The Union climbed out of the badlands like it was dragging a corpse.
Thrusters boiled the planet's ash into a storm as Lyra held a low, ugly ascent—no clean burn that would paint them bright on every sensor screen in the corridor. Just enough thrust to clear the thin upper air, then a long, controlled drift into orbital dark.
In the belly of the ship, the downed Atlas hung half-swallowed by the cargo bay—mag-clamps locked, binders cinched tight around limbs and torso, the mass so obscene it made the deck plates complain in a slow, metallic groan every time the Union adjusted attitude.
Dack stayed in the Dire Wolf until Lyra said they were stable.
He didn't like being outside the cockpit when the universe was still deciding whether to kill him. Inside, it was simple: heat, armor, sensor returns. Outside, it was people and soft parts.
Lyra's voice cut through the comm net, calm and tight. "Orbit established. Drift vector plotted. We're out of immediate line-of-sight from Nest hard buoys. Not invisible—just… harder to reach."
"Good," Dack said.
Jinx answered right after him, cheerful like she couldn't help herself. "We kidnapped a queen. We're basically royalty."
Taila didn't laugh. "They'll come."
"They'll try," Lyra corrected. "We move before they get comfortable."
The Dire Wolf's cockpit smelled like hot metal and dust baked into armor seams. Dack's warning panel still blinked in a few corners—damage that mattered later, not now. He sat for a beat longer, listening to the reactor hum, letting the battle fade into the kind of quiet that made decisions heavier.
Then he keyed the bay. "Open."
The mech bay doors cycled. The Union's belly lights painted the metal deck in pale strips. The Highlander was already in its berth, Jinx's machine chained and cooling, scorch marks on its right shoulder. The Griffin sat beside it, Taila's ride looking smaller than it had on the plateau, but intact.
And the Marauder—Morrigan's borrowed monster—stood in the middle like it didn't trust the walls. Its cockpit was dark now, but the stance was different than when they'd hauled it as cargo.
It looked… claimed.
Dack brought the Dire Wolf in slow, careful, and locked down. Clamps bit. Power dropped to idle. Fans spun up.
Only then did he unseal.
Only then did he step out.
He hit the deck and the ship's gravity felt wrong for half a second—always did after combat, like the body wanted the weight of a cockpit seat and the tightness of harness straps instead of open air.
Lyra met him at the bay entry, helmet under one arm, eyes cool. Her black suit hugged close, practical, no wasted fabric. "We have maybe an hour before someone tries something stupid."
"Then we use it," Dack said.
Behind Lyra, Rook and Rafe stood near the Atlas, both in their tight work-jumpsuits with red piping and Moonjaw patches pinned high. Their hands were stained and steady. Their faces weren't.
Not fear—focus. The kind that came from working next to something that could kill you even while powered down.
Jinx came down the ramp from the upper corridor, hair messy, blue eyes bright, wearing a tight black top and strapped shorts under her red jacket. She looked like she was still halfway in the fight.
Taila followed her, quieter, dark hair pulled back, fitted black-and-red gear clinging to her in a way that made her look tougher than she felt. Her gaze kept flicking toward the Atlas like it was a sleeping animal.
Morrigan arrived last, arms crossed, expression like she'd rather die than admit she'd been scared.
Dack's eyes flicked to her once. Just once.
"You held," he said.
Morrigan blinked like she hadn't expected anything. "Yeah. I—… of course I did."
"Good," Dack said, and moved on.
It hit her anyway.
Jinx saw it and grinned like she'd just witnessed something filthy. Taila's mouth softened, relieved.
Lyra tapped a finger on the nearest clamp control housing. "Before anyone celebrates: we get paid, we confirm the payout isn't bait, and we crack that cockpit. Fast."
Jinx cracked her knuckles. "I vote we crack it with a hammer."
Rafe spoke before Lyra could. "Hammer is—"
Rook finished. "Bad."
Rafe: "We need—"
Rook: "Control."
Dack nodded. "Show me."
---
They didn't "open" an Atlas cockpit like a car door.
They dismantled the idea of it being safe to keep closed.
Rook and Rafe moved as one mind with two bodies—one climbing the Atlas's leg bracing points, the other grounding cables and monitoring. They didn't chatter. They didn't pose. They just worked, hands confident, finishing each other's thought without trying.
Rafe: "External—" Rook: "—power bus." Rafe: "Cut—" Rook: "—first."
