Rules of Redemption (The Firebird Chronicles #1) - T.A. White Page 0,15

with her hair pulled away from her face. She was the poster child for the space force's regulation on personal appearance. Seeing a commander being so petty must have sat ill if her expression was anything to judge by.

"Someone's on a power trip," Jin muttered.

He had that right.

"It's for the safety of my men," Spitzy said, not looking the least bit chagrined at the judgment. No, he was enjoying this—immensely. "You do have a history of violence."

Kira narrowed her eyes and held in what she wanted to say. It would make her situation worse.

The woman came near, saying softly, "Everyone will wear them."

Kira looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, Spitzy's men were putting similar cuffs on the wizards.

"The children too, Spitzy? Really?" Kira shook her head at him in mock disappointment.

His smile disappeared to be replaced by a clenched jaw. "They're wizards. Every one of them is dangerous."

And there was the Spitzy she remembered—the xenophobic asshole convinced anything not human was to be treated with extreme caution and fear.

"I'm sure their people will remember this," Kira said.

Given the dark look on the faces of the children's guards, she had no doubt of that fact. They’d submitted, but the moment Spitzy's men approached the children, every single one of them went on the alert. They looked seconds from violence, especially when the girl started crying again.

"What do you care?" Spitzy said, his words nearly a snarl. "You left, remember?"

Kira gritted her teeth but didn't respond, holding the other man's gaze while burying the sting from his barb.

"She's right," the woman said to him. "Surely restraining the children is unnecessary. Diplomatically speaking, it would be best to treat them as we would any human child."

Spitzy's face darkened at the unvoiced rebuke in her words. Kira was impressed despite herself. Telling your superior he was wrong without actually saying it took skill and guts.

She was either very stupid or had a conscience. The two weren't mutually exclusive. Though they were a rare combination in the military.

"Fine," Spitzy bit out.

The woman released her breath and made a gesture at the man currently trying to coax the little girl to don the cuffs. He retreated with a look of relief. He hadn't been any happier to obey his orders than the woman.

Kira shook her head but held her hands out, letting Spitzy place the cuffs on her.

"Have J1N power off," he said, stepping back as one of his people took her elbow.

Kira didn't move. "You know I'm not going to do that."

"The unit can either power down voluntarily, or one of my men will shoot J1N with an EMP net," he said with a shark's smile.

Kira didn't move, staring him down. Temptation coursed through her.

"It's fine, Kira," Jin said. "Just get this cleared up so we can be on our way."

Jin floated to the ground, his lights darkening one by one, as he powered himself off. Her friend disappeared, leaving nothing but a hunk of metal in his place.

A woman pointed a device at Jin and nodded. "The drone is off."

"Good," Spitzy said as she picked him up.

"Ensign Waverly, please escort our guests to the containment room."

His aide gave a sharp nod before barking several orders.

"It's good to know you haven't changed a bit in all these years," Kira said sweetly. Her dark smile was anything but nice as she was led off.

*

The need for patience had been beaten into Kira at a young age. It was why she didn't particularly mind sitting in a small room on a metal chair, her friend a blind, silent presence on a table behind her.

To the casual observer, she would look like she was sleeping–body slumped, her chin on her arm, her other hand a few inches from the clear forcefield bisecting the room and separating the wizards from her. They'd miss her alert gaze, her eyes hidden by her hood which allowed her to study the people responsible for this whole mess without being seen.

The wizards’ leader stared at her from his side of the table, an intent look on his face as if he were trying to figure her out.

What could be seen of her face remained still, even as amusement filtered through her.

These men weren't your average guards. They were soldiers. She'd bet her life on it. She recognized the type from her own years in service to the human space force during the war with the Tsavitee.

They were a unit, anticipating orders not yet voiced. They moved like a well-oiled machine, indicating a long