Chapter 13 · Fugitive in the Glass

The woman sitting in the escape pod had my face.

Not similar. Not close enough to be sisters. My face. Same scar through the left eyebrow. Same crooked bottom lip. Same everything, down to the way her fingers drummed against her knee like she was counting seconds in her head.

Senna's hand locked around my wrist before I could bolt. "Kira. Wait."

"Wait?" I yanked against her grip. The pod was small, maybe built for four people in a real emergency, and right now it felt like a coffin. "That's—she's—"

"Another one." The woman stood. Her voice hit me like an echo in a tunnel. Same pitch. Same rough edge on the consonants. "You're the cargo pilot. Voss, right?"

I couldn't answer. My throat had locked up.

She stepped closer and I saw the differences. Her jumpsuit wasn't prison gray. It was black, tactical, with gear loops and a half-empty holster on her hip. Her hair was shorter. Sharper. And her eyes—they didn't look scared. They looked tired.

"I'm Mara," she said. "Mara Voss. Starfire Batch Two."

Batch Two.

The words dropped into my gut like stones.

Senna let go of my wrist. "You're early."

"Your window moved up.