The drop hub never really slept.
Its lights stayed harsh at every hour, bathing the gantries and docking spines in a tired white that made everyone look guilty. Cargo sleds crawled along rails like insects. Loudspeakers barked schedules nobody believed. Somewhere deeper in the ring, music thumped in cheap bars for crews spending tomorrow's fuel money tonight.
Moonjaw stayed quiet and moved like they'd already been here too long.
Lyra kept the Union's manifest as boring as possible—clean timestamps, contract IDs, expected dwell time. Every minute they stayed docked was another minute someone could tag them, follow them, buy a camera feed, or slip a drone into the ship's shadow.
Dack watched the external cams from the bridge, posture still, eyes doing the work.
Jinx tried to act normal.
She wasn't.
It was small things—tiny pauses where her smile came late, where her eyes narrowed at a smell that shouldn't matter. She'd walked past the galley vent and muttered something sharp under her breath like the warm air offended her. Once, she'd leaned on a bulkhead and breathed through her nose like she was riding out a wave she refused to admit existed.
Taila noticed every time. Taila always noticed.
Lyra noticed too, but she didn't say much. She filed it away in that part of her mind where problems became plans.
Morrigan pretended not to notice anything at all, which meant she was noticing everything and refusing to be the first to blink.
And the Calder twins—Rook and Rafe—moved through the ship like it still wasn't fully theirs, tool packs on, patches visible, eyes tracking every new sound.
They were pack-adjacent.
Not fully in.
But closer than they'd ever been anywhere else.
---
Lyra called everyone to the galley after the dock audit cleared and the cargo paperwork went silent.
Not a meeting with speeches. A tight briefing.
She stood at the table in her black-and-red seamlined suit, the fabric hugging her like it had been designed around restraint and control. Hair tied back. Face calm. Eyes sharp enough to cut.
Jinx slouched into a chair opposite her, wearing a different variation of "Moonjaw colors" than yesterday—tight black shorts with red strap accents, a fitted black top that clung like it had a grudge, and a cropped red jacket with armored seams. It was combat-ready in the way she liked: functional enough to pretend it was sensible, revealing enough that it was obviously not.
Taila sat beside Dack, quieter but not hiding anymore. Her outfit was fitted too—black sleeveless top with red piping, high-waisted leggings with red side stripes. Tight, clean, disciplined. It suited her: trying to look practical while still wanting to be seen.
Morrigan drifted in last like a storm cloud. Today she'd switched from the layered skirt to a short black jacket and a fitted black top with a red corset-like waist wrap, plus tight black shorts over thigh-high stockings banded in red. Still gothic, still hostile, but now it looked like she'd accepted Moonjaw's colors without admitting it.
Rook and Rafe stood together by the bulkhead with mugs of coffee, both in snug black work-jumpsuits they'd clearly modified themselves—sleeves cut shorter than standard, red piping stitched along seams, patches pinned on their chests instead of their packs. Not "Jinx vision" yet, but… a step.
Jinx noticed immediately and grinned like a proud predator. "Oh? Look at you two."
Rafe's cheeks tinted. Rook looked away, but her mouth twitched.
Lyra didn't indulge the moment. She tapped her slate and projected a route map.
"Here's our next leg," she said. "We depart now. We deliver contract cargo to the outer ring drop yard—Harrowpoint Depot—in orbit over a small industrial world. Nothing glamorous. Mostly refit bays and ore processing."
Jinx lifted a hand. "Any fights?"
Lyra's eyes flicked to her. "Not if everyone behaves."
Jinx smiled sweetly. "So yes."
Taila leaned forward slightly. "How close is Harrowpoint to Lark's Nest?"
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Her gaze slid to Dack—silent check-in.
Dack spoke, blunt. "One hop."
The twins went still.
Rafe's eyes narrowed. "That's not—"
Rook finished, quieter. "—random."
Lyra nodded once. "No. It isn't. But we don't go straight there. We go where our paperwork says we're going. We make money. We look normal."
Morrigan scoffed. "We're never normal."
Jinx laughed. "True."
Lyra ignored them and continued. "At Harrowpoint, we'll be exposed. New hub. New eyes. We keep the crew tight, no wandering alone, no giving anyone a reason to poke."
