The jump was clean.
Too clean.
Lyra never trusted that.
The Union slid out of the K-F flash into a system that looked ordinary from a distance—thin starfield, cold light, a handful of rocks with names nobody cared about. Up close, the system had traffic. Not proper House traffic with transponders and neat spacing. This was drift-lane clutter: small craft cutting corners, battered DropShips loitering where they shouldn't, bright little pings that weren't filed anywhere official.
Lyra sat tall in her harness, black-and-red suit tight on her like it was part of her skin, dark hair tied back, expression calm enough to make the bridge feel colder. "We're inside the Lark corridor."
Jinx leaned against a bulkhead behind her station, one knee up, long dirty-blonde hair falling over her shoulder, blue eyes bright with the kind of excitement that wasn't healthy. Her outfit had shifted again—tight black shorts with red strap accents, a fitted black top that showed more skin than a sensible pilot should, cropped red jacket with armored seams. Combat-ready, but still Jinx.
Taila sat off to the side near the comm panel, posture careful but not shrinking anymore. Black fitted top with red piping, leggings striped red down the sides, boots scuffed from real work. Dark hair pulled back; her cheeks warmed whenever Jinx's gaze lingered, which was often.
Morrigan lingered behind them like a storm cloud in a corridor—tight black long-sleeve under a short red-black jacket, shorts over banded thigh-highs, heavy boots. Gothic, tsundere glare intact, but now she looked like she belonged to Moonjaw's color scheme even when she pretended she didn't.
And Dack—Dack sat forward, watching the external feeds with that same blunt calm he carried into cockpits. Average face, lean build, nothing about him that screamed "legend" until you saw his eyes track a pattern and realized he was already measuring exits.
On one screen, their own bay cameras showed the Marauder strapped down like a prize and a problem. The Dire Wolf, Highlander, and Griffin sat chained and quiet, looming shapes under dim lights. Machines waiting to be told what to do.
Lyra adjusted their transponder profile again. "We go in boring. Slow. Normal. We're 'delayed for engine checks' and looking for a buyer for salvage."
Jinx grinned. "And we just happen to be near the nest."
Lyra didn't smile. "We happen to be near the nest because the lanes force it."
Dack's voice cut in, flat. "You see the anchor yet?"
Lyra zoomed out the external feed, narrowed wavelengths, and the "ordinary system" finally revealed its rot.
A chunk of rock the size of a small city sat in a lazy orbit near a dusty moon. It wasn't a natural asteroid anymore. It had been carved. Drilled. Wrapped in scaffolding and plated steel. Dock arms reached out from its sides like ribs. Floodlights carved harsh cones through drifting debris.
Ships clustered around it the way flies clustered around a wound.
LARK'S NEST didn't broadcast a friendly greeting. It broadcast control.
Lyra spoke quietly. "There."
Jinx's grin sharpened. "Pretty."
Taila swallowed. "It's… huge."
Morrigan scoffed. "It's a dump with lights."
Dack watched the dock arms. Watched the traffic behavior. Watched the way two small escorts held station near a comm buoy like they owned it. "They're screening."
Lyra nodded once. "We don't rush. We let them decide we're harmless."
Jinx laughed under her breath. "Harmless. Sure."
---
In the mech bay, the Calder twins were already awake.
Rook and Rafe stood under the hanging Marauder, panels open, hands stained with grease that never fully left. They'd modified their workwear again—still a mechanic's jumpsuit at heart, but tighter through the waist and hips, sleeves rolled, red piping stitched along seams with a level of care that was almost intimate. Their Moonjaw patches were pinned high on their chests now, visible and undeniable.
It wasn't "uniform."
But it was a choice.
Jinx noticed it the moment she walked in.
She leaned on a crate, blue eyes bright, hair a messy halo, and let her gaze rake over them like she was appraising art. "Look at you two."
Rafe flushed immediately. Rook tried not to react and failed by a fraction—jaw tightening, mouth twitching.
"It's practical," Rook said.
Rafe finished softly, "And… faster."
Jinx's grin widened. "And tight."
Rafe's cheeks went redder.
Taila stepped in behind Jinx and softened the moment without killing it. "It does look good."
Rafe blinked at her like she hadn't expected Taila to say it. Rook's eyes slid away, but her shoulders eased.