Lyra stayed close, slate in hand, tracking ship power loads and any unexpected spikes. "If she tries to spool the reactor—"
"She can't," Rook said, calm.
Rafe finished, quieter. "Not fast enough."
Jinx leaned close to Taila, whispering loudly on purpose. "They're so hot when they do that."
Taila flushed, mortified. "Jinx."
Morrigan muttered, "You need help."
Jinx grinned. "I know."
Dack ignored the noise and watched the Atlas's sensor ports and heat vents like they might lie.
His mind kept returning to the same thing:
Mother Lark had come personally.
She hadn't sent another Kess. She hadn't sent another proxy.
She'd stepped into an Atlas like she wanted him to see her.
That wasn't business.
That was something else.
Lyra's slate chimed.
Payment.
The convoy shell account pushed the transfer through the moment their uplink confirmed delivery. No delays, no "processing," no negotiation.
Too clean. Too fast.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "That's… eager."
Jinx's grin widened. "Maybe they're grateful."
Lyra didn't look up. "Nobody in the Nest is grateful."
Taila swallowed. "So they wanted it paid before we asked questions."
Lyra nodded once. "Exactly."
Dack stepped closer and looked over Lyra's shoulder at the transaction trace. "Where from."
Lyra highlighted the chain. "Shell on shell on shell. But the last leg…" Her finger stopped. "That leg is a known escrow rail. It's not public. It's a corridor signature."
Dack stared at the name tag attached to the rail—an old designation used by brokers and criminals who liked their money clean.
FEATHERLINE ESCROW
He felt something cold in his chest.
He'd seen that string before.
Not on a screen like this.
On a contract token. A stamped line in Kess's paperwork. A "secure payment route" Kess had bragged about because it made him feel important.
Lyra didn't know that. Not yet.
But she saw Dack's face shift.
"What," she said.
Dack's voice was flat. "Kess used that rail."
Silence hit the bay like a dropped tool.
Taila's eyes widened. "He did?"
Dack nodded once. "On my first job. The one that turned into a trap."
Jinx's smile thinned. "So it was never random."
Lyra's gaze went hard. "No."
Morrigan's arms tightened across her chest. "So she's been on you since the beginning."
Dack didn't answer. He watched the Atlas again, suddenly less like a prize and more like a confession.
Rook and Rafe finished their sequence.
Rafe: "Locks—" Rook: "—next."
They braced. Manual overrides engaged with a heavy, reluctant clunk. The Atlas cockpit seam hissed as pressure equalized. A smell of recycled air and heat drifted out.
Then the cockpit hatch cracked open—slow, controlled, not enough for a pilot to lunge out, enough for the crew to see inside.
Mother Lark didn't move.
She sat in the Atlas's command cradle like she belonged there, helmet off, dark hair pinned tight, face calm in a way that felt obscene after a battlefield. Her uniform wasn't Moonjaw's black and red. It was tailored in bone-white and dark slate, with teal wing-sweep accents across the chest and shoulders and a small brass bird insignia at the collar. Not flashy. Not sexy. Not inviting.
A uniform meant to be remembered.
Her eyes lifted to them without surprise.
"You're slow," she said softly.
Jinx snorted. "And you're chained."
Mother Lark's gaze slid to Jinx like she was something loud and temporary. Then to Taila—longer. Measuring. Then to Lyra, with a flicker of recognition. Then to Morrigan, with cool amusement. Then to the twins, with a sharper focus.
Finally to Dack.
There, something in her face tightened—so fast it almost didn't exist.
"Dack Jarn," she said. Like savoring a taste.
Dack didn't take the bait. "Out."
Mother Lark's mouth curved slightly. "No."
Dack's eyes didn't change. "Then we talk here."
Lyra's tone was cold. "You're in our bay. You're powered down. You're not in control."
Mother Lark laughed once, quiet. "You think control is a button."
Jinx leaned closer to the open seam, grinning. "I think control is whether you get to keep breathing."
Mother Lark's eyes flicked to Jinx's throat, then back to Dack. "Your pets are spirited."
Taila flinched—anger, not fear.
Dack's voice stayed blunt. "Why."
Mother Lark didn't pretend not to understand. "Why what."
"Why me," Dack said. "Why Kess. Why Sable. Why now."
Mother Lark's gaze held his. "Because you didn't die when you were supposed to."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Who decided he was supposed to die."
Mother Lark smiled like that question pleased her. "Many people decide many things."
