Page 26 of Third

When they reached the hangar bay, smoke had already begun to choke the high ceilings, casting the enormous space in a sickly haze. The emergency lighting was failing, flickering in broken pulses across the polished floor. At the far end, his ship stood like a shadow amidst the chaos—distant, motionless, and their only wayout.

Theyran.

A support beam collapsed in front of them, slamming into the floor with an impact that sent tremors through their legs. They veered around it, lungs burning, feet slipping on the dust-slick metal.

A fireball burst from a nearby maintenance tunnel, the concussive force knocking them sideways. Anya hit the floor hard but rolled, catching herself on her palms. Tor’Vek was there instantly, hauling her to her feet as more explosions echoed behindthem.

The ship felt impossibly far, like a mirage at the end of a collapsing world. Every step became a battle—legs numb, lungs searing, the weight of the crumbling base pressing down around them like a tidal wave of heat and smoke. Alarms shrieked overhead in fractured bursts, each one snapping through the air like a countdown to death. Time and gravity conspired against them, dragging their feet, staggering their rhythm. But they pushed forward, because there was no other option. Because stopping meant dying.

And they refused todie.

He reached the access panel of his ship first, lungs dragging air like fire through his throat. He shoved it open and slapped the control screen—nothing. The panel sparked, then went dark, unresponsive under his hand. For a heartbeat, it felt toolate.

The silence that followed was crushing, filled with the shriek of circuitry and the thunder of approaching collapse. He slammed the heel of his hand against the panel again, desperation clawing just beneath the surface.

This was their exit. Their only escape. And it wasn’t responding. For one brief, brutal second, he imagined Anya’s body in flames, his own pinned beneath debris, the bond severed by fire and steel—and that image alone sent another surge of force through his limbs.

“No,” he growled, tapping into the rage that simmered so close to the surface, and slammed his palm into the override node with a force that cracked the panel casing. The emergency circuit whined, then clicked.

The blast doors hissed and parted.

He boosted Anya up the ramp before she could argue, gripping her by the waist and hoisting her bodily through the opening as smoke and sparks churned behind them. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase until she caught the edge and pulled herself in. He didn’t wait for thanks, didn’t check if she was steady. There was no time for gentleness. Only survival.

Metal screamed behind them, the shrill agony of tearing infrastructure echoing through the hangar like a death knell. Beams cracked, walls buckled, and a column of flame erupted near the base entrance, silhouetting Tor’Vek for a heartbeat in searing gold before he lunged forward.

He dove through the entry as the corridor collapsed in a roar of dust andfire.

The hatch sealed.

But they weren’t safe yet. Not until the ship lifted off, not until the inferno behind them was nothing more than a fading smear in the sky. Anything less was still within Selyr’s reach.

Tor’Vek didn’t wait to exhale. He spun toward the cockpit, fingers flying across the startup sequence. The ship groaned in protest, systems slow to initialize, lights flickering across the console like dying stars. Anya dropped into the copilot seat beside him, her breath ragged, arms wrapped tight around her midsection.

“Come on,” he muttered, going through a list of possible variables and likely issues. “Come on.”

For one harrowing second, nothing happened. Asick weight dropped into Tor’Vek’s gut. What if Selyr had disabled the launch protocols? What if the entire hangar—ship included—was part of the test’s final purge?

He slammed his fist into the console, not out of panic, but sheer refusal combined with rage. This ship would fly. It had to. Anya shifted beside him, her breath ragged, her fingers locking around the edge of her seat. She said nothing, but he felt her gaze flick to the console, then to him. She had no illusions about the danger—not after what they’d just survived. And though her body trembled from exertion, her faith in him was absolute. It didn’t need to be spoken. It lived between them, threaded through the bond like a silent vow: he would get themout.

Then the engines roared tolife.

A low vibration spread beneath their feet, stabilizers engaging as the ship lifted off the deck. Through the viewport, the hangar was a cathedral of fire—support beams collapsing, debris crashing, the blast wave gaining speed.

“Hold on,” Tor’Veksaid.

The ship launched into the sky just as the firestorm consumed the structure below, the blast catching the undercarriage and flinging them into the atmosphere like a stone from a slingshot.

The base exploded.

A bloom of light and fury filled the viewscreen, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.

Only then did Tor’Vek say, quietly, finally:

“Now, we are safe.”

Chapter7

ANYA SATperched on the edge of the pilot’s bench, arms around her knees, trying to breathe past the ringing in her ears. The world hadn’t stopped burning. It had just changed shape. The heat and panic still lived under her skin, even though the flames were gone. Even though they’d made it out alive.

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