just as much a victim of Gal’s rise as everyone else on this ship—and that, more than anything else, cuts him deep.
I break his gaze and head up the ladder before he has a chance to say anything that might stop me.
The autopilot is fine. On course. One more day of travel. The twisting sensation in my gut misses Delos’s longer cycle. On the galactic standard, it feels like we’re hurtling even faster toward Tosa System.
And once we’re there, it all goes into motion. The dreadnoughts will drop onto our tail, and we’ll see if Colonel Esperza can pull off the miracle it will take to commandeer them. If we manage it, we’ll lead the fleet into the jaws of Tosa System’s defenses. And then we betray every person in our hold and every quiet hope they’ve shared.
I drop into the pilot’s seat, trying to ground myself and stop the tremor that’s leaching into my hands. It’s been so long since I’ve brushed up against that part of my past, and I’m helpless against even the quickest glance into the memories I’ve kept buried. I let my eyes unfocus as I stare out into the gray. A silent moment passes.
“What do you want, Wen?” I sigh.
“It was a good story,” she says from the shadows of the hall, low enough that her voice won’t carry back into the hold. “But someday you’re gonna have to tell me why half of it isn’t true.”
CHAPTER 24
WE’VE BARELY SCRAPED the outer fringes of Tosa System when a dreadnought locks onto the Ruttin’ Hell’s tail. Assurances of certain annihilation flare on the instruments as the cityship adjusts its vector and burns onto our rear. Gal’s face reflects the ashen gray outside our cockpit windows. He bends over the navigation, his fingers tracing long, unsteady arcs between us and the rest of the assault fleet, between us and Rana, between us and the distant promise of the Umber interior.
I fly, trying to ignore the fact that I’ve already sweated through my shirt. My brain struggles to process the pieces at play—even the concept of the dreadnought on our rear is difficult to comprehend. It’s two thousand times our size, and yet, if all goes right, we walk away from this confrontation as victors. Nothing about that math adds up.
Behind us, Wen sits in eager silence. When this is over, she takes the helm. She wants this over fast.
“Drop superluminal at my mark,” Gal mutters next to me, holding up one hand as his other swipes through communications channels that will put us in contact with the rest of the assault fleet. “Three. Two. One. Mark.”
I flip the booster. The gray snaps back to black as stars sprinkle across the cosmic night. A long, ragged breath bursts from my lungs, and somehow my next one feels fresher. After four days cooped up inside this tiny ship, I don’t understand how that’s possible.
“We’re sure this is going to work?” Wen asks, not for the first time.
“Dreadnought’s popped out, matching speed,” Gal mutters, eyes unblinking, ears unhearing. “They’re hailing.” With a careless flick of his fingers, he dismisses the call.
“They could fire on us. I know you said they want to take deserters alive, but one burst from those guns and we’re ash in the void.”
I suck in my lips. Gal’s brows lower.
“Someone start talking,” Wen hisses, kicking the back of my chair.
“The ’nottie won’t fire on us,” I tell her, trying to sound confident.
“You’re sure?” she says, and I glance back to find her straining for a glimpse of Gal’s readouts.
“Of course we’re not sure, but where’s the fun in that?” Gal says, smug and princely. With the Ruttin’ Hell flying brazenly into Tosa System, we’re begging to be caught, and the only threat we pose is if Gal tries to run again. The dreadnought won’t fire. Not when they’ve identified this Beamer as the one that hauled ass out of the system a month ago. Not when there’s a chance the Umber heir’s on board.
It doesn’t do much to combat the sweat trickling down the column of my