Page 241 of Filthy Royal

“Identify yourself immediately,” the voice blared, “or you will be shot down.”

No, no, no.

The Federation sector of the Anarcheim Galaxy was a subset of hells unto itself.

Not that she or the ship she was on would ever reach it.

Everyone knew Federation airspace was on serious lockdown. Some said it was for safety reasons, but the truth was the shield mostly served as a blockade to keep its subjects in. There were plenty of horror stories of souls trying—and failing—to get out. But almost no stories about fools attempting to get in.

And yet, as she watched, Darvish continued piloting straight there.

The sector was notorious. No one visited just for fun. All of its Alphas, except those in the Federation military, and all its omegas, were required to take suppression drugs to limit population growth and reduce aggression. There were stories of trials, public floggings, stocks, and daily executions. It was said, too, that the only way anyone ever left the sector was on a slave ship. Her friend Tess was proof those stories were far from just rumors.

So what was Darvish up to?

She’d read enough to know the barricade was equipped with defense drones that wouldn’t hesitate to neutralize any threat in a heartbeat.

The alarms inside the ship blared louder. “Identify. You have five… four…”

Darvish tapped something into the console.

“Apologies. Clearance accepted,” intoned the same robotic voice as before. “Please proceed. Welcome.”

Anya allowed herself a couple of long, slow, deep breaths. But she had little time for relief—or to mull over why Darvish would have access codes to enter Fed airspace—as the reality of her situation struck.

The Federation barricade acted not only as a shield but also as a blanket, neutralizing all outside comms—and trackers.

There was no way for her brothers to trace her now.

She took a few more deep breaths, then surveyed what she could see of the landscape through the viewing panels at the front of the cockpit.

Everywhere she looked, drab, angular structures made of dull, gray metal sprawled as far as the eye could see. There was nothing beautiful about the place. Or even alive. It looked dead, as if all the vitality had been sucked from the place.

And in the center of the city—right where Darvish was headed—stood a massive, gray circular building that towered over the rest, its fifty stories casting a vast shadow in all directions.

Anya’s stomach clenched.

She knew the building. It was the notorious Federation Detention Center.

It was said that many Federation citizens spent time there, either in the reeducation and correctional unit, the interrogation unit, or in solitary lockup—from which few returned.

No one had ever broken out of the prison.

Her brother Maxheim had come closest, freeing himself and his omega, Tess, while in transit to the place. But rumor had it that they’d increased security during transit and at the facility since then.

“Warning.” The automated shuttle voice blared again. “You are entering Federation Detention Center airspace. Only authorized employees may proceed. If you do not have permission to enter Detention Center airspace, turn back immediately.”

Even worse.

Still, it didn’t surprise her when Darvish returned to typing, and the alarms ceased.

“Thank you. Please proceed.”

Anya sucked down a deep breath as the ominous building loomed closer.

If Zaya was imprisoned there, no wonder it had been impossible to find her.

But sometimes, it took an omega to get the job done.

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