The medbay door hissed shut behind me, sealing Seraphina’s still form away like a ghost haunting a tomb. Mara stepped behind me, her boots echoing mine in the sterile corridor. I slowed, catching her reflection in the polished alloy walls. Her face was a mask—eyes forward, jaw set, the scar along her temple a pale slash against her skin.

  “You don’t have to follow me everywhere, you know,” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “I’m not planning to charge into another firefight today.”

  Her gaze flicked to me, then away. “Orders.”

  I sighed, turning a corner toward the hangar lifts. “Right. Theon’s orders. Because I’m a liability now.”

  “Yes. I don’t like this any more than you do. Do you think I want to play babysitter for you? A baron with a death wish?”

  The bluntness stung. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, the weight of Jax’s words still fresh in my mind. You chose her ghost over us.

  The lift doors opened to the cacophony of the hangar bay—a symphony of clanging metal, shouting engineers, and the ozone tang of welding torches. The Razorwing crouched at the far end, its angular hull gleaming under repair lights.

  Zara stood atop the ship’s port wing, her silhouette sharp against the glare of overhead lamps. A hydrospanner jutted from her belt, and her braid swung like a pendulum as she barked orders at a crew recalibrating the thrusters. The bandage peeking beneath her sleeve was a stark reminder of the shrapnel wounds Jax had thrown in my face.

  I hesitated, then climbed the scaffold to meet her. Mara lingered below, a silent shadow.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” I said, raising my voice over the din.

  Zara didn’t turn. “And you’re supposed to be governing. Guess we’re both terrible at following orders.” She jabbed the hydrospanner at a misaligned panel. “Careful, Rinn! You fry those circuits, and I’ll feed you to the recycler!”

  The engineer flinched, muttering an apology. I leaned against the wing’s edge, the metal still warm from engine tests. “We need to talk.”

  “About what? How did your little crusade nearly get me killed?” She finally faced me, her eyes flinty. A smudge of grease streaked her cheekbone like war paint. “Or how you dragged us all into this without an idea of the risks.”

  I flinched. “I came to apologise.”

  Zara scoffed, hopping down to the scaffold. “Save it for Jax. He’s the one you gutted.”

  “I’m trying to fix this.”

  “By apologising?” She whirled, jabbing a finger at my chest. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some flashy sim where you reset the board after a bad round. People died. I almost died. And you—” Her voice cracked. “You didn’t even look back.”

  The hangar’s noise faded to a dull roar. My throat tightened. “I… I thought if I found Seraphina, it’d make up for everything. For the people. For the rebels. For you.”

  Zara’s anger faltered. She stared at me, then sagged against the scaffold rail. “You really are an idiot.”

  “Jax said the same thing.”

  “He’s right.” She wiped her hands on a rag, the motion rough, unsteady. “But you’re not the only one who makes stupid choices for people they care about.”

  I followed her gaze to the Razorwing’s cockpit—the seat where I’d watched Captain Thorne and the crew of the Vanguard give their lives for me. The ship’s stabilisers hummed faintly, a sound I’d memorised like a heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry, Zara,” I said quietly. “For all of it.”

  She was silent for a long moment. Her gaze flicked away, jaw clenched, the rag twisting in her hands. Then, with a grunt, she tossed the rag at my face. “Apology accepted. Now get up there and help me realign the nav array.”

  A startled laugh escaped me. “Since when do you need help?”

  “Since you owe me.” She climbed back onto the wing, her smirk fleeting but genuine. “And stop moping. Seraphina’s tough. I’m sure she’ll wake up just to yell at you.”

  I grabbed a toolkit and trailed her to the cockpit. Below, Mara watched, her expression unreadable. As I tightened a loose panel, the Razorwing’s familiar scent of oil and recycled air wrapped around me—a fragile anchor in the storm.

  Zara’s voice cut through my thoughts. “We’re patching the ship for a reason, you know. Theon’s planning a recon run to the storm plains. Says there’s something out there we missed.”

  I froze. “And you’re okay with that?”

  She shot me a look. “I’m okay with flying. The rest?” Her wrench clanged against metal, a punctuation. “That’s your mess to fix, Baron.”

  “Fair,” I nodded. “I only hope I can fix it. But before that, I need to go for a small trip.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Zara turned and stared at me, eyes narrowing. “A trip where, Alex?”

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Nothing dangerous, I swear. Just a short hop to one of the ORCs.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “An ORC? Care to elaborate?”

  I chuckled. “Sorry. Been around Theon too long.”

  Mara cut in before I could explain. “ORC stands for Orbital Rail Cannon. It’s one of Drakara’s primary defences. Each ORC round measures 2.5 meters in diameter and nearly 20 meters long, a dense multi-metal shell with onboard guidance fins.”

  I watched as Zara’s jaw dropped, probably imagining a cannon the size of a shuttle. Mara continued like she was reading a spec sheet. “Each ORC round—”

  “Okay, okay,” I laughed, holding up a hand. “I think she gets the picture.”

  Mara looked at me in annoyance. “But I didn’t even mention the Multi-stage Kinetic Kill Vehicles—”

  “Mara,” I warned her.

  I sighed as Mara crossed her arms, looking at Zara as she blinked, processing, then gave a slow whistle. For a second, nobody said anything. The weight of what Mara had just described hung in the air like static before a storm. Then, as if shaking it off, Zara arched a brow at me, that familiar spark creeping back into her eyes.

  Zara leaned against the cockpit’s edge, her grease-streaked arms crossed. “So… An ORC, huh? Let me guess—you want to eyeball the one that nearly got fried during the Kragthar scare?”

