Page 102 of Tracked and Taken

“Did you leave?”

“I tried.”

Another impact on the corridor wall. Closer. The sound of a sidearm discharge. Twice. A voice cut off mid-syllable.

Tael has the first contractor.

Kesh does not react.

One more question. The one I cannot stop myself asking.

“Did you think — killing Tael — would bring her back?”

His face changes.

The tiredness goes. The flat silver of his eyes hardens by a degree I did not think the silver had left in it.

“Do not ask me that.”

“Kesh—“

“Do not.”

His hand on the sidearm tightens.

The weapon comes up half an inch.

“I am going to let you have the last three minutes without talking, Torres. You have asked enough. I answered what I answered because you asked, and I did not expect to be asked, and your tracker is going to hear what I told you through the speaker on the exterior wall, and that will, in the way it will, be the last honest accounting I give of myself. That is a gift I have given you. I am not going to give you the rest.”

He steps forward one meter.

My body wants to step back. My training says do not give up ground to a Draelith male. My body wins the argument.

I do not move.

I hold.

The second impact on the corridor wall. Closer. A third sidearm discharge. A male screaming — cut short.

Two contractors down. One to go.

Kesh takes a second step toward me.

Three meters.

My right hand at my side. The scalpel in my palm. My left hand, which I let it drift to my hip, reads as nervous to him. The MP blade at my ankle is still inside my kit. I have not drawn it. I will not draw it until I have to. A Draelith male who clocks a second blade does not extend me the benefit of the reach distance he is granting me.

The console behind him chimes.

A second amber light goes green.

“Chamber at twenty-five percent saturation.”

The speaker pipes the status in his voice — the console is announcing in Kesh’s recorded Draelith baseline because he set it up to.

The ceiling manifold hums.

A warmth goes across my skin.