Page 26 of Jarran

Durik stopped before the cage and gazed at him. He looked satisfied, and that made Jarran hate him even more.

His cropped bronze hair caught the overhead lights. The scar down his left eye pulled at the skin of his cheek, warping his expression and making it look permanently hard. His pale gaze did not budge from Jarran.

Jarran noticed the dark lines running down Durik’s forearms, curling over the backs of his hands. The same patterns marked Jarran’s own skin. Sifter markings, as Evie had told him once. He was glad he didn’t remember getting them.

“Pella Rin.” Durik crossed his arms. His voice was deep and he spoke the name with a weird reverence that made Jarran’s skin crawl. “It is good to see some fire in your eyes. I feared they had broken you entirely.”

Jarran said nothing. He watched Durik and hoped to hold the male’s attention. Anything to keep it off of Evie.

“I apologize for the accommodations.” Durik gestured at the cell with a sweep of his hand. “Temporary. I assure you, this is not how I wanted to receive you. But you fought our extraction, and you killed one of my guards during the breach. I had to assume you’d forgotten yourself.”

“I am not who you think I am,” Jarran said. “I don’t know you.”

Durik nodded with a casual wave. “You will, you will. The memories will come. I served under you for six tericycles. I was your second. Your lieutenant. Your strategist.” He paused. “Your friend, if such a thing existed between us.”

Jarran doubted it. Everything about this male felt transactional. If this was Pella Rin’s version of a friend, he almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“I am relieved we were able to free you from Baylan captivity,” Durik continued. “The rescue took longer than I wanted. Planning the hull breach was difficult. The Korath-7 is an extremely well-fortified vessel.” He tilted his head. “Was, I should say. Its entire energy core has been destroyed. The ship is dead in space.”

The words hit Jarran in the chest. The ship where he’d lived and the people who ran it were dead. The beautiful plants he’d tended were gone. All of it gone.

His throat tightened. “The patients on board. The researchers. Are they⁠—”

“Acceptable losses.” Durik said it without hesitation. “Honestly, I have no idea if there are survivors. We departed after rescuing you.”

Rescue? Jarran stared at him. It had been an abduction and nothing more. “What do you want from me?” His voice came out rough.

Durik clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ve earned the right to rest, Pella Rin. I don’t expect you to resume command. In fact, it’s best that I remain the leader of the Sifters. The galaxy has changed since your capture, and you are clearly…diminished.” He said the word delicately, as if worried about offending him. “But the name Pella Rin still carries enormous weight. Scattered Sifter cells across three quadrants are waiting for a reason to reform. They need to see your face. Hear your voice. Believe that their leader has returned.”

Ah. Jarran understood. He was to be a puppet. A mouth that moved while Durik pulled the strings.

“All you need to do is stand where I tell you to stand,” Durik said, continuing on. “Speak the words I tell you to speak. Show your face on transmission feeds and let the cells see that Pella Rin lives.” Durik spread his hands. “In return, you get a private, lavish suite, the finest food and drink, and all the luxuries you desire. Your female comes with you, naturally.” His pale eyes slid to Evie, and the sneer on his lips made Jarran’s blood heat. “She’s pretty enough, for a human. Not compliant, though. I can have others brought to you, if you’d like some variety. Obedient females who can take more of you.” He smiled knowingly. “Pella Rin always had an appetite.”

Jarran’s fists clenched inside the cuffs. The metal bit into his wrists and the pain sharpened everything. He heard Evie’s breathing change behind him, quick and shallow.

“An easy life,” Durik said. “Pampered. All the comforts you were denied in that Baylan cage. All you have to do is cooperate.”

“If I’m such an asset,” Jarran said, “why am I in cuffs inside a cell?”

Durik’s expression flattened. “Because you attacked my extraction team. You fought us as if we were the enemy.” He paused. “You appear to have forgotten much about who you are. Surely you understand I couldn’t risk you harming yourself. Or anyone else who matters.”

Jarran heard the qualification. Anyone else who matters. Not anyone else. The guards he’d killed, the patients, the researchers. They hadn’t mattered.

Durik stepped closer to the barrier. His voice dropped. “The Baylans did something to your mind, Pella Rin. The implant, the drugs, the isolation. They turned you into a farmer.” Contempt curled through the word. “But you are still in there. I saw it when you took down my guard. The speed, the technique, the precision. That was not a farmer. That was the male who built an empire.”

Jarran felt it then. A door in his mind opening just a crack, pushed open by the sound of this male’s voice and the cadence of his words. Fragments slid through. He saw a room full of hard faces turned toward him, listening with absolute attention. A long table. Tactical displays. His own voice, steady and commanding, issuing orders. He knew the feeling of power settling over his shoulders, fitting him the way armor fits a body built for war.

He remembered how it felt to be obeyed. He remembered liking it.

Then, he remembered seeing a face in that crowd, looking up at him: Taron. His brother, whom he’d drawn into the Sifters for reasons he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Jarran slammed the door shut with every ounce of will he had. He looked at Durik’s tattoos and scars and calculating eyes, and he saw a mirror. Here was a hideous reflection of the evil he’d been. The evil this male wanted him to become again.

“That name you keep calling me, Pella Rin,” Jarran said. “It’s not mine.”

Durik’s eyes narrowed. The composure held, but barely. “That name built everything you see here.” His voice was edged with ice. “Including me.”

Jarran looked at him and felt nothing but contempt. “Then that name should die.”

Silence hung there and turned sharp-edged before Durik’s expression smoothed back into flat control. He turned and looked at Evie, letting his gaze moved over her slowly. The message was as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud. She is yours, but she is here. So she is mine.