Page 17 of Marked By the Bounty Hunter

“You’re confused,” Kash cut in flatly. “There’s no record of any youth program because your child was never enrolled in one. Perhaps you should visit Medical, get some rest-”

“Don’t tell me I’m confused!” The whiskey glass rattled as her hand shook. “Ask the other families. Three children from our sector alone, all showing the same symptoms, all vanishing into this mythical ‘program.’ The broken bonds-”

“Ma’am.” Weber’s hand shot out to grip her upper arm. “This behavior is concerning. For your own safety, you need to come with us.”

“My own safety?” Her laugh held an edge of hysteria. “Like the ‘safety’ you promised the other children?”

Weber grabbed her arm. The movement was wrong - too strong, too controlled. Vami yanked free with a cry of pain.

“Please,” she begged the room. “Someone has to listen!”

But the other patrons turned away, fear rolling off them in waves. A Merrith family in the corner quietly gathered their things, disappearing into the shadows by the door. Someone turned up the music feed, drowning out Vami’s voice.

At the far end of the bar, a Nazok trader dropped his credit chip on the counter and slipped out. Even the usual gamblers at table six stopped their game, heads down, pretending not to notice. Only a young Poraki watched openly, his gills fluttering with anxiety.

Vami bolted for the door. The officers followed, their steps perfectly synchronized.

I wanted to reach for the stunner hidden under the bar, but that would only end with both of us disappeared. Better to be patient, to watch and listen. To find out where they were taking people like Vami. Sometimes staying alive meant swallowing back the bitter taste of cowardice.

The next few hours crawled by. I cleaned glasses that didn’t need cleaning, mixed drinks on autopilot, while fragments of conversation drifted past:

“...whole wing of Med Bay sealed off...”

“...my cousin in Engineering disappeared last week...”

From the corner, a group of Fanaith traders spoke in low voices:

“...they’re saying it’s contagious, quarantining whole sections...”

“...saw purple marks on Jensen’s arm yesterday...”

Always the same sectors. Always where the environmental controls had been modified.

The evening crowd thinned. A familiar gray-skinned figure slipped in, moving like any other customer.

“Landorian ale.” Tyrix’s fingers brushed mine as I handed him the drink. Heat sparked where we touched. We both froze for a heartbeat.

I moved along the bar, serving other customers, always drifting back to him. Each time our hands nearly touched, electricity crackled between us. When another patron approached, he shifted away smoothly, maintaining his cover. But I felt his eyes following me, saw his claws flex against the glass when officers passed by outside.

“Security’s increased around hydroponics,” he murmured during one pass, his voice low enough that only my closest regulars would hear - and they knew better than to listen. “Something big’s happening.”

I wiped the bar, letting myself drift closer. “A Selenthian, Vami was here earlier. Apparently her child vanished - and it’s not the only one. Breaking empathic bonds.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment his careful control slipped, showing the predator beneath. “Still no sign of that research bay. But I’m getting close.”

Two officers walked past outside. Tyrix shifted, casually blocking their view of his face. The warmth of him radiated across the small space between us.

“Careful,” I breathed.

“You too.” He paid and left, each movement calculated to draw no attention. I watched him go, missing his presence already.

The crowd thinned as shift change approached. In the sudden lull, the ventilation system’s hum seemed louder, wrong somehow. Shadows moved oddly in the corners, like something watching.

Something gleamed on the bar. I reached for Vami’s abandoned glass - and stopped. A small patch of bioluminescence clung to the rim. But not silver like a Selenthian’s natural glow.

It pulsed a sickly purple. The same purple I’d seen spreading across Xara’s dying body. As I watched, it seemed to grow, reaching tendrils across the glass.

My hands shook as I carefully wrapped the glass in a cleaning cloth. The metal walls of the station creaked around me, and for the first time in years, the familiar sounds felt threatening. Every shadow could hide a watcher. Every vent could carry more than just recycled air.

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