Dack entered last, silent. His gaze flicked to the twins, to the patches, to the subtle black-and-red workwear changes. Then to the Marauder's open guts.
"Status," he asked.
Rook and Rafe answered the same way they always did—like one thought split between two mouths.
Rafe: "Seat and harness—"
Rook: "—adjusted."
Rafe: "Controls mapped—"
Rook: "—for different reach."
Rafe: "No tracking—"
Rook: "—hardware."
Rafe: "No kill—"
Rook: "—switch."
Dack nodded once. That was approval in his language.
Morrigan stood near the cockpit ladder, arms crossed, staring at the Marauder like she could force it to become hers through hate alone.
Jinx sidled closer to Morrigan with a grin that promised trouble. "You're going to look so hot in that cockpit."
Morrigan's glare could've cracked metal. "If you say 'hot' one more time, I'll bite you."
Jinx leaned closer anyway, delighted. "Bite me later."
Taila made a small, mortified sound.
Lyra's voice came through the bay intercom, clipped and calm. "Approach control is requesting handshake. Dack, you're needed on the bridge."
Dack glanced once at the Marauder, at Morrigan, at the twins. Then he left without another word.
---
The handshake wasn't a normal docking clearance.
It was a test.
A narrow-band burst pinged their transponder, then a second ping that wasn't about ship identity at all—it was a pattern, a cadence like a knock on a door in a neighborhood that didn't use doors.
Lyra stared at the waveform. "They're not using standard protocols."
Jinx snorted. "Shocking."
Taila leaned closer, eyes narrowed. "It looks like—"
Rook and Rafe came in over internal comms from the bay, quick and synced.
Rafe: "It's a token request—"
Rook: "—for a guild handshake."
Rafe: "We can mimic—"
Rook: "—the response."
Lyra's eyes sharpened. "Can you do it without lighting us up like a flare?"
Rafe hesitated for half a breath. "Yes."
Rook finished, "If we keep it short."
Dack's gaze stayed on the external feeds. "Do it."
Lyra routed the comm link through a low-power array. The twins fed a response code in bursts—tight, controlled, just enough to say we belong here without saying we are desperate to belong here.
A beat of silence.
Then the Lark corridor buoy responded with a new ping.
CLEARANCE GRANTED — DOCK ARM SEVEN — HOLD SPEED — NO WEAPONS ACTIVE
Jinx's smile sharpened. "We're in."
Lyra's face stayed calm. "We're tolerated."
Dack didn't celebrate. He watched the escort craft drift closer—two small gunboats with old paint and new teeth. Their silhouettes were ugly. Their behavior was disciplined.
"They're going to sniff us," he said.
Lyra nodded. "Let them."
As the escorts drew near, Dack's comm panel chimed again—another narrow-band ping. Different cadence. More personal.
Lyra frowned. "Private channel."
Jinx leaned in, hungry. "Answer."
Lyra opened it—audio only.
A man's voice came through, smooth and amused. "Moonjaw. Nice ship. Nice paperwork. You're early for your 'engine checks.'"
Lyra didn't flinch. "Delays happen."
"Sure," the voice said. "Docking tax is doubled for new faces. Pay fast. Don't wander. Don't start fights unless you're finishing them."
Jinx smiled sweetly. "We always finish."
The voice chuckled like that made him happy. "Good. Also… someone put your name on a whisper list. Try not to die, Sato. It'd be rude after you paid."
Lyra's eyes went hard. "Who."
The voice ignored the question. "Welcome to the Nest."
The channel cut.
Taila's voice went quiet. "They know you."
Lyra's tone stayed level. "They know of me."
Dack's eyes stayed on the escorts. "And they're watching."
---
Dock Arm Seven was a steel throat.
The Union slid into it slowly, hull lights washing across pitted metal, old patchwork plating, blood-dark stains that had been cleaned badly and often. Magnetic clamps seized the ship with a heavy thud that vibrated through the deck like a warning.
The moment the ship locked in, the station's atmosphere cycled through the docking collar. Air hissed. Pressure equalized. Somewhere beyond the hatch, Lark's Nest waited.
Lyra kept the crew tight. "No one moves alone."
Jinx rolled her shoulders like she was warming up for a fight, long hair falling back, blue eyes glittering. "I'll behave."