Her gaze flicked to the Marauder icon on the ship's internal schematic.
"And we keep the Marauder under wraps. Registration's filed. It stays cargo until we're clear."
Morrigan's eyes locked on the icon. "When do I get in it."
Dack answered without looking at her. "Soon."
Not a promise. Not a lie. A line drawn on the ground.
Morrigan's glare softened for half a breath—then she hardened again like she hated herself for it.
Lyra started to dismiss the meeting, then paused when she saw Jinx's face tighten slightly, like a wave rolled under her skin again.
Lyra's tone didn't change. "Jinx. Sit."
Jinx blinked. "I am sitting."
Lyra's eyes sharpened. "Stop dodging. We need a test kit before we leave the hub."
Taila's cheeks warmed instantly.
Rook and Rafe exchanged a glance so synchronized it was almost funny.
Morrigan's eyes narrowed like she was offended by biology itself.
Jinx made a face like she wanted to joke—then stopped. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to feel."
Lyra was calm. "You're feeling something. That's enough."
Dack's gaze held Jinx for a long second. "We'll get one."
Jinx tried to grin. "Bossy."
Dack didn't react. "Practical."
Jinx's grin softened. "Fine."
Lyra nodded once. "Good. We undock in thirty."
---
They didn't go to a clinic.
Clinics asked questions. Clinics took names. Clinics made records.
Lyra bought the kit from a station vending kiosk that sold everything from ration bars to field sutures. She paid in a way that didn't tie back neatly to Moonjaw, because Lyra didn't do "neat trails."
Jinx disappeared into the shared cabin with Taila a minute later.
Dack stayed outside the door, leaning against the corridor bulkhead like a guard. Not because he thought someone would attack—because he didn't like being helpless in any situation, and this was one of the few problems he couldn't solve with steel.
Rook and Rafe lingered down the hall pretending they weren't listening. Morrigan lurked farther back with arms crossed, pretending she didn't care.
Lyra waited by the galley door, expression unreadable.
Inside, Taila's voice came soft, embarrassed, then steadier.
Jinx's voice came sharper, then quieter.
A few minutes later, the cabin door opened.
Jinx stepped out first, long dirty-blonde hair messy, blue eyes bright but uncertain. Her swagger tried to return and only half made it.
Taila followed behind her, cheeks pink, hand still unconsciously brushing her own arm like she'd needed something to do.
Lyra looked at Jinx. "Well?"
Jinx exhaled, then forced a grin that wasn't entirely fake. "It says… not sure. Too early. Something about needing more time."
Lyra nodded once, accepting the ambiguity like she accepted bad weather. "Then we assume 'maybe' until proven otherwise."
Jinx blinked. "That sounds… ominous."
Lyra's tone stayed even. "It's cautious."
Jinx looked at Dack. "So what, I'm fragile now?"
Dack answered flat. "No."
Jinx waited.
Dack continued. "You tell us if you feel worse. You don't hide it."
Jinx's grin softened, real this time. "Okay."
Taila stepped closer and touched Jinx's arm lightly. "Are you scared?"
Jinx scoffed. "No."
Then, after a beat—too honest to ignore—she muttered, "Maybe a little."
Taila's eyes softened. "Me too."
Jinx blinked at her, then leaned in and kissed her quickly on the cheek like she couldn't stand the softness. "Don't get weird."
Taila blushed. "You're the one being weird."
Morrigan muttered from down the hall, "Can we go fight something now."
Jinx pointed at her without looking. "Yes, goth gremlin. Soon."
Morrigan huffed, but her mouth twitched like she almost smiled.
---
Undocking was clean.
Lyra kept the Union's transponder chirping boring contract signals, launched on a lane with a dozen other freighters, and didn't give anyone a reason to stare harder.
Dack watched the camera feeds as the dock spine slid away.
Two clean-jacket observers stood near a cargo gantry and watched Moonjaw's departure too intently, too still.
Jinx noticed them as well. "They're really committing to the creepy thing."
Lyra didn't look away from her station. "Let them watch. Watching is not the same as acting."
Rafe's voice came quietly from the rear console. "Unless they—"
Rook finished, colder. "—tag you."
Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "Exactly."
They cleared the hub's immediate perimeter, slipped into lane traffic, and let the station shrink into a glittering ring behind them.
For a while, it felt like breathing again.
Then the Union shuddered once.
Just a small vibration, barely noticeable—unless you were watching the right sensors.
Lyra's head snapped toward a diagnostic screen. "What was that."
Rafe was already moving. Rook moved with her.
Rafe: "External contact—"
Rook: "—portside hull."
Rafe: "Small—"
Rook: "—mass."
Lyra's voice went sharp. "Drone?"
Rafe nodded. "Latch-type."
Jinx's grin vanished. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Dack stood up immediately. "Burn it."
Lyra's fingers flew across controls. "We're in lane traffic. I can't fire point-defense without—"
Rook cut in calmly. "Starboard thrusters. Short—"
Rafe finished. "—pulse."
Lyra didn't hesitate. She tapped a sequence.
The Union's starboard maneuvering jets kicked in a brief, precise burst—enough to roll the ship slightly and jolt the hull.
Something scraped.
Then the external cam caught it: a small, dark drone losing purchase, tumbling end over end into open space.
Lyra's breath stayed controlled. "Did it ping."
Rafe's eyes narrowed at the screen. "It tried."
Rook finished. "No handshake."
Rafe: "Not long—"
Rook: "—enough."
Lyra nodded once. "Good work."
Jinx leaned closer to the twins, blue eyes bright again. "See? This is why I want you two in the pack. You're useful and paranoid."
Rook stared at her.
Rafe muttered, cheeks faintly red, "We're not paranoid."
Rook finished. "We're correct."
Jinx laughed. "Even better."
Dack looked at the drone tumbling away on the cam feed and said, quietly, "They're not just watching."
Lyra's eyes stayed hard. "No. They're reaching."
---
Later, when the ship settled back into cruise and the lane traffic thinned, Dack went to the mech bay.
The Marauder sat strapped down, inert, heavy as a promise.
Rook and Rafe were there already, panels open, tools laid out. They'd changed again—still black and red, but now the workwear was tighter at the waist, sleeves rolled, red piping more visible. Their Moonjaw patches were pinned high on their chests where anyone could see them without question.
Jinx's influence, creeping in like a virus.
Dack didn't mind it.
It made them look like they belonged.
Morrigan stood at the Marauder's cockpit ladder, arms crossed, gothic outfit swapped for something closer to "combat goth"—tight black shorts with red straps, a fitted black long-sleeve that clung to her like skin, high boots. She still looked like a problem. Now she looked like a problem with a uniform in progress.
She glanced at Dack as he approached. "You said soon."
Dack nodded once. "Cold-seat drills."
Morrigan's eyes sharpened. "Now?"
"Yes."
The word hit her like permission.
Rook stepped aside. Rafe handed Morrigan a harness strap without being asked.
Rafe: "Don't fight—"
Rook finished. "—it."
Morrigan snapped, "I know how—"
Rafe continued anyway. "It will cut—"
Rook: "—your shoulders—"
Rafe: "If you don't—"
Rook: "—seat it right."
Morrigan's jaw worked. She hated being corrected.
She took the harness.
Then—slowly, begrudgingly—she listened.
She climbed into the Marauder cockpit, movements stiff at first, then more careful as she realized this wasn't a sim pod. The seat felt different. The geometry of the controls felt older, meaner. The harness tugged at her ribs and forced her posture into a shape she hadn't earned yet.
Dack stood at the ladder base and watched, silent.
Morrigan settled in, fingers hovering over controls like she was afraid to touch them wrong.
"Breathe," Dack said.
Morrigan glared down. "I am."
"You're not," Dack replied.
Her glare sharpened—then she exhaled slowly.
The cockpit lights stayed dark. The Marauder stayed dead.
This was not a startup. This was a lesson.
Rook's voice came up the ladder, calm. "Harness—"
Rafe finished. "Lock."
Morrigan clicked it in.
The sound echoed.
For a moment, she looked… younger. Like she was suddenly aware of what she was sitting in, what it meant, what it could cost.
Then she hid it behind anger again. "So what. I sit here and pretend."
