Page 104 of Akur

If Kon-stahns hadn’t been there…if she hadn’t saved him…he’d have been completely blinded by nothing but bloodlust.

And that wasn’t the way to end this war.

Rising on unsteady legs, he began searching the small vessel. His steps were silent, instincts taking over, but the ship was quiet, the hum of its engines the only sound. He checked the trajectory on the console, sharp eyes scanning the navigation display.

They were on course, heading toward a neutral zone—one of the few places where they might find refuge. Relief washed over him, but it was fleeting. Neutral zone or not, the Tasqals weren’t going to simply let Kon-stahns go. They wouldn’t stop till they had what they wanted.

And what they wanted was her.

This wasn’t over yet.

Turning his attention back to the ship’s interior, he began searching for supplies. They were sparse—medical kits, water flasks, and a few ration packs stored in a compartment near the cockpit. He grabbed a flask, his gaze darting back to Kon-stahns. She hadn’t moved.

He crouched beside her again. Dipping a strip of cloth into the water, he began cleaning her wounds. She didn’t stir, not even when he pressed the damp cloth against the cut on her temple or the one on her shoulder.

“You’ve done enough,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “It’s my turn now.”

Her lips parted slightly, a soft breath escaping her, and he froze. But she remained asleep. Slowly, he resumed his work, his hands steady despite the tremor of exhaustion in his limbs.

She looked so small, so fragile, but he knew better. She was the strongest being he’d ever encountered. Stronger than him, in many ways.

This wasn’t weakness—to care so deeply, to let some other being become a part of him. It was strength. A different kind of strength. The strength to fight for something more than revenge or survival.

Easing up from where he crouched watching her, his gaze shifted to the viewscreen. He didn’t know why he stared at the void. Wasn’t sure what had twigged his awareness.

Standing now, his brow tightened.

This was just a small cargo ship. Old. Worn. Without the usual instruments of more modern vessels. All he had was the path toward Hudo III. One the ally Tasqal had plotted and set the vessel on. But something was…different.

His nefre twitched as he moved over to the controls, peering through the viewscreen at the void beyond. There was no way to check exactlywhathad changed. All he had to rely on was his instincts. Instincts that had kept him alive for so long and would keepheralive, too.

The sharp chirp of an incoming transmission shattered the silence. Akur’s head snapped up, muscles tensing as the console’s warning light pulsed an angry red. A message.

Heavily encrypted, but with a signature that was unmistakable.

The Restitution.

But that was impossible. He and Constance were essentially off the grid. No one knew where they were. No one knew they were even alive.

Unless…

His fingers flew across the controls, decoding protocols on a vessel not meant to receive such a message. It took forever, each click like an eternity as the message decrypted. When the text finally resolved, his blood ran cold.

TASQAL PURSUIT VESSELS DETECTED. THREE WARSHIPS, HEADING 2.7.4. ENTERING YOUR SECTOR. GET OUT. NOW.

Frowning at the message, he stared at it.

Below the warning were coordinates, a location deep in the dark reaches—completely in the opposite direction to where they were heading now.

Was this some kind of trick?

No. How would the Tasqals know the Restitution’s signature?

He stared at the message longer, uncertainty making him pause.

After encountering that rogue Tasqal, something he’d have thought impossible if he hadn’t been there in the flesh, he wasn’t so sure what to believe anymore.

Apparently, everything was possible.

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