Lyra's stare said no you won't.
Taila adjusted the strap of her thigh rig, cheeks faintly warm from the way Dack had looked at her earlier—brief, assessing, approving. She tried not to smile at the memory and failed.
Morrigan looked like she wanted to spit at the door. "If I see anyone in lace, I'm stabbing them."
Jinx laughed. "You're in lace half the time."
Morrigan's glare flared. "It's goth."
Lyra opened the hatch.
The Nest smelled like oil, sweat, metal, and cheap incense trying to cover the first three.
The corridor outside was wide enough for cargo carts and narrow enough to become a killing lane. Lighting was harsh and uneven. Cameras were everywhere, but most were fake—decoys. The real ones were hidden.
People moved through the corridor with the posture of predators and prey who'd forgotten the difference. Dockhands with scars. Pilots with bruised knuckles. Men and women in worn leathers. Some in cheap uniforms that mimicked House forces, but the patches were wrong—homemade symbols, clan-like, territorial.
A pair of armed "dock enforcers" stood near the entry checkpoint. Their rifles were clean, their eyes dead.
One stepped forward, gaze sliding over Lyra's sleek suit, Taila's tight black-and-red fit, Jinx's revealing combat look, Morrigan's weaponized goth, and finally Dack—average face, lean build, calm posture like he didn't need to prove he could hurt you.
The enforcer's eyes paused on Jinx's bare thigh straps and smirked. "Moonjaw, yeah? You're the ones with the Dire Wolf."
Jinx smiled brightly. "That's us."
The enforcer's gaze moved to Taila, lingering longer than it should. Taila's cheeks warmed—not from shyness, from anger. Dack's eyes flicked to the enforcer's face and held.
The smirk faltered.
"Dock tax," the enforcer said quickly, hand out.
Lyra paid without drama. Credits flicked. The enforcer scanned their manifest.
His eyes paused. "You got a captured Marauder on your internal? That's… ambitious."
Jinx grinned. "We're ambitious people."
The enforcer's gaze sharpened. "You selling it?"
Dack answered, blunt. "No."
That ended the conversation.
They moved deeper into the Nest with the sense of being watched from vents and shadows.
Taila kept close. Jinx made a point of brushing her hip against Taila's as they walked, just enough contact to make Taila flush and keep her anchored. Morrigan stayed on Dack's other side like a guard dog that hated everyone equally.
Lyra led them toward the market ring—where contracts were whispered, stolen, and sold.
---
The market wasn't a market.
It was a wound you could buy things inside.
Long rows of stalls built from shipping containers and salvaged bulkheads. Overhead catwalks packed with spectators and lookouts. A dozen languages. A dozen factions. Weapons on hips. Mech parts sold like meat—actuator bundles, heat sink housings, cracked armor plates tagged "good enough."
Moonjaw walked through it like they belonged.
That was the trick.
Jinx leaned in close to Taila and murmured, playful, "If anyone tries to grab you, bite them."
Taila's cheeks warmed, but her eyes stayed sharp. "I'm not you."
Jinx winked. "You're learning."
Lyra's gaze swept everything—faces, hands, corners, exits. She looked calm, but her jaw stayed tight. She was reading threats like she read flight vectors.
A man tried to sell them a fake nav key. Another tried to offer them "fresh pilots" like people were livestock. Jinx smiled sweetly until they walked past, then her smile dropped like a blade.
Then they saw the reminder of what Lark's Nest did to the weak.
A young pilot—barely older than Taila—was on his knees near a stall, bleeding from the mouth. Two enforcers stood over him. A third held a slate and read numbers out loud.
"Debt's due," the slate-man said. "You fly for the Nest, you pay the Nest. You don't pay, you get carved."
The pilot shook his head, hands trembling. "I— I can't. My mech's down. I—"
An enforcer kicked him in the ribs.
Jinx's blue eyes narrowed. Taila went pale. Morrigan's mouth twisted like she approved and hated herself for it.
Dack watched without moving. His eyes tracked the crowd's reaction. Nobody intervened. Nobody even pretended.
Lyra kept walking. Quietly, she said, "Don't look too long."
Taila swallowed hard. "They're just… doing that."
Lyra's answer was cold. "It's a nest. Nests eat."
Dack didn't comment.
