Forged (Star Breed #10) - Elin Wyn Page 0,7

about delays in supplies.

Quotas and complaining.

Reprimands and excuses.

Billing, shipping, threats from other divisions of Desyk Consolidated.

But nothing that I needed.

I didn’t feel an iota of guilt ransacking their system, looking for their secrets. If I was successful, Serrup would be recalled. Alcyon might lose his job, might be reassigned.

Either way, it was nothing compared to what Desyk had done to us.

Somewhere, buried deep within the system would be the secret of Station 112.

What I’d come here to find, what I’d sold myself into a contract for. And when I found it, I could finally go home.

Home.

My chest tightened, thinking of it. Thinking of what it used to be.

But I shoved the unproductive, traitorous thoughts to the back of my mind, locked them away, and focused on my task.

PING!

I whirled around, but my explanations and denials faded away at the sight of Hakon, leaning against the wall.

Yup. There it was. The flash of danger behind those dark eyes.

“Apparently you don’t need too much sleep to get rested up, ready for a round of late-night espionage,” he said mildly, his quick glance taking in the room, the activated consoles and screens displaying row after row of filenames.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, chin high. “This doesn’t seem like the sort of place a guest would be interested in.”

He stepped further into the room, as the door slid shut behind him. “But I’m the one with the access card.” Hakon held it up. “At least, the original one.” His lips twisted into something almost like a smile as he slid it back into his pocket. “I was wondering why you were so eager to show me around. Now I know, don’t I?”

My cheeks burned a little.

It hadn’t just been that.

For the first time I could remember, I’d enjoyed an evening. Eating together, talking about nothing much.

Just his company.

But the mission came first.

“You had something I needed. I don’t know whose side you’re on. What other choices did I have?”

“You could’ve asked for help,” he offered. “That might have been a better option.”

A bitter half-laugh burst from my lips and I turned back to the console.

“Either stop me or let me work,” I said. “That’s all the help I need.”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t send a message to Alcyon,” he said. “Void, even half of a good reason. Try!”

My back stiffened and I turned slowly. “What do you think I have been doing ever since I got here?” I spat the words out, heedless of the fact that they would mean nothing to him. “I am trying. I am trying to do what I need to do, regardless of the consequences.”

He stepped toward me, his hand outstretched. “Tell me what’s so important,” he argued. “If you —”

With a crash, the control room shook, knocking me to the deck.

Or would’ve if Hakon hadn’t dived forward to catch me, holding me so tightly I couldn’t help but notice his strange, spicy scent.

A second later, the room rocked again, and the screens flashed red as alerts spread throughout the station.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the station was under attack,” Hakon said. He frowned at me. “Or is it?”

I wriggled, squirming to get out of his grip. “Let me see!” I insisted.

He released me and I rushed to the console, slapping at the keys until it brought up outward-facing cams.

On another screen, I spliced into the communications network.

Against the dark outside, a sleekly curved ship hung in space, smaller craft ranged to each side.

“Why are they here?” I breathed, my mind reeling at the sight.

The Foil and her full escort. They should have been anywhere else but here.

Hakon came to my side, studying the screens. “You didn’t call them?”

“Of course not,” I snapped.

Then another shot rocked the station, not a direct hit, just enough to throw all the systems into a tizzy.

The communications channel sprung to life.

“As you have undoubtedly noticed, we have only fired warning shots so far.” The stern, lined face of a tall dark-haired man filled the screen, then the camera panned out to show a younger man standing a bit behind him.

Arrayed behind the pair were three more men.

Corporate negotiation specialists, Uncle Ran had always called them, laughing.

Soldiers, specializing in particularly violent negotiations.

And he should know. He was standing on that deck, issuing commands for the surrender of Station 112.

And my brother, my trusted friend and confidant, stood at his side.

I shook my head, focusing on what they were saying.

“Consider this a hostile takeover,” Ran continued. “You have 15