Riuondo tried to block, but he was too slow. The blade found his throat on the third strike, opening it in a spray of dark blood.
He staggered back, hands clutching at the wound. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.
Then he laughed, but it was a wet, rasping sound.
"Enslak," he choked out, blood bubbling from his lips. "Enslak is alive. He's—"
Serna staggered like he'd physically struck her.
I saw it happen—saw her warrior's mask crack, saw something raw and desperate flash across her face. Her hand trembled on the blade's grip.
"You're lying." She hissed, but her voice shook. "He died. I saw the reports. I—"
"Alive," Riuondo repeated, that horrible wet laugh bubbling up again. "All this time. Alive."
"Where?" Serna demanded, moving closer. "Where is he?"
Riuondo laughed again—a horrible, gurgling sound. "You'll never find him. Never know where he's being held. I can die causing you that pain."
He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto his face.
Dead.
Serna stood over his body, chest heaving, covered in blood—his and hers.
The shuttle rocked again, and I heard the sound of weapons fire in the corridor. Shouting. The distinctive whine of Alliance plasma rifles.
The chamber doors exploded inward.
Alliance soldiers poured through, weapons raised, moving with military precision. They swept the room, neutralizing the remaining guards with brutal efficiency.
Charick, my hopefully future son-in-law, Captain of theBardagaburst through the doorway, his face a mask of controlled fury. Behind him came Captain Adtovar of theHistoria, a tall Vaktaire with silver hair and the bearing of a career military officer.
"Mother!" Charick rushed to Serna, catching her as she swayed. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." She pushed him away gently, her eyes finding mine across the chamber. "Cullen. Get Cullen."
Adtovar was already moving toward me, a medical kit in hand. He worked the restraints with quick, efficient movements, and suddenly I was free.
I tried to stand. Couldn't. My legs wouldn't support my weight.
Charick caught me before I hit the floor. "I've got you. We've got you."
Serna was there too, her hands on my face, her eyes searching mine. "Stay with me," she said. "We're getting you out of here. Just stay with me."
I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come. Everything was pain and exhaustion and the overwhelming relief of my mate being alive.
They lifted me between them—Charick and Adtovar—and started moving toward the door. Serna stayed at my side, her presence the only thing keeping me tethered to consciousness.
The corridor was chaos. Bodies on the floor—Riuondo's men, all dead. Alliance soldiers securing the shuttle, calling out clearances, coordinating the evacuation.
We moved through it all in a blur.
I was aware of being carried up a ramp. Of the change in air pressure as we crossed from the shuttle to a ship. Of voices calling out medical codes and coordinates.
TheHistoria. We were aboard theHistoria.
"Garoot healer, now!" Adtovar was shouting. "Get him to the Garoot healer!"
