Ares disengaged the docking clamps.

  I felt the shuttle shudder, then jolt free from the Valkyrion’s hull like a shell fired from a chamber.

  “Initiating descent,” he said. “Try not to puke, Commander.”

  The thrusters kicked in and the shuttle punched forward, gravity grabbing hold like a debt collector. Kelthar-3 filled the viewport, blue-gray clouds swirling like bruises over green rot and black water.

  I strapped in tight and braced.

  The upper atmosphere hit like a brick wall.

  The shuttle shook violently, metal creaking as if it resented being here. Heat warnings blinked on the side console. Alarms stayed mercifully silent… for now.

  Flames streaked past the windows as friction peeled at the hull. The whole cabin vibrated, rattling like bolts were about to fly loose. My harness bit into my chest.

  “This thing always ride like a drunk rhino?” I muttered.

  Ares didn’t answer right away.

  Instead, his voice came back in a sharper tone. “Intercepted burst transmission. Encrypted chatter from the blacksite, talking about a 'schedule anomaly' and a 'security re-route.’”

  My eyes narrowed. “Talk to me, Ares.”

  “I’ve also got movement. Four heat signatures leaving the facility. On foot. Heading northeast, toward the Kallis settlement. Could be a recon team, could be... something else.”

  “Friendly?”

  “Doubtful. But maybe friendly to Officer Nellan.”

  Before I could respond, a high-pitched whine cut through the air, followed by Ares’ voice, low and grim.

  “Oh. Looks like we’ve already been made.”

  “What—”

  The blast hit me mid-sentence.

  A thunderous crack, then metal screamed.

  Something tore through the shuttle’s starboard side, shearing it like a soda can. A section of the wall peeled back into open sky. Atmosphere howled through the cabin, screaming like a banshee.

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  My seat lurched sideways. The whole frame spun. Sparks sprayed across the dash. The right engine coughed, sputtered, and died.

  I was weightless for half a second, then slammed hard back into the harness.

  “Brace for impact,” Ares said, his voice breaking up through static.

  The shuttle spun out of control, tumbling like dead weight toward the jungle below.

  Trees. Fire. Chaos.

  Then—

  Black.

  ***

  I came to in a mess of twisted steel and scorched bulkhead, the stench of smoke and ozone thick in my lungs. Every inch of my body ached.

  The remains of the Republic shuttle lay scattered around me, broken compartments, shredded paneling, a hull breach big enough to fly a dropship through. Black smoke bled into the sky, swallowed by the choking mist of the Kelthar-3 jungle.

  I groaned and forced myself to sit up. Pain shot through my ribs. Blood trickled down the side of my face, warm and sticky. My head rang like I’d headbutted a plasma coil.

  “Commander,” Ares’ voice buzzed in my ear. Glitchy, but alive. “Crash survival odds were below ten percent. You continue to defy math.”

  “Lucky me,” I muttered, coughing smoke. My hand came away red. Fantastic.

  Ares continued, calm as ever. “The four heat signatures I tracked earlier have deviated. They’re now moving northwest, toward a secondary relay point. Roughly one mile from your current location and closing.”

  “Still no ID?”

  “Negative,” Ares replied. “But if they’re affiliated with the same ghost division that tagged Astra’s last location, I’d advise extreme caution. You were supposed to arrive discreetly. Nellan wasn’t scheduled to crash and burn.”

  I staggered to my feet, catching myself on the twisted frame of the door. Pain flared up my side, but I kept moving. My duffel, still miraculously intact, was wedged between two crushed seats. I dragged it free and cracked it open.

  Inside: my armor, folded tight. Sidearm. Compact rifle. A few extra mags. And a couple toys for bad days.

  This was shaping up to be one.

  “The blacksite can wait,” I muttered, checking the chamber on the sidearm. “If these bastards are walking out of a classified facility in the middle of nowhere, they might be my best lead.”

  “Agreed,” Ares said. “But a reminder: this location isn’t random. One of Yuki’s shadow projects was tied to Kelthar-3. Codename redacted, but the metadata lines up with Astra’s last pinged coordinates. That’s what brought us here.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why the cartel would sell her out.”

  “Running scenario analysis. Top probabilities:

  Forty-two percent chance Astra became a liability. Knew too much, saw too much, got too ambitious.

  Thirty-one percent chance it was part of a trade, bodies for clearance, tech, or safe passage.

  Twelve percent chance they lost control of her and dumped her to cover it up.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Fifteen percent black swan event. Something even I can’t account for yet. But based on trajectory, someone inside this facility requested her. And someone paid.”

  The empty duffel was dead weight now. So were Nellan’s shredded uniform and ID badge. No sense leaving a paper trail, digital or otherwise.

  I dumped it all into the smoldering wreckage, watching fabric curl and blacken in the flames.

  “So someone in the Republic was in bed with the cartel.”

  “Possibly,” Ares replied. “Or they’re running the whole damn motel.”

  I exhaled through my nose. That sounded about right.

  Then I turned and disappeared into the brush, heading north, toward the jungle.

  Whatever Yuki’s project was, whatever they’d done to Astra... it started here.

  And I intended to finish it.