The Hunchback's wreck didn't look like money until you cut it up.
In the port's salvage yard, it was just a dead Hunchback lying on its side in a cage of chain-link and hazard tape, soot-stained and split open where the fight had found its weak points. Forklifts crawled around it like insects. Cutters shrieked. The air smelled like ozone, hot metal, and stale coolant.
Lyra stood with a clipboard slate and a face that didn't ask permission. She'd already filed the arbitration packet, already sent the contract proof, already stacked the photos and thermal signatures that said pirate cache, verified, destroyed, capability removed.
The yard buyer tried anyway.
"Battle damage," he said, tapping the Hunchback's torn torso. "This is scrap. I'm doing you a favor taking it."
Lyra didn't blink. "You're paying for usable parts and alloy weight. Not your feelings."
The buyer's mouth tightened. He glanced toward the far fence line where Dack waited in the shadow of a cargo crane. He didn't need to loom. He just needed to exist—calm, still, watching.
Jinx sat on a crate with one boot propped up, chewing gum like she was bored, like she hadn't killed three pirates this week and slept smiling after. Taila stayed near Lyra, arms folded, eyes alert, learning how commerce could feel like combat.
The buyer leaned closer to Lyra. "You're a small crew. Small crews don't—"
Dack's voice cut in from the shade, flat and audible. "Pay her."
The buyer flinched, then tried to recover. "I'm negotiating."
Lyra slid a slate toward him. "Then negotiate with the numbers."
He looked down. His jaw worked as he read: weight totals, component condition, salvage shares, arbitration precedence. Lyra had done her homework like she was going to war with spreadsheets.
He tried one more angle. "Bay rent is up. Tool fees. Handling fees—"
Lyra's finger tapped a single line. "Already accounted for. You can accept the rate, or you can keep your money and I'll sell it to the yard across the port that already offered five percent more."
The buyer stared at her, then glanced again at Dack.
Dack didn't move. Didn't threaten. Didn't posture.
He just waited.
The buyer's shoulders sagged. "Fine."
Lyra didn't smile. She just took the confirmation chip when it slid across the counter and said, "Good."
They walked away with C-bills on paper and steel in motion. That was merc life—cash and metal, always bleeding into each other.
Jinx bounced the chip in her hand like a coin. "So we're rich now."
Lyra answered without looking at her. "We're afloat."
Taila's brows knit. "What's the difference?"
Lyra finally looked at her. "About two weeks."
Dack said, "We pay bay lease. We restock ammo. We pay tech labor. Then we see what's left."
Jinx's grin softened into something more serious. "And then Mother Lark."
"Eventually," Dack said.
Lyra's eyes stayed sharp. "Not on fumes."
Taila nodded. Morrigan wasn't here—she was back aboard the Union, running sims and pretending she didn't care about money. But even she would learn. Everyone did.
---
The rented repair bay was louder than a cockpit.
Chains clinked overhead. Fans rattled. Power tools screamed like animals. The bay floor was stained with old oil and older mistakes. It was neutral ground—port-side, not Moonjaw's ship, not anyone's home. Lyra liked that. If something went wrong, they could walk away and leave the mess behind.
Rook and Rafe Calder didn't act like they belonged in a "neutral" place.
They acted like every bay was theirs, because the work was the same everywhere: metal, tolerances, heat, and the quiet truth that machines didn't care about your confidence.
Rook was under Taila's Griffin hip housing with a light and a gauge. She didn't chatter. Her movements were steady and certain, like she was aligning a bone.
Rafe was at the Highlander's open panel, elbows deep in wiring and feed assemblies, a compact diagnostic rig clipped to the frame. She hummed under her breath—not a song, more like she was matching a frequency.
Lyra watched them from the bay's edge, arms folded. Dack stood beside her, still as a post.
Rafe slid out from the Highlander panel, wiped her hands, and said, "You've got a feed jitter."
Rook's voice came from beneath the Griffin, calm and immediate. "Heat-induced."
Rafe continued without missing a beat. "Not the weapon."
Rook: "The mount."
Rafe: "Micro-warp."
Rook: "From repeated stress."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
Rafe didn't get offended. She just pointed, then opened the diagnostic log, then tapped a tiny spike pattern most techs would ignore as noise.
"It's not catastrophic," Rafe said. "Yet."
Rook slid out from under the Griffin and held up the gauge. "But it will be."
Dack's gaze flicked between them. "How long."
Rafe shrugged. "Half a day for a temporary stabilize."
