Page 16 of Primal Bond

"I do not care for food or music."

"Really? Then you need to go to one even more. You could broaden your horizons.”

“I doubt that.”

A soft chuckle echoed through the earpiece. “Come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Maybe try a hot dog or something.”

Zanik had no idea what that was. He stayed silent.

“Do Borraq even have comfort food? Something to take the edge off?” Finn continued, unfazed by his stony audience. “Maybe that’s your problem. You’re all business, no chill.”

Zanik’s patience wore thin, but he kept his expression neutral. “This isn’t a conversation I’m interested in having.”

Finn’s snort of laughter was soft but unmistakable. “You’re so serious all the time. Lighten up a bit. Who knows, maybe you’d actually crack a smile.”

Before Zanik could possibly respond to that, the door creaked open. Drezak's assistant reappeared, his face pale and eyes wide. “Drezak will see you now.”

Zanik pushed off the counter, his expression hardening once more. “Good.”

Zanik followed the assistant into the familiar back room of Drezak's shop. The musty air carried the scent of old engine parts and stale sweat, a combination that always madeZanik's nose wrinkle. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with an assortment of parts — new contraband, no doubt.

In the center stood a worn desk, its surface covered in datapads and half-finished devices. Drezak lounged behind it, his horns gleaming in the dim light. He cocked his head, a cautious smile playing on his lips. "Zanik, what an unexpected pleasure. Is there something you need?"

Before Zanik could respond, Finn's voice crackled through the earpiece, clear and confident. "That's him! That's the guy I saw with Rivek!"

In one fluid motion, Zanik unsheathed his blade. The metallic whisper of steel against leather was the only warning before he struck. With practiced precision, he drove the blade into Drezak's throat.

Drezak's eyes widened in shock, a gurgling sound escaping his lips as he clutched at his neck. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his golden skin crimson. He toppled backwards, chair clattering to the floor.

Zanik watched impassively as Drezak's life ebbed away, his face a mask of cold indifference. The kill had been clean, efficient – the mark of a trained warrior who had long since lost any qualms about taking life.

As Drezak's body stilled, Zanik turned his icy gaze to the assistant. The young Borraq stood frozen in the corner, terror etched across his features. His eyes darted between Zanik and the corpse of his former boss, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Zanik's voice was low and menacing as he addressed the trembling assistant. "This is what happens to anyone in this sector who chooses Rivek over me. Spread the word."

Without waiting for a response, Zanik wiped his blade clean on Drezak's shirt and sheathed it. A sense of satisfaction coursedthrough him, the thrill of violence momentarily sating the constant anger that simmered beneath his stoic exterior.

He strode out of the shop, his steps confident and purposeful.

The patrons of Korros Station barely spared him a glance, accustomed to the occasional outburst of violence. Those who did look quickly averted their eyes, not wanting to draw the attention of a figure like Zanik.

His body thrummed with adrenaline. The kill had been clean, efficient, and deeply satisfying. His predatory instincts purred contentedly, reveling in the swift justice he'd delivered.

Finn's eager voice crackled through the earpiece. "Holy shit… That was incredible! The way you just took him out without even saying anything! That was brutal."

Zanik's steps faltered, his blood suddenly running cold. The satisfaction that had coursed through him moments ago evaporated, leaving a hollow pit in his stomach.

"I mean, I've never seen anyone move that fast," Finn continued, his voice filled with eager awe. "You're like a living weapon. It's amazing."

Zanik clenched his jaw, the words stinging more than they should. When had he become this person, capable of such ruthless efficiency? The answer lay buried in the past, in the years of war that had shaped him into a weapon.

Once, he had been a warrior with honor, fighting to protect his people.

Now, he was a smuggler, killing in cold blood to protect his profits.

He halted abruptly, his hands balling into fists. “Don’t, Finn.”

The line went silent. The sudden absence of Finn’s voice was unsettling.

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