Dack's tone stayed flat. "You sit here and learn where everything is. You learn how to panic correctly."
Morrigan blinked. "What."
"You learn what you grab when you're scared," Dack said. "So you don't grab the wrong thing."
Morrigan stared at him. For once, she didn't have a sharp comeback.
Rafe leaned in from the ladder side, voice quieter. "We can adjust the—"
Rook finished. "Seat."
Rafe: "So you—"
Rook: "Fit."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "I fit."
Rook's gaze stayed calm. "Your spine doesn't."
Morrigan's mouth opened—then closed.
Dack's eyes flicked to the twins. He understood what they meant. A pilot who didn't fit the seat properly bled mistakes into the machine.
He nodded once. "Do it."
Rook and Rafe got to work.
Morrigan sat still, forced to let people help her.
That alone was a battle.
Jinx wandered into the bay mid-adjustment, hair loose, blue eyes bright, wearing a tight black bodysuit under a red cropped jacket this time, the kind of look that screamed "pilot" and "trouble" at the same time. She leaned against a crate and watched Morrigan like she was watching a cat pretend it didn't like being petted.
"Aw," Jinx said. "She looks adorable in there."
Morrigan's glare could've cracked glass. "Shut up."
Jinx smiled wider. "No."
Taila appeared a moment later, quieter. She'd changed too—tight black top, red piping, a short black jacket thrown over her shoulders like she was trying to look tougher than she felt. She looked at Morrigan and softened.
"You okay?" Taila asked.
Morrigan scoffed. "Fine."
Taila nodded like she accepted the lie. "Good."
She hesitated, then added, gentle, "You'll get there."
Morrigan looked away like those words were embarrassing. "Whatever."
But her hands rested on the controls differently afterward—less like she was stealing something, more like she was allowed.
Dack watched that too.
He approved.
He didn't say it.
---
Harrowpoint Depot came into view six hours later: a dirty industrial ring wrapped around a moon like it was trying to squeeze value out of rock. Refineries. Bay doors. Dock spines. Hundreds of lights and none of them warm.
Lyra brought them in under the same boring contract ID.
This time, the dock crew didn't try to posture as hard.
They still audited. They still taxed.
But they were more careful with a Dire Wolf on the manifest and a captured Marauder in the hold.
Moonjaw offloaded the contract crates in a controlled sequence, signed the paperwork, and took the payout like it was oxygen.
C-bills in. Fuel out. Always bleeding.
Lyra was finishing the last signature when a message pinged her slate.
She stared at it for a beat too long.
Dack noticed immediately. "What."
Lyra turned the slate so he could see.
A new offer, tied to the same salvage house network—"urgent," "high pay," "ground escort." A short contract designed to look ordinary: protect a surface convoy carrying processed components from Harrowpoint's ground refinery to an uplink pad.
The route was planet-side.
The destination uplink pad sat on a lane that, conveniently, aligned with the hop toward Lark's Nest.
Lyra's voice stayed calm. "It's cover."
Jinx leaned in, grin returning. "It's also a fight."
Taila's voice was softer, but steady. "It's also money."
Morrigan muttered, "It's also me not being in the cockpit."
Dack didn't look at her. "Correct."
Morrigan huffed.
Lyra's eyes stayed on the contract. "We take it. We stay clean. We don't chase. We get paid and we move."
Dack nodded once. "Prep."
---
Planetfall again.
The industrial world beneath Harrowpoint was a place built for machines, not comfort. Black soil stained by decades of refining. Long roads cut through slag hills and pipe forests. The refinery complex itself squatted on the horizon like a rusted animal.
The convoy was waiting when Moonjaw landed: heavy flatbeds with armored cabs, each hauling sealed containers stamped with corporate markings. The client rep looked too neat and too nervous.
He tried to sound confident. "Raiders hit this route once a week. We need you to keep them off us."
Jinx laughed softly. "Once a week? That's adorable."
Lyra's voice stayed professional. "Route length."
"Thirty klicks," the rep said. "Mostly through slag hills. Limited comm towers."
Lyra nodded. "We'll cover."
Dack didn't talk to the rep. He didn't need to. He climbed into the Dire Wolf and sealed in, the cockpit becoming the only honest space on the planet.