Rook finished, "Full day to do it right."
Lyra didn't like miracles. Miracles were usually lies. But she couldn't deny the results.
"Do it right," she said.
Rafe smiled faintly. Rook didn't smile, but her eyes softened by a fraction like she approved of the choice.
They went back to work.
Dack watched the rhythm.
Rook reached for a tool before Rafe asked for it. Rafe had the replacement part ready before Rook finished removing the old one. They didn't speak much while working, and when they did, it was that eerie overlap—sentence fragments snapping together into a whole.
Rafe: "Hand me the—"
Rook: "—ten mil."
Rafe: "We need the—"
Rook: "—shim."
Rafe: "Not that one—"
Rook: "—too thick."
It wasn't cute. Not in the bay. It was efficient in a way that made the hair on Lyra's arms lift.
Dack leaned slightly toward Lyra. "Too good."
Lyra didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the twins' hands. "Yes."
Rafe caught the look without looking up. "We're not lying."
Rook added, flat. "We're just trained."
Lyra's voice stayed even. "By who."
Rafe answered like it shouldn't matter. "Dad."
Rook finished, "Garrick."
Lyra's jaw tightened slightly—not anger, recognition she still wasn't ready to explain.
Dack didn't press it here.
He watched the Highlander's panel go back on. Watched Rafe snug bolts down in a pattern that wasn't "good enough," it was correct—like she'd been taught by someone who'd slapped her knuckles for doing it wrong once.
He watched the Griffin's hip housing settle clean when Rook reseated it, the vibration gone like it had never existed.
Steel behaved around them.
That was rare.
That was dangerous.
Because rare skill always attracted eyes.
---
The eyes arrived in clean boots.
A woman stepped into the bay wearing a tailored jacket that didn't belong near grinders. Her hair was pinned back, neat, her hands too clean. She carried a slate like it was a weapon. Two port security guards trailed behind her, not officially escorting—just close enough to remind everyone who owned the ground.
Lyra's posture shifted instantly. "Can I help you?"
The woman smiled with practiced warmth. "I'm looking for the Calder twins."
Rafe's head lifted. Rook stood slowly, wiping her hands on a rag.
Jinx, leaning against a toolbox, stopped chewing gum.
Dack didn't move. But his attention narrowed.
The woman's eyes flicked across the mechs in the bay—Dire Wolf silhouette in the back cage, Highlander heavy on stands, Griffin open at the hip—then back to the twins.
"I represent a yard consortium," she said. "I heard you're doing freelance work. I'd like to offer you something stable."
Rafe's brows knit. "We already have work."
The woman's smile didn't slip. "This is better work. Better pay. Real facilities. Housing."
Rook's voice was calm. "Why."
The woman blinked once as if unused to blunt questions. "Because talent should be rewarded."
Lyra's tone cooled. "They're on a paid trial with us."
The woman glanced at Lyra like she was an obstacle that might be politely moved. "Trials are cute. My offer is long-term."
Rafe's eyes narrowed. "With who."
The woman smiled again. "A network. We keep good people employed."
Jinx pushed off the toolbox, voice sweet and sharp. "What network."
The woman's gaze flicked to Jinx's face and lingered an instant too long, assessing. "A private one."
Dack finally spoke. "Name."
The woman's smile tightened. "That's not necessary."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "It is."
Rook and Rafe exchanged a glance—silent, synced.
Rafe said, "We don't go with strangers."
Rook finished, "We don't split."
The woman's brows lifted slightly. "Split?"
Rafe's face went expressionless. "We're a unit."
Rook's voice came with finality. "Both. Or neither."
The woman's smile twitched like she'd been expecting flirtation and got a wall instead. "That's… unconventional."
Jinx laughed softly. "So is being worth something."
Lyra stepped half a pace forward. "They said no."
The woman's eyes flicked to Lyra, then to Dack. She measured him quickly—his stillness, his lack of reaction. People like her were good at reading a room. She saw the line.
She adjusted tactics.
"Fine," she said lightly. "If you change your mind, there will be a slate message waiting at Dock Office Three. For the Calders."
Rafe didn't answer.
Rook didn't answer.
The woman turned to leave, then paused as if remembering something minor. "Oh. Tell your crew—Mother Lark appreciates efficiency."
The name landed like a cold drop of water down Lyra's spine.
Jinx's grin vanished.
Taila went rigid.
Dack's eyes narrowed.
The woman walked out.
