Page 44 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
He reaches for me, voice quiet: “They vanish because he’s afraid ofus.Not because of something you did wrong.”
I shove my palms into the table, eyes burning. “They vanishbecauseof us.” My voice breaks. “I built weapons. I built traps. I made devices to hurt the Vortaxians—andthesepeople paid.”
Heat erupts in my chest—rage and guilt snaking until my legs tremble. I lunge for my toolkit. “Then we build somethingtheycan’t ignore.”
Dayn grips my arm. Patience in his touch, but steel in his eyes. “We’ll build it. Together.”
I yank a crate open. Tools scatter: drills, capacitors, bearing blocks. I inhale the tang of oil, the promise of metal reformed.
“We need noise,” I say, voice frantic. “Louder. Brutal. Obvious. A blaze in the night that says:Thisis who you’re fighting.”
I pound my fist into the crate. “Flares in the corridors. Siren-traps in the supply shafts. Plasma nets that fry the first boot that dares cross the eastern ridge corners.”
My voice trembles, but Dayn presses closer—let’s the fire burn, but plants a steady hand. “Good. But we don’t get blooded tonight.”
I glance at him, eyes shining. “I don’t plan reckless. Justvisible.”
He nods, fists flexing. “Then start building.”
The lab explodesinto frantic creation. My hands work faster than I can think—wiring salvo triggers, tweaking audio loops, reprogramming decoys for maximum chaos. Each device is born from grief, fear, and fierce defiance. They’re horror shows for Vortaxian souls.
Dayn stands by the bench, feeding tools, monitoring wire integrity, offering quiet corrections: “Cover that cruise gate. Cam sensor on the ground.” His voice is partnership wielded as armor.
I glance at him, furious and focused. “You sure you want to play this wild?”
He meets my eye. “You make me want to be wild.” He grins. “Besides…it’s brilliant.”
I bite back a smile. Even in the dim of post-raid fear, his faith steadies me.
As dawn cracks, we haul box after crate out into prepped hideaways. Sweat drips in salty ropes down my collarbone, oil stains cinch to my gloves. I slip a final homemade siren sensor under the supply hatch.
The first crate touches the earth.
I step back and swallow.
Dayn lifts me into a hug—warm and alive. “If this fails…”
I cut him off in a whisper. “If.”
We stand together in silence—the war-wound of missing people a chord we hate, a tremor that drives our resolve harder.
Rain clouds gather on the horizon, heavy with threat and release.
And I—messy, furious, brilliant—hold my toolkit like a vow.
Because this night…the one they’llnotforget.
CHAPTER 11
DAYN
Cold settles along my spine as I step out into the night. The air is thick with wet dust and the drugged lull of a colony trying to sleep through terror. I can taste the anguish on the wind—burnt copper and broken faith. Breath hangs heavy, the only soundtrack to the sting in my mind.
I watch Josie inside the workshop, her silhouette hunched over circuits, the furor in her working stance like a starshock. I’ve seen grief. I’ve been grief. I’ve bled for revenge, sharpened it like a blade. But this—what Kernal’s pulling—this is something darker. Controlled cruelty wrapped as “order,” echoing an old Shorcu massacre I escaped years ago. And silence will not stop it.
So I leave the warmth of her fire, stepping into shadows I once knew as home. My image inducer hides me, but the scales beneath itch for exposure. Tonight, I let them breathe.
The officer’s quarters sit on the rim of the base like a rotten fang. I move with predator grace, tendons taught. Each breath folds into night, careful, predatory. I disable the lock—a quick twist of wire and pulse. The door clicks shut behind me.