Dack didn't move. "Names."
Mother Lark's eyes drifted to the bay cameras mounted high in the corners. "You want names. In front of witnesses."
Jinx's grin sharpened. "You mean in front of people you can't intimidate."
Mother Lark's gaze snapped to Jinx, colder. "Careful."
Dack cut through it. "Kess."
Mother Lark blinked once, slowly. "Kess was a thief."
"He had funding," Dack said. "He had intel. He had a rail."
Lyra held up the slate so Mother Lark could see FEATHERLINE ESCROW.
For the first time, Mother Lark's composure cracked—not panic. A tiny, involuntary tightening at the corner of her mouth, like an old wound being pressed.
Then it was gone.
"You've learned to read paper," she said.
Dack didn't bite. "He worked for you."
Mother Lark's eyes stayed on the slate. "Kess worked for money."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "Money that came from you."
Mother Lark's gaze lifted back to Dack. "You're close."
Taila's voice came out before she could stop it. "Why do you hate him?"
Mother Lark looked at Taila like she'd just noticed an insect had spoken. "I don't hate him."
The lie was smooth.
It wasn't convincing.
Jinx laughed softly. "Sure."
Dack leaned closer to the seam, just enough that Mother Lark could see his eyes clearly. "My father."
That word did it.
Mother Lark's breathing changed—subtle. A half-step deeper. A half-step slower.
"You're Ronan's boy," she said.
Dack didn't react. "Was he killed by chance."
Mother Lark's smile came back, thin. "Chance is what people call it when they don't want to admit someone planned better."
The bay went quiet.
Even Jinx stopped joking.
Lyra's voice went low, controlled. "So you planned it."
Mother Lark tilted her head slightly. "I planned many things."
Morrigan's voice came sharp from the side. "Say it."
Mother Lark ignored Morrigan completely and kept her gaze on Dack, like the rest of them were scenery.
"You want to know if I'm connected," she said, soft and poisonous. "I'm connected to everything that matters here."
Dack's jaw tightened. "Did you pay Kess to take the Dire Wolf."
Mother Lark paused long enough that it stopped being a dodge and became a choice.
Then she said, "Kess was supposed to bring it home."
Taila sucked in a breath.
Jinx's voice went low. "So it was you."
Mother Lark didn't deny it.
Dack didn't celebrate the confirmation. It sat in him like a weight.
Lyra stepped closer, cold. "Why did you want the Dire Wolf."
Mother Lark's eyes flicked away for half a beat—somewhere inside the Atlas cockpit, somewhere inside memory—and when they returned, they were harder.
"Because it was never yours," she said. "It was never his to give away."
Dack stared. "It was my father's."
Mother Lark's mouth twitched again. "Was it."
Lyra watched the exchange, mind already building triangles. "Rook. Rafe. Scan the cockpit log. Any comm caches. Any contract tokens."
The twins moved instantly.
Rafe: "On—" Rook: "—it."
They didn't climb into the cockpit. They didn't need to. They ran a tethered diagnostic probe into a maintenance port, read-only, isolated. No chance for Mother Lark to spike a system and fry them.
Mother Lark watched them work with something like interest—and something like irritation.
"You keep dangerous children," she said.
Jinx's grin returned, colder. "We're all dangerous."
Mother Lark's gaze slid back to Dack. "You still haven't asked the real question."
Dack didn't blink. "Ask it for me."
Mother Lark's voice softened, and that softness was a weapon. "Why did Ronan die."
Dack's fingers flexed once at his side—restraint, not hesitation. "Because someone wanted him dead."
Mother Lark nodded slowly. "Yes."
Lyra's voice went hard. "And that someone is you."
Mother Lark didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, very quietly, "Ronan always thought he could walk away from choices."
Taila frowned, confused. "What does that mean."
Mother Lark's gaze flicked to Taila with faint contempt. "It means he made promises to people like me and then decided he was too good to pay them."
Dack's throat tightened. He didn't know why yet. He just felt the hook.
"What promises," he said.
Mother Lark smiled like she'd been waiting for that.
But before she could speak—
Rook and Rafe's probe chimed.
Rafe: "Cockpit—" Rook: "—log cache." Rafe: "Recent—" Rook: "—burst." Rafe: "Outbound—" Rook: "—to Nest."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "She pinged on the way down?"
Rafe nodded. "It's—" Rook finished. "A code."
Rafe: "Same—" Rook: "Handshake."