Lyra stared after her, then spoke quietly, to no one and everyone. "That wasn't recruitment. That was confirmation."
Rafe's voice went small for the first time. "We didn't tell her anything."
Lyra looked at her. "You didn't need to. She saw you here. That's what she wanted."
Rook's hands clenched around the rag. "So she knows where we are."
Dack's voice stayed level. "Now we assume we're being watched."
Jinx's smile came back, but it wasn't playful. "Good."
Taila swallowed. "What do we do."
Dack didn't hesitate. "We finish repairs. We finish today's work. Then we move smart."
Lyra nodded once, already shifting into planning mode. "And we don't leave the twins alone in this bay."
Rafe's cheeks warmed—embarrassed, not offended. "We can handle ourselves."
Rook added, calm but edged, "We're not helpless."
Dack looked at them. "Didn't say you were. I said we don't give them easy options."
That seemed to satisfy them more than reassurance would've.
They went back to work.
But the bay felt different now. Like the air had learned a new shape: threat.
---
The ambush came when the grinders stopped.
It always did.
They timed it for that moment between noise and quiet, when people breathed out and thought the danger was over.
Lyra was on the bay's side platform, finishing a parts manifest upload. Taila was helping Rook reseat a panel on the Griffin—hands steady, eyes careful. Jinx was near the bay door, pretending she wasn't watching the street through a narrow crack. Dack stood by the Dire Wolf's power cart, cables ready.
Rafe stiffened suddenly, head tilting as if listening to something nobody else could hear.
Rook looked up at the exact same moment.
Rafe whispered, "Hear that—"
Rook finished, "—footsteps."
Lyra's head snapped up. "Where."
Rafe pointed without looking. "Roofline."
Jinx's eyes narrowed. "Of course."
The bay lights flickered once. Just once.
Then the street outside filled with smoke.
Not fire—chemical smoke, thick and gray, rolling into the bay like a living thing. Shapes moved in it. Fast.
Lyra's voice went hard. "Mask seals."
Dack didn't speak. He moved.
The Dire Wolf's cockpit ladder was already down. He climbed like muscle memory and sealed in. Systems woke. The machine's hum drowned out the sudden chaos in his ears.
Outside, Taila sprinted to the Griffin's cockpit ladder and climbed, sealing in without looking back. Jinx did the same with the Highlander—fast, practiced, eager.
Infantry shapes rushed the bay door under smoke cover—cutters, charges, stun batons. Not here to fight mechs. Here to sabotage. Here to grab people.
Here to grab the twins.
Lyra's voice hit comms, controlled and cold. "Infantry at the door. Roofline movement. Two heat spikes approaching street side—possible 'Mechs."
Dack's sensors cut through smoke in layered returns—hard outlines forming. One light silhouette with a narrow profile and fast movement: Commando. Another medium with odd signal fuzz and electronic noise: Raven.
"Raven's throwing interference," Lyra snapped. "ECM—your targeting may lag."
Jinx's laugh came through, delighted. "Cute."
Taila's voice was tight but steady. "They're in the street."
Dack answered. "Hold your lanes."
He didn't charge out blindly. Not in a port. Not with salvage rights on the line. Not with civilians and cameras and port security that would love an excuse to impound a merc unit's assets.
He pushed the Dire Wolf forward just enough to put its bulk between the bay interior and the bay door, like a steel wall that said no further.
The infantry saw the Dire Wolf silhouette through smoke and hesitated.
Dack fired a single controlled burst—into the concrete outside the bay door, not into bodies. The impact shattered pavement and threw up debris, a violent warning line.
"Back," he said over external speakers. Flat. Loud.
Some of them backed.
The committed ones didn't.
They rushed anyway—because whoever paid them promised something bigger than fear.
Jinx's Highlander stepped forward and fired a tight missile spread into the street—bracketing the infantry's approach lanes without splashing into buildings. The blast tore up the ground and sent bodies diving for cover, some not getting up.
Taila's Griffin angled left, holding the bay's side opening. Through smoke, the Commando appeared—fast, close-range, trying to sprint into a flank position where it could hit a joint and run.
Taila didn't chase.
She fired one PPC shot into the Commando's path.
The bolt hit armor and made the Commando stumble. It tried to keep moving.
Taila followed with a brief LRM burst that stripped more plating and forced it to back off instead of rushing in.
"Good," Dack said. "Hold."
The Raven stayed back, half-hidden, ECM pulsing. It wasn't trying to win a stand-up fight. It was trying to blind them long enough for infantry to get inside.
