Page 48 of Primal Bond

“I know,” Finn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just... want to get this done. I want Rivek to pay.”

Zanik understood the fire in Finn's voice. The human’s rage mirrored his own. But they had to be smart about it.

“Trust me,” Zanik said, voice firm. “We’ll get him. But we can't just sit at the club every day. It'll be suspicious.”

Finn nodded, though his jaw clenched. “I just want him to pay for what he did.”

Zanik softened, his stoic facade slipping. “He will. I promise you.” He felt a surge of protectiveness. “Just keep your head clear. We can’t afford mistakes. Be a patient hunter.”

Finn let out a shaky breath, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. “Alright. I’ll try.”

Zanik placed a hand on Finn's shoulder, squeezing gently. “Good. We’re in this together, remember that.” He felt Finn's warmth under his palm, grounding him. "Rest up. Get some nutrition and some sleep."

Finn shot him a look laced with wickedness. "And who exactly was it that kept me from sleeping last night?"

Damn. There was that ache in his chest again.

After a moment, Zanik stepped back, forcing himself to maintain distance. "Eat," he chided Finn. "I want to see a quarter of those protein rations gone by tonight."

Finn groaned, then shot Zanik a lazy mock salute. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Zanik turned away, heading toward the bridge. Once alone there, Zanik sat in the captain’s chair, staring at the stars beyond the Ironclad's viewport. His mind wandered back to Jasper’s question from the night before:when he found himself face to face with Rivek, how would he take him down?

He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Rivek was ruthless, cunning. Zanik's strength was undeniable, but so was Rivek's. Zanik was more than willing to simply challenge Rivek in traditional combat, but unlike most of the Borraq in this cursed sector, going up against Rivek was no simple matter. Zanikcursed under his breath. If only the bastard was weak and cowardly.

Zanik stood from the captain's chair, stretching his muscles. The bridge felt too small, too confining. He needed to move.

He stretched — when without thinking, his body moved into a familiar stance. It took him a moment to realize what he was doing. Old clan warrior drills. How long had it been since he'd last practiced?

He shifted his weight, flowing into the next position. His muscles protested, unused to the movements. Zanik grimaced.

"Pathetic," he muttered to himself.

He'd let himself get soft. Sure, he was still strong — smuggling wasn't exactly a job for soft men. But this was different. These were the movements ingrained in him since childhood, the very essence of what it meant to be Borraq.

Zanik pushed through, forcing his body to remember. Each stance brought back memories. Training with Airen, both of them barely more than pups. The pride in his father's eyes when Zanik mastered a particularly difficult sequence.

Zanik growled, pushing the thought away. He focused on his movements, on the burn in his muscles.

What would the clan think of me now?he thought bitterly.Their once-proud warrior, fumbling through basic drills like a young boy.

His hand twitched, missing the familiar weight of his blade — not the simple one that he carried now, but his true clan blade. Most Borraq preferred close combat to guns. A clan blade was personal, an extension of the warrior.

Zanik's own had been passed down through generations. The blade had been a part of him, a symbol of honor and respect. He could still picture it, the intricate engravings along the hilt, the weight of it in his hand.

He had left it behind after the war, locked away in a chest of memories.

He'd put it behind when he'd abandoned his home.

Zanik stood on the bridge, the small space feeling even more confined as he moved through the familiar stances. Each kick, each strike, brought back memories he’d buried deep. He ground his teeth, forcing his body to remember the fluidity of his movements, the strength of his clan's teachings.

He snapped into a series of jabs, each punch punctuating his frustration. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words and memories he couldn’t shake.

Maybe Icouldgo back.

The thought flickered through his mind like a light in the dark. What would it feel like to return? Would he be welcomed as a hero, or would they just see the fallen criminal he'd become?

Zanik twisted into a strike, imagining the faces of his clan. Would they even recognize him?

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