Chapter 17 · Uninvited Guests

"Drop the gear and get on your knees, kid. Now."

Jace didn't even look up from the scrap pile. He just kept scrubbing the grime off a rusted gear, his fingers stained black. The voice was smooth, professional, and completely out of place in the dead zone.

He glanced up. Three of them. Full tactical gear, matte black armor that absorbed the dim light of the Deep, and weapons that looked like they cost more than Jace’s entire life on Earth. The guy in the middle had a sneer that said he’d already won.

"You’re in the wrong neighborhood," Jace said, tossing the gear aside. He didn't move to obey. "And you're blocking my light."

"Wrong neighborhood?" The leader stepped forward, the heavy thud of his boot echoing against the stone. He didn't just walk; he invaded. He stopped inches from Jace, the smell of ozone and expensive leather clinging to him. "This is a dead zone. Which means whatever is here belongs to whoever can take it. And we can take it."

Lira stepped out from behind the Anchor, her eyes darting between the mercenaries. She didn't look scared—she looked annoyed. "We aren't giving you anything.