Page 68 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
“Snowblossom stands. We do not forget our own.” My words loop across subspace, broadcasting pirate style across every newswire and signal net.
My breath skips as the message repeats three times. I shut down the beacon. The lights flicker. Silence descends. My chest aches in that triumphant, terrified moment before the world reacts.
Inside the hangar-size comm room, screens begin to flash with incoming pings. Then a single tweet icon pops up. Someone shares it. And suddenly hundreds more. Within minutes, our slogan blazes across Holonet feeds—#SnowblossomStands trending among ex-colonies and rebel cells.
Engineers cheer. The colonists swarm the street below, faces stunned and exultant. I watch them flood the square, fists raised, hearts newly alight. They seeus—real, not polished. Not propaganda.
But I taste fear in the back of my throat. Because I know they’ll want to trace the blast. I left fingerprints in code. The Alliance bureaucracy will track it.
That night, I find Dayn pacing behind his holding cell in one of the transport decks repurposed as secure rooms. His hands curl into fists when he sees the signal flooding across a holo-panel. Green-tinged interface reflected in his amber eyes.
“Heard you made a splash,” he says. More statement than question.
I step inside the cell, running a hand through my hair. The air still tastes of antiseptic, but tonight it hums with defiance. “Lost in a moment of excitement.”
His mouth quirks into that dangerous smile—the one that saysI’m proud, but oh, you’ve done something crazy again.He doesn’t say anything else. It’s enough.
A guard appears at the window—eyes shifting between us. I hold my gaze until he backs away.
Dayn moves to the bars. “You’re relentless.”
“I need you to come home,” I answer. “I need them to know why I’m fighting.”
He rubs thumb along velvet steel mesh. “You broadcast us as heroes.”
“We are.” I reach to his hand, fingers brushing cold metal, touching the man I love through the divide. “Because we are.”
He studies me—slow and intense. “Then remember: heroes have to be free. Not boxed away.”
I nod, breath trembling. “I know.”
He steps back. Silence stretches between us—grafted with guilt, promise, aching hope.
I leave before dawn, stepping into a new day. Reporters swarm, but I meet every camera with the same calm steel tone. Quiet announcements, praise for “a symbol of hope.” I answer questions with well-crafted care. Every question I anticipate.
Inside, I carry the biggest truth: that message beacon hack. That signal wasn’t just rebellion—it was a rope between us.
Even if they trace it to me.
And at the end of the day, when the holos dim and the pressure builds, I whisper under my breath: “Hold on, love.”
Because right now, we are the story they can't erase—and I’m not done broadcasting us.
A sharp rapping at my door rattles me awake in the pre-dawn hush, the whisper of my breath in the dark louder than usual. My stomach drops—a sense of foreboding I can’t shake. I swing the door open. Dowron stands there, silhouette backlit by dim corridor lights, coat immaculate, expression unreadable. For a moment, the world grinds to hush.
“Morning,” he says, voice soft—an anomaly for him. He holds a sealed envelope marked with classified-clearance stripes. “Thought you’d want to see this first.”
Inside, the memos are bald and opaque: The Hellfighters have requested a new operative. No trial. No acquittal. Just reassignment status with immediate release. And that operative… is Dayn.
My fingers tremble as I let the papers slip from my hand. Dowron takes a step forward, gaze steady.
“He did… what needed to be done,” he says quietly, eyes locking mine. “He’s free—leased to the Hellfighters. You’ll both have clearance.”
I swallow against a flood of emotion—relief, rage at the bureaucracy, triumph, grief. I stare at Dowron’s placid face. “You… rode us out of the fire again?”
He shrugs, practised cool. “Results matter. But so do the right players at the right time. You both earned your place at the table.”
My heartbeat hammers:Table.It’s not a cage.