  “Bingo,” I said, tossing the hydrospanner back into the toolkit. “Theon’s reports say the targeting arrays are glitching. If the Kragthar do come back, I’d rather not find out our big guns are blind.”

  She snorted. “And you’re suddenly an artillery expert?”

  “No. But I am the guy who signs off on repair budgets. And let me tell you. Your ship repair costs aren’t even a rounding error compared to these cannons.” I smirked as her eyes narrowed—a cheap shot, but effective. “Come on, Zara. You’ve been cooped up here for weeks. Don’t tell me you’re not itching to stretch the Razorwing’s wings.”

  A ship’s engines hummed faintly nearby, and the sounds of the hangar seemed to roar back to life. Zara stared at the cockpit controls, her fingers twitching toward the ignition panel. Finally, she cursed under her breath. “One hour. Meet me back here suited up, or I leave your bureaucratic ass behind.”

  I nodded before I turned and set off out of the Razorwing and across the hangar. I didn’t want to give Zara the chance to change her mind. Stars knew she could’ve told me no—and honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed her. But I was grateful she wasn’t holding too much anger.

  A few minutes later, I turned the corner to my quarters. I could sense Mara wasn't happy with me, almost like we were having a silent standoff. She matched my pace as I looked back, her gloved hand resting on her holstered pulse pistol.

  “You’re not going to tell Theon?” she said flatly as I shoved open my chamber doors.

  I yanked off my jacket, tossing it onto the bed. “And give him another reason to lecture me about ‘protocol’? Pass.” Besides, I knew if I stopped to think about what seeing her like that was doing to me, I wouldn’t move at all.

  She blocked the doorframe, her stance rigid. “This isn’t a supply run, Alex. If that cannon’s systems are compromised, it’s a security risk. Theon needs to—”

  “Theon needs to trust that I can handle a damn sight seeing inspection.” I grabbed a fresh flight suit from the closet, my voice sharpening. “Or did you forget who’s in charge here?”

  Mara’s jaw tightened. I thought she’d draw her weapon for a heartbeat—not to threaten, but to make a point. Instead, she pulled out her comm, fingers flying over the holographic interface.

  “What are you doing?” I snapped.

  “My job.” She didn’t look up. “If you won’t inform command, I will.”

  I lunged for the comm, but she sidestepped effortlessly, her movements crisp with military precision. The message sent tone chirped, echoing like a verdict.

  “Traitor,” I muttered, half grudging, half amused.

  “Bodyguard,” she corrected, holstering the device. “Now, hurry up. Zara’s not known for waiting around. And Theon will order a squad to escort you as we speak.”

  I didn’t bother replying—what was the point? The message was sent, and the storm was already moving. I got ready as fast as I could. Twenty minutes later, Mara stalked ahead of me, all sharp lines and silent judgment, while I trailed her through the dim corridors.

  Every step echoed with the weight of what I wasn’t saying. And still, underneath the annoyance, the pushback, the protocol talk—I could tell she wasn’t about to let me do this alone. It felt good despite not knowing her for more than the few weeks I had been on Drakara. Despite her not being Jax, I thought that I could trust her even if she was a stickler for rules.

  When we reached the hangar again, the Razorwing stood prepped and ready, bathed in amber light. Zara was already in the cockpit, running her pre-flight checks like we hadn’t just talked her into possible trouble for me taking off again. I blew out a breath, squared my shoulders, and climbed aboard.

  The Razorwing’s engines thrummed like a caged beast as we settled in, Mara securing the cargo hatch with a series of practised clicks. Zara’s voice crackled over the intercom: “Strap in, kids. This’ll be a quick hop, not a pleasure cruise.”

  I slid into the co-pilot’s seat, my fingers brushing the nav console’s familiar grooves. Zara shot me a sidelong glance. “Try not to touch anything. Last time you ‘helped,’ we ended up in a debris field.”

  “That was one time! And that time wasn’t even my fault.”

  Zara gave me a look. “And yet, my insurance premiums remember.”

  “I pay those insurance premiums now,” I muttered as Mara took position behind us, her posture rigid even as the ship lurched upward. The hangar bay’s forcefield shimmered, the storm-plagued sky swallowing us whole.

  Zara’s hands danced across the controls, her smirk sharp. “ORC-12, was it? Let’s see if Drakara’s pride and joy are as impressive as the specs say. Say. Mara. Why does Drakara have these ORC? I've been to alot of planets that don't have this sort of firepower.”

  “They were one of the first things built. Records show that the Space elevator and the spire at its base were built simultaneously.” Said Mara. “Drakara is one of the largest mines for both Zephyrium and Pyronium.”

  I looked at Mara for a second as my brain played catch-up. “Those two metals are used–”

  “In everything. This ship wouldn’t even be flying without them.” Finished Zara before gasping. “Oh wow. Those cannons are massive.”

  As the Razorwing pierced the cloud layer, the orbital cannon came into view—a monolith of blackened steel and glowing conduits, its barrel aimed eternally at the stars. Mara leaned forward, her reflection ghostly in the viewscreen.

  “Approach vector clear,” she murmured. “No energy signatures. It’s… dormant. The crew operating it isn’t responding.”

  “That can't be a good thing,” I muttered. The cannon’s targeting array should’ve been pulsing with idle scans. Instead, it sat dark, a slumbering giant.

  Zara whistled low. “Well, Baron? You wanted a field trip. Let’s see what’s got your pet cannon playing dead.”

  “It’s not my pet,” I said, sighing as the Razorwing banked, its shadow skimming the ORC’s scarred hull.

  Somewhere below, Theon’s security team was probably mobilising. But here, in the eye of the storm, there was only the ship, the silence, and the gnawing sense that whatever had gone wrong with ORC-12 wasn’t an accident.