"Get your head down if you want to keep it!"
Cain slammed Lyra against the cold metal hull of the transport ship. He didn't let go. His fingers dug into her shoulder, pinning her hard against the plating.
Above them, the sky was screaming. Not wind. The high-pitched, bone-drilling whine of Council interceptors.
"That voice—" Lyra gasped, chest heaving. She twisted, trying to break his grip. "That was my brother! I know that voice, Cain! Let me go back!"
"Your brother is a corpse or a liar," Cain snapped.
He leaned in. Inches. She could smell ozone and cold steel. His eyes were hard, locking her in place. "And if you move one inch out of line, you're a corpse too. Understand?"
Lyra glared back, eyes shimmering with rage. "I hate you."
"Get in line," he muttered.
He hauled her up by the arm and practically threw her into the cramped cockpit of the stealth shuttle. The hatch hissed shut, cutting the noise. The silence hit like a physical blow.
Then the console exploded in red.
"Dammit!" Cain's fingers blurred across the holographic interface. "They didn't just track the core. They flagged the soul-bind signature. The whole sector is on lockdown."
Lyra scrambled into the co-pilot's seat, hands shaking. "What does that mean?"
"It means we're not fugitives anymore," Cain said. He glanced at her, pure irritation in his gaze. "We're priority targets. Every Enforcer from here to the Outer Rim has a ping on us. We're being hunted like animals."
Lyra felt the blood drain from her face. "You said you could protect me. The contract—"
"The contract keeps you alive, not invisible," he cut her off.
He shifted, his thigh brushing hers in the tight space. The heat of the contact sent a jolt through her—a reminder of the invisible tether pulsing between their souls. "Now sit still and shut up before you vibrate out of the seat."
"I can't just shut up!" Lyra snapped, leaning into his space. "My brother was there. Someone who sounds exactly like him. If you're the 'coldest Enforcer in the sector,' then do your damn job and tell me who it was!"
Cain stopped typing.
He turned slowly. His gaze dropped to her lips, then snapped back to her eyes. The air in the cockpit turned thick, heavy with a tension that had nothing to do with the ships chasing them.
"You think this is a game?" he whispered, voice dropping an octave.
He reached out. His thumb grazed her jaw, forcing her to look at him. The proximity was suffocating. She could feel his heartbeat—or maybe it was hers—echoing through the bond.
"You're a living battery, Lyra. A forbidden piece of tech wrapped in skin. People don't look for your brother to reunite a family. They look for him to find the key to the lock."
He pressed his thumb firmer against her skin. "Which is you."
Lyra flinched, but she didn't pull away. "I'm not a piece of tech."
"Right now, that's all you are to the Council," Cain said. He didn't move his hand. "But to me? You're a liability I'm forced to carry. So if you want to survive the next hour, you'll do exactly what I say. No questions. No tantrums."
"And if I refuse?"
Cain’s lips quirked. A ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'll remind you who owns the contract."
*BOOM.*
The ship lurched violently. An alarm shrieked, tearing through the cabin.
"Hold on!" Cain yelled, slamming the thrusters forward.
Lyra was thrown. Her small frame crashed hard into his chest. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, pinning her against him to keep her from hitting the bulkhead.
For a second, the chaos vanished. All she felt was the hard muscle of his chest and the scent of him—rain and old parchment.
She looked up. There. A crack in the armor. A flicker of guilt—or fear—in his grey eyes.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered. "You could've handed me over. You'd get a promotion. A seat on the Council."
Cain's grip tightened. He didn't answer immediately, steering them through a narrow asteroid belt. Grey rocks whistled past the viewport, inches away.
"Promotions are boring," he finally said. The bite was gone from his voice.
"That's a lie," Lyra said, pushing against his chest. He didn't let go. "You're hiding something. You saw my memories when the bond snapped. What did you see?"
Cain stiffened. He abruptly released her and shoved her back into the seat. "I saw a girl who doesn't know when to quit. Now, look at the screen."
Lyra turned. A public broadcast was scrolling across the feed. A high-priority bounty list.
Her heart stopped.
Her own face stared back. The reward was astronomical—more credits than some planets earned in a decade. But the text underneath made her breath hitch.
*CORE-BORN. STATUS: UNSTABLE. TERMINATION AUTHORIZED UPON CAPTURE.*
"Termination?" Lyra whispered. "They want me dead."
"Of course they do," Cain said, voice turning ice-cold again. "A dead core can be harvested. A living one can fight back. You're more useful as a pile of ash and a glowing crystal."
Nausea hit her. Lyra reached up, touching the back of her neck where the soul-bind anchored. She felt it—a raised ridge of skin. A mark she'd never noticed.
"What is this?"
Cain glanced over. He reached out, fingers brushing the skin of her neck. He paused. His touch lingered. His expression shifted from annoyance to genuine confusion.
"That's not a soul-bind mark," he murmured.
"Then what is it?"
Cain pulled back, eyes narrowing. "It's a seal. An old one. Not Council, not any known sect in this quadrant. Someone marked you long before I ever met you, Lyra."
"Who?"
Cain didn't answer. He stared at the radar. Three new signatures were closing in. Fast.
"Someone who doesn't want you found," he said, voice tight. "And they just realized I've got you."
Suddenly, the comms crackled. A voice flooded the cockpit—deep, distorted, but with a cadence that made Lyra's blood turn to ice.
"Enforcer Cain. Return the girl, or we'll start erasing every planet you've ever stepped on."
Lyra gasped. "That's him. That's my brother!"
Cain gripped the flight stick so hard his knuckles turned white. He didn't look at her.
"Not your brother," Cain whispered. "Something much worse."