Page 68 of New World

But he doesn’t know who.

She watched as he slipped into a bar, its entrance hidden beneath a canopy of thick vines and twisted metal lanterns.

Mei hesitated, considering her options.

She had been in his head for weeks now, forcing him to question his own dominance. She had rattled him, made him second-guess himself.

Now?

Now it was time to turn that whisper of doubt into a roar.

Adjusting her cloak, she strode forward.

And entered the bar.

17

The skidder hummed beneath Zoak as he approached Kryla’s west gate, the small hovercraft kicking up wisps of dust as it glided over the cracked, sunbaked ground. He preferred it this way—quiet, unnoticed, slipping into the settlement like a shadow instead of drawing attention with a direct ship landing.

The desert winds howled in the distance, stirring the tall metal containment walls that loomed over Kryla’s perimeter, shielding it from the violent sandstorms that could rip across the region in an instant. The west gate was manned by two guards, but they barely glanced up as the skidder drifted past, the automated scanning system briefly flaring before allowing him entry.

He concealed his skidder behind a low wall, securing it, before he stepped out and adjusted his hood, tugging the fabric lower over his face. The streets of Kryla were alive with activity—traders, merchants, and travelers weaving through the market, the ground lights casting a dim, golden hue over the stone-paved walkways. It was a perfect hunting ground.

But not yet.

Not until Dorane LeGaugh arrived.

Zoak moved without hurry, his keen eyes sweeping the alleyways, balconies, rooftops—cataloging potential escape routes, ambush points, places to stage a kill. He memorized the settlement’s layout, mentally marking its choke points, shadowed corridors, and blind spots.

His plan was simple.

He would wait until Dorane and the female left the ship. Then he would destroy the vessel, using the explosion as cover. During the confusion, he would strike—knocking Dorane out, removing him from the equation before the female even knew what was happening.

Then, he would take Dorane somewhere private.

Somewhere he could make an example of him.

And when she came for him—because she would—she would walk straight into the trap.

He relished the thought of her face contorted in helplessness, forced to watch Dorane die first before he turned his attention to her.

The female would suffer last.

The thought sent a slow, dark pleasure curling through his chest as he moved through the crowded settlement.

He was halfway to the landing pads when it hit him.

A shift in the air.

The familiar, slow prickle down his spine.

Someone was watching him.

Zoak stilled, his gait subtly shifting into a predatory glide as he scanned the street. The marketplace was alive with bodies—Torrians, Tesla Terrans, Aetherialans, and other species haggling, arguing, laughing—but nothing seemed out of place.

Yet the feeling didn’t leave.

If anything, it grew stronger.

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