Lyra's voice sharpened. "Roofline—two snipers. They're aiming at Lyra—" She caught herself, then corrected. "They're aiming at the platform."
Dack pivoted the Dire Wolf's torso and fired LRMs toward the roofline—not at the building's core, but at the edge where the snipers would be. The explosion tore the lip of the roof apart and forced the shooters to retreat or die.
One didn't retreat fast enough.
The smoke thinned just enough for Dack's sensors to catch the fall.
Lyra didn't flinch. She stayed in place, finishing the upload with hands that didn't shake.
Inside the bay, Rook and Rafe had moved without being told—back and down, away from doors, away from windows. Practical. Silent. Not panicking.
But Rafe's eyes were bright with anger.
Rook's jaw was clenched hard enough to ache.
Jinx's voice came sharp. "They're trying to steal our techs."
Taila snapped, "They're not taking anyone."
Dack's reply was cold and simple. "Agreed."
The Raven finally stepped into clearer view, confident in its ECM bubble, and fired at the bay door line—trying to chip at the threshold, trying to force the mechs out into the street where collateral would become a weapon.
Dack waited until the Raven overextended by a half-step.
Then he fired a gauss shot.
Not sloppy. Not wild. A clean line into the Raven's torso that punched through armor and made the medium 'Mech stagger like it had been slapped by God.
Jinx followed with her own gauss shot a heartbeat later, hitting the Raven's side. The Raven tried to backpedal, ECM still pulsing, but its stance wasn't stable anymore.
It turned to retreat.
Taila held her lane and punished the retreat with another PPC shot that cracked the Raven's rear armor and made it stumble again.
The Commando tried one last dash—desperate now, trying to at least leave damage behind. It sprinted toward Taila's flank.
Taila didn't chase. She rotated her Griffin and fired a short missile burst that hit the Commando's leg assembly.
The Commando fell hard into the street, skidding.
It didn't get back up.
The Raven, damaged and outmatched, did what smart raiders did—it ran.
Lyra's voice snapped. "Don't pursue. Port security is converging."
Dack answered instantly. "Copy."
Jinx whined, genuinely disappointed. "Aw."
Dack's external speakers boomed once more, aimed at the remaining infantry survivors hiding behind wrecked vehicles and craters.
"Drop weapons," he said.
Some dropped them immediately.
Others tried to crawl away.
Jinx's Highlander took one heavy step forward and stopped, looming, a silent promise.
The survivors decided living was better than loyalty.
Port security finally arrived—sirens, armored trucks, men with rifles who looked brave only because the fight was mostly over.
A security captain shouted through a speaker. "Merc unit! Power down! Stand by for inspection!"
Lyra stepped forward into the open, hands visible, voice carrying. "We were attacked. We defended inside a leased bay. We did not leave the perimeter. We did not fire into civilian structures. You want proof, pull the bay cams."
The captain hesitated, then looked at the wrecked Commando and the damaged Raven retreat trail, and did the math.
"We'll pull footage," he said. "You'll cooperate."
Lyra nodded once. "We already are."
Dack kept his Dire Wolf still. Let Lyra handle the politics. Let the security men feel like they had control, because it kept them from doing something stupid.
Jinx muttered on comms, "I hate cops."
Taila whispered, "Shh."
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "Let me work."
Behind them, Rook and Rafe watched through the bay's inner window.
Rafe's voice was quiet, almost stunned. "They really sent a Raven."
Rook finished, colder. "To take us."
Rafe's fingers flexed. "We're not—"
Rook: "—property."
Dack heard it through the open bay mic and said, without turning, "No. You're not."
That mattered. He could feel it—like a bolt tightening somewhere unseen.
---
They got one prisoner who mattered.
Not the infantry—those were paid hands. Not the Commando pilot—he'd blacked out and would likely wake up with a port cell and a headache.
It was a woman in a clean jacket, caught trying to slip away in the confusion.
Lyra had noticed her the moment security arrived: too calm, too clean, too positioned to observe.
Jinx intercepted her like a hunting dog.
"Hey," Jinx said cheerfully. "You look familiar."
The woman's eyes flicked. "I don't know you."
Jinx smiled. "You do."
Lyra stepped in, voice flat. "Who sent you."
The woman scoffed. "You have no authority—"
Dack spoke, low and final. "Answer."
The woman's gaze slid to him and, for the first time, something like fear showed through her polish.