Jinx sealed into the Highlander.
Taila sealed into the Griffin.
They rolled out with the convoy between them, a steel wedge around fragile money.
The slag hills rose around the road like broken teeth. Conveyor skeletons crossed overhead in places, casting long shadows over the convoy.
Rook and Rafe stayed aboard the Union this time—watching through drones, monitoring, ready to talk Lyra through anything that looked like sabotage. Not because they were cowards. Because techs were too valuable to leave exposed.
And because Mother Lark's people were still reaching.
The first sign of the ambush wasn't a mech.
It was the road itself.
Lyra's voice snapped over comms. "Stop. Two meters ahead—roadbed temperature spike."
Taila's Griffin halted instantly. The convoy slowed behind her.
Jinx groaned. "Mines?"
Rafe's voice cut in, fast. "Heat pattern is wrong—"
Rook finished. "It's a charge line."
Lyra's tone went sharp. "They want the convoy to stop."
Dack didn't argue. "Reverse ten meters. Slow."
The convoy drivers obeyed immediately. They'd been attacked before; they knew what "stop" meant.
A heartbeat after the convoy rolled back—
The slag hill on the left erupted.
Not a huge explosion. A controlled one. A blast that tore away a section of hillside and dropped scrap and stone into the road like a sudden wall.
A blockade.
Jinx's laugh turned delighted. "There it is."
Enemy heat signatures flared on sensors.
A Shadow Hawk stepped into view first, using the slag wall as cover.
Then a Quickdraw appeared on the right ridge, moving fast, trying to flank.
Then the heavy hit came like a bad decision made real:
A Thunderbolt rose behind the Shadow Hawk, thick and steady, using the ridge line like it owned it.
Not raider trash.
Not random.
A coordinated hit team.
Lyra's voice tightened. "They're better than last week's."
Dack answered flat. "Doesn't matter."
Jinx's Highlander shifted, and her voice came sharp with joy. "Oh, it matters. I'm going to enjoy this."
Dack didn't chase. He held the centerline in front of the convoy, Dire Wolf broad as a wall.
The Thunderbolt opened with missiles—LRMs arcing down toward the convoy line.
Dack answered with his own LRMs, salvos cutting the air, smashing into the slag ridge where the Thunderbolt was anchored. Not enough to kill it, enough to force it to move or eat worse.
Taila held left lane and fired a PPC shot that struck the Shadow Hawk's shoulder plating, making it twist.
Jinx angled right and fired her gauss rifle once—clean, heavy—hammering the Quickdraw's chest armor and forcing it to backstep.
The Quickdraw tried to keep moving anyway, using speed as its shield.
Jinx followed with a short missile burst that walked across the Quickdraw's leg plating. The fast mech stumbled.
"Stay off the convoy," Jinx sang.
The Shadow Hawk tried to use the slag wall to break Taila's line and dart closer.
Taila didn't chase. She held, punished every time it peeked, and kept the Shadow Hawk from getting a clean angle on the flatbeds.
Dack shifted slightly, taking the Thunderbolt's attention, letting its missiles chew at his armor instead of the convoy's cabs.
He returned a gauss shot into the Thunderbolt's ridge cover—not perfect line-of-sight, but enough to rip metal and stone and make the heavy mech reconsider.
The Thunderbolt backed off a step.
The Shadow Hawk hesitated.
The Quickdraw, wounded and frustrated, tried one desperate sprint toward the convoy's rear.
Jinx's Highlander pivoted and fired again—gauss cracking across the lane—striking the Quickdraw's hip assembly hard enough to make it stagger sideways into a slag pile.
It didn't fall.
But it stopped being fast.
Dack's voice cut through comms. "Taila. Hold the Shadow Hawk. Jinx, finish the Quickdraw if it tries again."
Jinx laughed. "Copy."
Taila's reply was tight but steady. "Copy."
The Thunderbolt realized it was losing momentum and tried to pull back to reset—smart, controlled.
Dack didn't let it reset.
He advanced three slow steps—measured, heavy—and fired a controlled LRM salvo that bracketed the Thunderbolt's retreat path, forcing it to shift into Taila's line.
Taila saw it instantly. She fired one PPC shot into the Thunderbolt's leg plating, not to kill, to slow.