Lyra's gaze snapped to Dack. "The same handshake we faked to get dock clearance."
Dack felt the cold in his chest deepen.
Mother Lark watched him realize it and looked… pleased.
"She told them," Taila whispered.
Lyra's tone went razor calm. "She told them she's in our hold. Which means their next move will be… immediate."
Jinx's blue eyes flashed. "Oh, I hate her."
Mother Lark leaned back in her cradle like she was lounging. "You wanted answers. You got one."
Dack's voice cut in, blunt. "Why did you do that."
Mother Lark's smile widened slightly. "Because I want you to run."
Lyra's face went flat. "She's using herself as bait."
Mother Lark's eyes stayed on Dack. "I want to see if you can keep them alive when the whole nest bites."
Dack stared at her through the cracked seam of the cockpit hatch.
Then he said, very quietly, "You're confident."
Mother Lark's eyes darkened. "I'm patient."
Jinx leaned close, voice low and vicious. "You're going to die."
Mother Lark didn't look at Jinx. "Not today."
Taila's hands clenched into fists. "Why him."
Mother Lark finally looked at Taila again—long enough to make Taila feel small, then angry about it.
"Because he's Ronan's blood," Mother Lark said. "And Ronan's blood shouldn't exist."
That line landed like a gunshot.
Dack didn't move, but something behind his eyes sharpened.
Lyra's voice went tight. "Dack—"
He held up one hand, silencing her.
Then he leaned closer to the seam again, close enough that Mother Lark could see he wasn't guessing anymore—he was connecting.
"Kess used Featherline," Dack said. "This payout used Featherline. Your cockpit log uses the Nest handshake. You were waiting in-system. You came personally."
Mother Lark's smile didn't falter.
Dack's voice stayed flat. "You set my father up."
Mother Lark's eyes glittered with something old. "You're learning."
Dack held her gaze. "And you wanted the Dire Wolf back."
Mother Lark's breathing deepened again, subtle, like anger trying to rise and being held down.
"You shouldn't be sitting in it," she said softly. "That machine is a monument. You turned it into a tool."
Dack didn't flinch. "My father used it as a tool."
Mother Lark's smile turned sharp. "Your father used people as tools."
Silence.
Taila looked between them, confused and furious. Jinx's mouth tightened. Morrigan's arms crossed harder.
Lyra's eyes narrowed as if she'd just found the outline of a buried story.
Dack stared at Mother Lark for a long second.
Then he asked the question he hadn't wanted to ask, because asking it made it real.
"What are you to him."
Mother Lark's smile slowed.
For the first time since she'd powered down, she looked like she might actually enjoy the truth.
But she didn't give it all.
Not yet.
Instead she said, low and poisonous, "Someone he chose to leave behind."
And that was enough to make the shape of the whole thing appear in Dack's mind like a heat signature breaking cover.
Someone personal.
Someone close.
Someone old.
Lyra's slate chimed again—external sensor ping.
Rook and Rafe stiffened.
Rafe: "Ghost—" Rook: "—ping." Rafe: "Buoy—" Rook: "—net."
Lyra's face went hard. "They found our drift."
Jinx's voice went bright and savage, trying to turn fear into hunger. "Good. I wasn't done."
Taila swallowed. "We can't fight in orbit."
Lyra nodded. "Not with this much mass chained in our hold. Not with a hostage who wants to be bait."
Dack's gaze stayed locked on Mother Lark.
He'd gotten enough to know she was tied to Kess.
Enough to know she was tied to Ronan's death.
Enough to know this wasn't merc work anymore.
And he still didn't have the real answer.
Not the reason.
Not the name behind the hatred.
But he had something else now.
A lever.
Mother Lark was alive.
And she wanted to be close enough to watch him break.
Dack straightened.
His voice was blunt, calm, final. "Lyra. Prep burn."
Lyra didn't hesitate. "Course plotted."
Dack's eyes returned to the cracked cockpit seam. "You're going to talk. Later. When you're not performing."
Mother Lark smiled. "You think you can control when I speak."
Dack's answer was simple. "Yes."
Then he turned away from the Atlas and walked toward the bridge, already planning the next move—how to run with a crippled prize in the hold, how to keep his crew alive, and how to make a woman in bone-white and teal finally say the one thing she didn't want to say out loud.
Behind him, Mother Lark watched through the narrowing seam of her cockpit hatch, breathing slow and satisfied.
The nest had found the trail.
Now the hunt was real.