But his hand drifted closer to the weapon under his jacket without thinking.
The slate-man finished reading. The enforcer raised a pistol and shot the kneeling pilot in the head.
No drama. No speech. Just a snap and a collapse.
Blood spread across the deck plates.
The crowd didn't flinch.
Jinx's voice went light, but her eyes stayed hard. "Okay. I hate this place."
Morrigan muttered, "Good."
Taila whispered, confused, "Why would anyone live here."
Lyra didn't slow. "Because they think it's safer than the worlds that rejected them."
Dack's voice was flat. "Or because they like hurting people."
That was the end of the conversation.
But it left an imprint.
---
They found a broker stall near the contract board.
The broker was a woman with shaved sides and a long braid, a smile that was too friendly, and eyes that were always measuring. A patch on her collar showed a stylized bird skull.
She looked Lyra up and down, then looked at Dack, and her smile sharpened.
"You're Moonjaw," she said. "You're the Dire Wolf. And you're the pilot nobody can buy."
Dack's answer was blunt. "Wrong."
The broker laughed like she liked him. "Name's Kite. I hear whispers. I sell the useful ones."
Jinx leaned on the stall like she owned it, hair falling forward, blue eyes bright. "We're looking for work."
Kite's gaze slid to Jinx's outfit and lingered with amusement. "You're looking for attention too."
Jinx grinned. "It's free."
Taila's cheeks warmed again, but she didn't step back.
Lyra kept it controlled. "We need a small, boring contract. Ground. Escort or recovery. Something that gives us cover to be in-system for a few days."
Kite's eyes narrowed. "Cover. That's a fun word."
Dack's voice cut in. "We're also looking for someone who likes sending latch drones."
Kite's smile faltered by a millimeter. "That's not me."
Lyra didn't blink. "Didn't say it was."
Kite leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You have eyes on you, Moonjaw. The kind that don't blink. Someone's interested in your new techs."
Jinx's smile vanished. "Which someone."
Kite's eyes flicked toward a catwalk where a clean-jacket man stood too still. He wasn't looking at them directly. He was looking at reflections.
Kite murmured, "That bird doesn't perch for free."
Lyra's voice stayed even. "Mother Lark."
Kite didn't confirm it outright. She just said, "If you want to stay breathing, you don't say her name too loud."
Dack's gaze didn't move from the catwalk. "We're already breathing."
Kite's smile returned, thin. "For now."
Lyra tapped the stall's slate. "Contract."
Kite swiped and projected a few options—most were garbage, most were traps. Then she paused on one and raised an eyebrow.
"Ground escort," Kite said. "Refinery components moving from a surface pad to an uplink in the badlands. Raiders hit it. Nest wants it delivered anyway. Pay's high because the route is ugly."
Lyra's eyes tracked details. "Who's paying."
Kite smiled like she knew she was handing them a knife. "Nest front. The signature's a shell. But the dispatch is tied to a logistics office that reports… upward."
Dack's voice was flat. "So it's her."
Kite shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe it's one of her daughters. Or maybe it's a lieutenant trying to impress."
Morrigan muttered, "Good. Bring them to us."
Taila's voice went small. "This is… dangerous."
Jinx leaned in close to Taila and kissed her cheek—quick, warm, shameless. Taila flushed hard. Jinx murmured, "We're always in danger."
Lyra made the decision without drama. "We take it."
Kite's smile sharpened. "Smart. Also stupid. I like you."
Lyra slid credits across the stall for the broker fee. Kite's eyes flicked down, then up.
"And Moonjaw?" Kite added quietly.
Lyra didn't look away. "Yes."
Kite's gaze slid to Rook and Rafe, who had stayed nearer the edge of the stall area, tool packs on, patches visible, eyes scanning like hunted animals trying to pretend they weren't hunted.
Kite's voice softened slightly. "If anyone asks about your techs, you tell them they're nobody. You hear me?"
Jinx's voice went sharp. "They're not nobody."
Kite met Jinx's eyes. "That's why they'll be hunted."
Dack spoke, blunt. "If they're hunted, we kill the hunters."
Kite's smile turned real for a second. "That's the right answer in the Nest."
---
They walked back toward the dock arm with the contract locked in.
The market's eyes followed them.
