"Sit. Down."
Cain didn't shout, but the command hit like a physical blow. He shoved me back into the narrow pilot’s seat, his hand clamped tight around my arm. The metal seat was freezing, but the heat radiating off him was suffocating. He didn't let go. He leaned in, pinning me against the headrest with the sheer weight of him.
"Get off me," I snapped. My voice lacked the bite I wanted.
I tried to twist away. He just tightened his grip, his thumb digging into the soft skin of my inner arm.
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Lyra," he murmured. His breath brushed my ear. A traitorous shiver raced down my spine. "Not when you're a walking disaster with a bounty that could buy a small moon. You're not a passenger. You're a liability I'm choosing not to eject into the void."
I glared up at him, chest heaving. "Then do it. Toss me out. I'd rather freeze in the vacuum than be your pet project."
Cain’s eyes narrowed. He didn't move. He crowded closer, his chest nearly touching mine. I could smell ozone and cedarwood clinging to his gear. He reached up, gripping my chin and forcing me to look him dead in the eye.
"Pet project?" He let out a short, dark laugh. "You think this is a game? The Council didn't just mark you for capture. They marked you for termination. The next person who finds you isn't asking for your name. They're ripping that core out of your chest while you're still screaming."
I swallowed hard. The air in the pod felt too thin. "Why do you care? You're an Enforcer. Hand me over and collect the credits."
"Maybe I don't like following orders," he said, his voice dropping an octave.
He shifted, his hip pressing firmly against the armrest, trapping me in a cage of muscle and black tactical leather. "Or maybe I'm curious why a 'battery' has a forbidden mark on her neck that doesn't exist in any Imperial archive."
His fingers slid from my chin to the nape of my neck. The touch was light, but possessive. I flinched. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The contact felt electric.
"Stop it," I whispered. I didn't pull away. I couldn't.
"Stop what?" Cain’s gaze dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto my eyes. "Stop reminding you that you're completely at my mercy?"
I snarled. I brought my knee up sharply, aiming for his groin.
He caught my leg with a lightning-fast reflex, pinning it down with his own. In one fluid motion, he slammed his palm against the wall beside my head.
*Clang.*
"Wrong move," he breathed. He was so close I could feel the heat of his skin through my thin shirt. "I told you to sit. I didn't say you could fight."
"I'm not a dog, Cain!" I yelled. "I don't take orders from people who treat me like cargo!"
"Then stop acting like a brat and start acting like someone who wants to survive the hour," he countered.
He stayed there, hovering over me. The tension between us stretched thin, like a wire about to snap. He looked at me—really looked at me—and the coldness in his eyes flickered. Not into kindness. Into something hungrier. Something dangerous.
He slowly retracted his hand, but he didn't step away. He watched my chest rise and fall.
"The contract is simple, Lyra. You obey. I protect. The moment you play hero or rebel, the deal is off. And I stop caring if you breathe."
I leaned back, trying to find some shred of dignity. "And my brother? You said that voice on the comms wasn't him. Why?"
Cain turned toward the console, returning to that rigid military precision. "Because your brother is a ghost. Ghosts don't make threats over open channels with tactical encryption. Whoever that was is playing a game. And you're the bait."
"He's not a ghost," I snapped, standing up. I stumbled as the pod hit a pocket of turbulence. "He's out there. He has to be."
"Hope is a luxury you can't afford," Cain said without looking back. "Get in the back and stay out of my way. I need to scrub our signature before the next patrol sweep."
I slumped into the small sleeping nook, staring at the ceiling. The silence was worse than the arguing. My skin still tingled where he'd touched me. I hated that I liked it.
Ten minutes later, a sharp, rhythmic *beep* sliced through the quiet.
Cain froze. "What the hell was that?"
I sat up fast. "The comms. It's a signal."
"I blocked all incoming frequencies," he muttered, stepping toward the console. "Nothing should be getting through."
I scrambled up beside him. The signal wasn't a voice. It was a series of pulses—short, long, short, short. My heart stopped. I knew that pattern. I'd known it since I was six years old.
"That's... that's not random," I whispered. "It's a secret code. Only two people in the universe know that sequence."
Cain looked at the screen, then at me. "Who?"
"Me," I said, tears blurring my vision. "And my brother."
Cain reached for the override switch. "It's coming from a derelict station in the Ophiuchus sector. But Lyra, look at the timestamp."
I looked. The signal wasn't live. It was a delayed burst, sent three years ago, only just now decrypted.
"He's been trying to reach me this whole time?" I gasped.
"Or," Cain’s voice went cold. "Someone found his old records and is using a dead man's ghost to lure us into a trap."
Before I could respond, the console screamed. A red alert flashed across the cockpit. A voice—distorted, mechanical, and terrifyingly familiar—broke through the static.
"Cain," the voice rasped. "I see you've found my sister. Now, let's talk about the price for her return."