The Thunderbolt stumbled.
The Shadow Hawk tried to cover it and ate another PPC strike for its loyalty.
Jinx's Highlander stepped out of cover just long enough to fire a gauss shot into the Thunderbolt's exposed torso armor.
The heavy rocked.
The raiders got the message.
This wasn't a convoy you bullied.
This was a convoy guarded by a Dire Wolf and a Highlander that liked violence.
The Shadow Hawk backed off first, smoke trailing.
The Quickdraw struggled to move, then turned and limped away, choosing life over pride.
The Thunderbolt—anchor and likely leader—held one more second like it wanted to salvage dignity…
Then it withdrew behind the slag ridge and vanished into the industrial maze.
Lyra's voice came steady again. "Don't chase."
Dack answered immediately. "We don't chase."
Jinx groaned theatrically. "You're no fun."
Dack didn't respond.
Taila's voice came quieter, relieved. "Convoy's safe."
Lyra exhaled once. "Resume movement. Rafe, Rook—scan for secondary traps."
Rafe: "Already—"
Rook finished. "Doing."
The convoy rolled forward again, detouring around the blast wall while Moonjaw held the perimeter.
The rest of the route stayed tense but quiet—like the raiders had only wanted one clean strike and had decided Moonjaw wasn't worth the blood.
At the uplink pad, the client rep looked like he'd aged five years.
He handed Lyra the pay authorization with shaking fingers. "Thank you."
Lyra nodded once. "Pay was the thanks."
Jinx laughed. Taila smiled softly. Morrigan scowled like she wanted to have been there in a cockpit.
Dack didn't look at the rep. He watched the horizon until the Union's ramp sealed shut.
Then he said, low and final, "Now we move."
---
Back in orbit, Lyra brought the Union off Harrowpoint's local lane and toward the next hop.
The one-hop.
The direction.
The edge of the nest.
In the mech bay, Rook and Rafe stood by the sealed container holding the dead beacon module, faces lit by the bay's low glow.
Rafe's voice came quiet. "We can—"
Rook finished. "Decode."
Lyra looked at them. "How confident."
Rafe hesitated, then nodded. "It's not the full handshake."
Rook finished. "But it's a trail."
Jinx sauntered in with Taila behind her, both of them in tight black-and-red again, both of them looking like Moonjaw on purpose. Jinx's eyes were bright, but she still moved like she was checking her own body sometimes—subtle, annoyed, unsure.
She leaned her elbow on a crate and looked at the twins' fitted jumpsuits, the patches pinned proudly.
"Well," Jinx said, grinning, "you're halfway to the uniform cult already."
Rafe flushed. "It's just—"
Rook finished, stubborn. "Workwear."
Jinx's smile sharpened. "Workwear can be tight."
Taila groaned softly, embarrassed. "Jinx…"
Jinx winked. "What? It suits them."
Dack stepped into the bay and looked at the twins once—quick, assessing—then at Lyra, Taila, Jinx, Morrigan.
He didn't praise often.
But when he did, it mattered.
He nodded once at the twins' patches and the black-and-red workwear.
Then he said, flat, "Looks right."
Rafe blinked like that hit her in the chest.
Rook looked away, but her fingers brushed the patch like she was making sure it was real.
Morrigan stood by the Marauder, arms crossed, outfit tight and defiant, and muttered, "He approves of everything now."
Jinx laughed. "No, he approves of black and red."
Dack didn't correct her.
He just looked at Lyra. "Route."
Lyra's eyes stayed hard. "We can drift close to Lark's Nest under the cover of 'engine checks' and lane congestion. But if we do it, we do it once. No second chances."
Dack nodded once. "Do it."
Jinx's grin turned sharp. "Bird hunting."
Taila's voice was soft but steady. "Careful bird hunting."
Morrigan scoffed. "Finally."
Lyra turned back to her slate, already plotting approach vectors.
The Union's engines hummed.
Moonjaw moved forward on paper and steel, with money in the hold, a Marauder strapped down like a future, and a nest ahead full of people who thought they could buy anything.
This time, they were going to look.
Not bite.
Not yet.
But the wolf was close enough now to smell the nest.