Dack felt it in the way bodies shifted just slightly out of their path. In the way a stall vendor stopped talking when Lyra passed. In the way a pair of men near a mech parts table pretended they weren't tracking Taila's hips and Jinx's bare thigh straps.
Dack's gaze caught one of those men.
Held.
The man looked away.
Taila noticed and swallowed, cheeks warm. She leaned closer to Dack without thinking, fingers brushing his forearm. Dack didn't move—but he didn't pull away either.
Jinx noticed too, and her grin turned satisfied. She liked seeing Taila claim space.
Lyra stayed quiet and focused.
Morrigan looked like she wanted to stab the whole market just to feel control.
Rook and Rafe walked close together, shoulders brushing, finishing each other's glances more than sentences now. The patch on their chests felt heavier here. Visible belonging was a risk in this place.
Halfway down the corridor back to Dock Seven, Lyra slowed.
She didn't stop. She slowed just enough to send a signal.
Dack felt it immediately—the shift in her posture, the way her eyes tracked the ceiling vent line.
"What," he said.
Lyra's voice stayed low. "We're being tailed."
Jinx's smile vanished. "Finally."
Taila's breath hitched. "Where."
Lyra didn't answer directly. She just angled them into a service corridor that looked like it belonged to maintenance—narrow, dim, no cameras visible.
A trap lane.
Dack didn't argue. He liked traps when he set them.
They walked deeper until the corridor widened into a junction with stacked crates and a maintenance hatch.
Lyra stopped.
Dack stopped.
Jinx stopped.
Taila stopped.
Morrigan stopped.
The twins stopped.
Silence.
Then footsteps behind them—soft, controlled.
Three figures stepped into the junction.
Not dockhands. Not enforcers. Too clean. Jackets cut well. Eyes too calm.
One was a woman with dark hair and a face like a blade—pretty in a way that felt engineered. She smiled at Lyra.
"Captain Sato," she said. "You travel with interesting company."
Lyra's expression didn't change. "Who are you."
The woman's eyes slid to the twins. "I'm a recruiter."
Rafe's shoulders tensed.
Rook's fingers tightened around her tool pack strap.
Jinx's voice went sweet. "Recruiter for who."
The woman smiled wider, like she enjoyed danger. "For the Nest."
Dack's voice cut in, flat. "Say the name."
The woman's eyes flicked to him—assessing. "You're Dack Jarn."
Dack didn't confirm. Didn't deny.
That was confirmation enough.
The woman continued, voice silky. "Mother Lark values talent. Mechanics who can gut a tracking module without blinking. Pilots who can capture a Marauder intact. A Dire Wolf that makes people whisper."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Get to the point."
The woman spread her hands slightly. "The point is simple. Your techs are wasted on a little merc unit. The Nest can pay them. Protect them. Give them resources."
Jinx's smile sharpened. "And own them."
The woman's gaze slid to Jinx's bare thigh strap and up to her blue eyes, amused. "Ownership is such an ugly word. I prefer 'belonging.'"
Taila's voice came quiet, trembling with anger rather than fear. "They already belong."
The recruiter's smile didn't falter. "To you? Or to him?"
Her eyes flicked to Dack.
Taila's cheeks warmed hot—rage, humiliation, instinctive jealousy all tangled.
Dack spoke, blunt and final. "They stay."
The recruiter sighed like she was disappointed. "Then we try the other route."
She nodded once.
The two men with her lifted their hands—one with a compact weapon, the other with a small device that looked like a puck.
A latch drone.
Up close.
Lyra moved first. Not dramatic. Just fast. Her hand snapped out, grabbing the nearest crate edge and pulling her body into cover while her other hand drew a pistol with clean economy.
Jinx moved like she'd been waiting for this. She lunged forward, grabbed Taila's wrist, and yanked her into cover behind Dack's shoulder, then drew her own weapon with a grin that was all teeth.
Morrigan didn't hide. She stepped forward with a snarl and kicked the puck device hard—sending it skittering and sparking into a wall where it cracked uselessly.
Rafe yelped.
Rook finished, breathless, "Nice."
The men fired.
The corridor lit with muzzle flashes.
Dack didn't waste ammo. He stepped into a shooting lane like he'd been born there and put a round through the first man's throat. The man dropped, choking, blood spraying dark across the deck plates.