She tried another angle. "This is business. You're mercenaries. You understand business."
Lyra leaned closer. "Then you understand leverage."
The woman swallowed.
Jinx's smile sharpened. "You can tell us now, or you can tell us later when port security gets bored and starts asking why you're hovering around an ambush you didn't report."
The woman's jaw clenched. "Mother Lark doesn't like… unpredictable contractors."
Lyra's eyes went colder. "So she tried to remove our techs."
The woman's mouth tightened. She didn't deny it.
Rafe's voice from behind the inner window came soft and furious. "We were right."
Rook finished, quieter. "They pick."
Lyra didn't look back. "Where is her node."
The woman hesitated. Jinx's hand touched her shoulder—not hard, not yet, just enough to promise it could be.
The woman broke. "Dock Office Three is a front. The real yard contact is a freight node called Lark's Nest—outer ring. Service spur seven. They move parts and people through it."
Lyra absorbed it instantly, already mapping it. "Outer ring… that's not here."
"No," the woman said. "It's one hop. You'd need a reason to be there. A contract. A delivery. Something that looks normal."
Dack nodded slightly. "We'll get one."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "If you go after her openly, she'll bury you."
Jinx smiled like she liked that. "Try."
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "We don't go openly."
The woman looked at Dack again, measuring him. "You think you're clever."
Dack's answer was flat. "We're alive."
Port security eventually took custody—officially for "questioning." Lyra made sure the incident report listed it as a hostile action against a leased bay with recorded footage.
Money mattered. Paper mattered. Survival wasn't just armor.
It was legal cover.
---
Back aboard the Union, the air felt warmer.
Not safe. Never safe. But owned.
The shared cabin door clicked shut later that night. Lyra checked the lock as always. Taila hovered for half a second like she still couldn't believe she belonged in the room with them like this. Jinx climbed into the big bed first, smug as ever.
Dack sat on the bed edge and stared at nothing for a moment.
Jinx leaned over and kissed his shoulder, slow. "We kept them."
Taila slid in close and rested her hand on his chest. "And we didn't lose the bay."
Lyra's voice was quieter. "And we got a node."
Dack nodded once. "Lark's Nest."
Jinx grinned. "We're going bird hunting."
Lyra exhaled softly—half laughter, half dread. "We need C-bills before we go bird hunting."
Jinx rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. "So we take another job."
Dack's gaze drifted to the cabin door.
Down the corridor, Morrigan stayed in her bunk. She didn't slam the door anymore. She didn't mock them loudly either.
But she didn't join them.
Not yet.
Taila whispered, embarrassed but honest, "Do you think she heard."
Jinx's grin turned wicked. "She always hears."
Lyra murmured, dry, "Jinx."
Jinx shrugged. "What? It's true."
Dack didn't comment on Morrigan. He'd learned when to let a line sit until someone chose to cross it themselves.
Instead he said, "Tomorrow, we lock in work. We need a contract that pays and gives travel cover."
Lyra nodded. "I'll find options."
Jinx's hand slid across Taila's waist, pulling her closer. Taila blushed but didn't resist anymore—she settled in like it was natural now.
Rook and Rafe weren't here—still port-side, still under trial, still too visible to bring aboard before the smoke cleared.
But their faces were in Dack's mind anyway—synced, stubborn, furious at being treated like property.
He understood that kind of anger.
"Those two," Jinx murmured, reading him a little too well, "they're pack."
Lyra's eyes flicked toward him. Taila's cheeks warmed again.
Dack's voice was quiet. "They're useful."
Jinx smiled like she'd won something. "Sure."
Lyra didn't tease. She just said, "We protect what we hire."
Taila nodded. "We protect them."
Dack looked at the three women beside him—heat, shy loyalty, calm steel—and felt something settle into place that hadn't been there in the beginning.
Not romance. Not softness.
Responsibility.
"Sleep," he said.
Jinx sighed dramatically. "Yes, boss."
Taila whispered, "Okay."
Lyra's fingers brushed his wrist under the blanket—brief, steady—then she turned her face into the pillow like she didn't want anyone to see the small smile she couldn't stop.
---
Later, when the Union went quiet and the bay lights dimmed, Dack climbed into the Dire Wolf cockpit for the last check.
The machine wrapped around him like an old habit.
His thumb found the scratched marks beneath the HUD—thin lines, each one a weight he refused to drop.
He carved one more.
Then he said it out loud, voice low in the sealed cockpit.
"Sixty-three."