked under the massive reptilian’s reaching arm, drove his elbow into the soft spot beneath the warrior’s ribs, and was past before the creature even registered the attack.
Shouts rose behind him, but he didn’t look back.
Bay fifteen. Bay sixteen.
Bay seventeen. The door was still sealed, the status light glowing a steady green. He slammed his palm against the lock panel, keying in the access code with fingers that refused to stop shaking.
The door hissed open.
The flyer sat exactly where he’d left it, its hull gleaming dully in the bay’s dim lighting. No Grorn. No warriors. No signs of forced entry.
He locked the door behind and was across the bay and up the ramp before his brain caught up with his body. His fist hammered against the ship’s hatch.
“Emma! It’s me. Open the door.”
The hatch slid open, and Emma appeared, Ari clutched to her chest, her eyes wide with fear and relief.
“Thank God.” She practically dragged him inside, her free hand fisting in the front of his cloak. “I heard noises outside. I thought?—”
“We have to go. Now.” He was already moving toward the cockpit, his hands flying over the controls. “The Grorn are on the station. They’re searching the private bays.”
She didn’t waste time with questions. She just strapped herself into the co-pilot’s seat, Ari secured against her chest, and watched as he initiated the emergency launch sequence.
The docking clamp released with a clunk that seemed impossibly loud. The flyer’s engines roared to life. And as they shot out of the bay and into the chaos of the station’s surrounding space, he saw two more Grorn ships, their distinctive angular shapes cutting through the traffic like predators through a school of fish.
They’d found them. Somehow, impossibly, the Grorn had found them.