The second man tried to swing his weapon toward Taila's cover.
Taila fired first—hands shaking for half a heartbeat, then steady—hitting him in the chest. Not a kill shot. He stumbled.
Jinx leaned out and finished it with a clean shot to the head.
The recruiter backed up immediately, eyes widening—surprise, then anger.
"You're making this difficult," she hissed.
Lyra's voice was ice. "You came to steal from us."
The recruiter's eyes flashed. "You don't understand where you are."
Dack stepped forward, weapon leveled. His voice was flat. "I understand."
The recruiter's gaze flicked past him—toward the corridor mouth.
More footsteps.
Enforcers coming.
Not to help Moonjaw.
To erase the mess.
Lyra saw it too. "We go. Now."
Jinx grabbed Taila by the collar and yanked her back, laughing breathlessly. "Come on, babe."
Taila's cheeks went red even in adrenaline. "Don't call me—"
Jinx kissed her quickly—hard, claiming—then pulled away with a grin. "Now you're mad and distracted."
Taila hated that it worked.
Morrigan kicked the dead puck again for good measure, then spat, "Cowards."
Rook and Rafe moved in sync, already dragging a crate to block the junction line and buying seconds.
Rafe: "Go—"
Rook finished, "Now."
They retreated fast, not panicked—disciplined.
Behind them, the recruiter's voice cut through the corridor, sharp and furious:
"This isn't over! Mother Lark—"
Lyra snapped back without looking. "Tell her to come herself."
---
They reached Dock Seven before the Nest's enforcers could choose the official narrative.
The Union's hatch sealed behind them with a heavy thud that felt like survival.
Lyra didn't slow. "Prep immediate undock. We leave before they 'review' this."
Jinx's blue eyes glittered, hair wild, cheeks flushed from adrenaline and the thrill of violence. "That was fun."
Taila's hands shook now that the danger had passed. She looked pale, then angry, then pale again. "They… they just tried to take them."
Rook and Rafe stood behind her, breathing hard, eyes bright and cold. Their patches were visible. Their workwear was tight and stained with fresh blood now—not theirs, but close enough.
Rafe whispered, "They knew—"
Rook finished, "Too much."
Dack's voice was flat. "Now we know too."
Morrigan wiped blood off her boot with a casual disgust. "So what's next."
Lyra's eyes were hard. "We still have the contract. Ground escort. Surface. That's our cover to stay in-system. And now it's also a leash they're trying to pull."
Jinx grinned. "So we pull back."
Lyra met Dack's eyes. "We go down. We do the job. We watch who shows up. We find where the chain leads."
Dack nodded once. "And if they reach again—"
Jinx finished for him, cheerful and vicious. "We bite fingers off."
Taila swallowed, still shaking, still angry. "What about… them."
She looked at the twins.
Rook's voice was calm, a little too calm. "We stay close."
Rafe finished softly. "Together."
Dack's gaze moved over all of them—Lyra's composed danger, Jinx's bright violence, Taila's trembling courage, Morrigan's hostile loyalty, the twins' synchronized fear turning into steel.
He approved of the way they'd come back alive.
He didn't dress it up.
"Gear up," he said. "We drop in an hour."
Jinx's grin flared. "Yes, sir."
Then—quietly, as they dispersed—Jinx's hand drifted to her stomach again, a brief unconscious touch. Her smile faltered for a fraction.
Dack saw it.
He didn't call it out in front of everyone.
He just walked past her and said low, blunt, meant only for her, "Tell Lyra if it gets worse."
Jinx blinked, blue eyes softer. "Okay."
Then she forced her grin back into place like armor. "I'm fine."
Dack didn't argue.
He just made sure she wasn't alone when the ramp dropped.
---
Outside, Lark's Nest hung in the void like a mouth.
Moonjaw's Union shook free of Dock Seven clamps and slid away on quiet thrusters, "engine checks" still broadcasting like a polite lie.
Behind them, the Nest watched.
Ahead of them, a planet waited—ugly badlands, refinery pads, convoy routes lined with slag hills and ambush lanes.
A ground job.
A cover job.
And now, a test to see how close Mother Lark was willing to reach.
Moonjaw was going down into the dirt again.
Where mechs belonged.
Where wolves hunted.
And where nests learned, the hard way, that stealing from a pack had consequences.