Chapter 14 · White Flags, Black Knives

Alto didn't go back to the pit barracks. He walked straight out into the market dust with that kill-order number burning behind his eyes.

Lira's father.

The general who signed the Ashmar wipe had a daughter, and she'd been patching him up for three weeks like he was some charity project she could fix with thread and clean water.

He should've seen it. The way she talked about reform. The way she said the federation could be better. People who believed that had never watched their family burn.

"Alto."

Her voice came from behind him. He didn't stop.

"Alto, wait."

Footsteps in the sand. Fast ones. He kept walking.

"Would you just—" She grabbed his arm.

He spun. His hand came up and stopped an inch from her throat. Old reflex. Commander reflex. The kind that didn't ask questions first.

Lira froze. Her fingers were still on his sleeve.

"Don't touch me," Alto said.

Her hand dropped. "What happened?"

"You tell me."

"I don't—"

"Your father," Alto cut in. "General Tavan. Kill-order seven-seven-three. Ring any bells?"

The color drained out of her face.

Yeah. She knew.

"Alto, I—"

"Don't." He stepped back.