I woke up in a mess of shredded leaves and scorched earth, smoke curling around me like it had a grudge. My chest felt like it had been stomped on by a grav-loader. Every breath came sharp and hot, like someone had lined my lungs with broken glass.

  I tried to move. Got maybe an inch off the ground and regretted it instantly. Something deep in my side twisted the wrong way, sharp and wet and wrong.

  My skin was tight. Burned. I could feel it along my arms, across my neck, crawling up one side of my face. I reached up, fingers trembling, and touched what used to be skin. It was raw and swollen, blistered in places, peeling in others.

  I knew before I felt the shape of it that my face wasn’t the same anymore. I didn’t need a mirror. The heat had taken its share and left me something worse in return.

  My cloak was dead. So was the visor. No HUD, no telemetry, no IFF tags or friendly blips in the dark. Just me and the taste of ash. I lay still for a moment, listening to the wind stir the trees, and the distant creak of something collapsing in the distance. Probably just another tree that couldn’t stand any longer.

  Eventually, I dragged myself high enough to look.

  There was no fort.

  Just a crater.

  Black. Smoking. Wide enough to swallow everything that had been there minutes ago. The walls, the watchtowers, the Orak’kan bodies. And them.

  My team.

  They were gone. All of them.

  I stared at the ruin and it came back all at once. Training days, deployment runs, tired jokes in foxholes, arguments over rations. All of it.

  And then the name dropped into my head like a stone.

  T-88.

  Sounds harmless. Something you'd find stamped on the back of an old repair droid. But it wasn’t. It was our designation. A kill team. Black-class. Off the books. No medals, no burials. Just results.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  And now they were results too. A pile of vapor and burnt bones.

  I sank back onto the dirt, the heat of the blast still clinging to the ground beneath me. My throat burned. My skin throbbed. I could barely tell if the tears stinging my eyes were from grief or the smoke.

  It seems as though they’d been sent in to die. Used. Like pawns.

  And if someone was clearing the board, sweeping out the old teams like dust under the rug, then the real question wasn’t why now. It was why not sooner.

  How many more “coincidences” before I stop pretending that’s what they are?

  And I had to ask myself the one question I didn’t want to answer.

  If T-88 was gone—

  Where the hell was Yuki?

  ***

  Orbit Above Kelthar-3

  Valkyrion – Command Deck

  “Stand down,” Ares interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Telemetry resuming. I’m detecting movement.”

  Nyx froze, one step away from thrashing Zara, chest heaving.

  Zara lowered her hands, eyes still locked on Nyx. “Movement?”

  “Commander Corvus appears to have sustained elevated physical stress immediately following the detonation. Heart rate spike, adrenaline surge. There are injuries... but they appear to be non-lethal.”

  Nyx stumbled back a step, blinking hard. “So he’s…”

  “Alive,” Ares confirmed. “Conscious.

  Zara exhaled, slow and sharp, like she’d been holding it since the blast.

  Nyx turned away, wiping at her eyes. “Idiot,” she muttered. “Stupid, reckless idiot…”

  Zara glanced over, one brow raised, her expression unreadable, but the look said it all. You’re one to talk.

  “Well, at least he's still breathing. But what the hell is he doing down there?” Zara asked.

  Nyx tried for a smirk, but it barely held. “Reckless, as always. Bet you anyzing he’s down zere grinning zhrough the pain, like ‘oh la la, look at me, I am invincible.’”

  Ares paused. “Recent data indicates Commander Corvus is experiencing severe pain. Smiling would be… unlikely.”

  Nyx let out a brittle laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, Ares. It’s a figure of speech. It means he’s too stubborn to show weakness.”

  There was a brief pause, the ship quiet around them.

  Then Ares spoke again, his voice distant as new telemetry came in. “He’s on the move. Heading northwest from the blast site towards the urban center designated ‘New Vothar.’”

  Zara’s brow furrowed. “Urban center? So cartel turf.”

  Nyx groaned, dragging her hands through her hair. “Of course. Out of one fire and into anozer. He never takes a break, does he?”

  “I will continue to monitor his condition,” Ares said. “If necessary, I will prepare for rapid extraction.”

  Nyx gave a weak chuckle, worry still thick in her voice. “Typical Tim. But if he comes back with another limp, I swear I’ll smack him myself. You hear zat, Ares?”

  “Affirmative,” Ares replied. “I will log your threat for delivery upon his return.”

  “Perfect.” Nyx’s grin returned, faint but real. “Now we wait for ‘is grand reappearance. Probably singed, scowling, and acting like ‘e owns ze whole damn galaxy.”

  Silence settled between them. Just the hum of the ship, and the stars beyond.

  After a moment, Ares spoke again, softer this time. “Commander Corvus is resilient. He will return.”

  Nyx nodded slowly, curling tighter into the seat. “He better. Or I will kill ‘im myself.”