They chose a port that smelled like old fuel and newer lies.
A hard-edged frontier yard squatting on the lee side of a rust-red moon, where the "customs office" was a prefab shack and the scanners were older than the paint on the landing lights. No polite traffic control, no clean registry sweeps—just a rotating cast of desperate traders, salvage gangs, and contract crews who didn't ask questions because questions got you robbed.
Lyra brought the Union down into a bowl of scrap and broken ferrocrete, landing between stacked shipping containers and skeletal hull sections that had once been fighters. The ground trembled under the DropShip's mass. Dust rolled in low waves.
The mech bay stayed sealed until the ramp cameras confirmed the yard wasn't hosting a welcoming party.
Only then did they move.
Not as tourists. As a unit.
Jinx walked first, because Jinx always walked like the universe owed her space. Black-and-red Moonjaw casual gear—tight top under her red jacket, strapped shorts, boots that looked like they'd kicked teeth in on three continents. Her dirty-blonde hair was tied back but still managed to spill loose like it was flirting with gravity. She threw a look over her shoulder at Dack, blue eyes bright.
"Try not to murder anyone who stares," she said.
Dack stepped down behind her in fitted black gear that didn't pretend to be anything but functional. He didn't answer right away. His eyes swept the yard: the cranes, the loaders, the watchtowers with cheap optics, the men and women pretending not to watch.
"They can stare," he said finally. "They can't touch."
Taila came next, halter-style top and high-waist combat leggings with red striping, boots polished but still practical. She held her shoulders like she was trying to look fearless. The blush gave her away. She kept close to Dack's left without meaning to, fingers brushing the fabric near his elbow like she needed the contact to remember she was real.
Morrigan followed in a short black dress with red accents over tight leggings, harness-collar sitting like a statement around her throat. Arms crossed. Glaring at the yard like it personally offended her. The twin tails of her dark hair bounced with each step and somehow made her look both lethal and annoyed.
Lyra stayed nearer the ramp, coat open over her sleek black suit, helmet under one arm. Calm and composed—so calm it made people more nervous than if she'd been shouting.
Rook and Rafe didn't go far from the ship. They carried themselves like techs—tool pouches, gloves, eyes already cataloging every piece of scrap that might be worth something. Side by side, they moved with the same pace and same turns, like they'd been wired that way.
The yard boss met them halfway.
He was big, sun-leathered, wearing a patched pressure vest with a corporate logo that had been scratched off. He didn't smile. He didn't try to be friendly. Smart.
"Union crew," he said, eyes flicking to the Moonjaw patch on Jinx's shoulder. "You pay in advance."
Lyra's voice was even. "We pay on delivery."
The yard boss's gaze slid over Dack, then to Taila, then to Morrigan. His eyes lingered too long. He corrected himself when Dack's stare hit him like a hard surface.
"Half," the boss said. "Half now. Half when the pallets hit your ramp."
Lyra nodded like she'd expected it. "Ammo. Coolant. Spare myomer bundles. Actuator seals. And a field-grade diagnostic rig."
The yard boss's eyebrows twitched. "That's expensive."
Jinx leaned in, smiling sweetly. "So are we."
Morrigan muttered, "He's going to gouge us."
Jinx whispered back, delighted, "Let him. I want to watch Dack negotiate."
Dack didn't negotiate. He didn't raise his voice, didn't posture, didn't insult.
He just looked at the boss and said, "You gouge, we leave."
The boss blinked.
Dack didn't blink back.
Lyra slid the payment chip into the man's hand—half, clean, no flourish. "You deliver fast," she said. "We stay quiet. You deliver slow, we lift and you explain to everyone why you lost a Union contract."
The boss weighed the chip like it was a little piece of his future. Then he nodded once. "Cranes move in an hour."
They turned away.
Jinx bumped her shoulder lightly against Taila's. "See? We're classy."
Taila's lips twitched. "We're criminals."
"Classy criminals," Jinx corrected, then made a small face and pressed her tongue to her teeth like something tasted wrong.
Taila noticed immediately. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Jinx said too fast. Then she laughed like she could drown the moment. "Probably just hungry."
Dack saw it too—subtle, but he'd been watching her for days. The little pauses. The way smells made her expression shift. The way she'd been more tired after sims, more irritable for no reason, then suddenly soft in the quiet moments.
He didn't say anything out here.
Not where people could listen.
They walked the yard perimeter, checked the approach lanes, made sure nobody was setting up a "random inspection." Rook and Rafe examined a pile of burnt-out actuator assemblies like it was treasure. Lyra kept the ship's comms tight and quiet.
And above it all, in the belly of the Union, the Atlas sat chained.
Mother Lark was still in there. Still breathing.
Still waiting.
---
Back inside, the ship felt safer by comparison—steel walls and familiar shadows.
The women peeled off jackets and harness straps, the heat of the port lingering on skin. The Moonjaw patch looked different under ship lights—less show, more belonging.
Jinx wandered into the crew space, dropped onto the edge of a bench, and stared at the ceiling like she was counting beams.
Taila hovered near her, uncertain. Morrigan stood with her arms crossed and pretended not to watch. Lyra slid her slate across the table and began mapping the yard's exits in case they needed to lift hot.
Dack moved through the space like he was checking a perimeter even when he wasn't. He paused behind Jinx.
"You're off," he said.
Jinx blinked up at him. "Wow. Romantic."
Dack's expression didn't change. "Eat."
Jinx's grin softened, and for a second she looked… surprised he'd noticed at all. "Yes, boss."
Taila's cheeks pinked at the word boss. Morrigan rolled her eyes.
Jinx stood, then stopped mid-step, one hand pressing lightly to her stomach as if her body had made a decision without consulting her. She breathed through it and tried to make it a joke.
"If I puke, I'm aiming for Morrigan's boots," she said.
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "I'll throw you out the airlock."
Lyra didn't look up from her slate. "Don't. We need her."
Jinx laughed again, then caught Dack's wrist and pulled him just close enough to steal a quick kiss—sharp, playful, a claim made in a hallway where the ship cameras didn't matter. Dack let it happen, then his hand settled briefly at her hip, steadying her without making a show of it.
Taila watched, heat creeping up her neck.
Jinx looked over Dack's shoulder and smirked. "Your turn later, Taila."
Taila's mouth opened, then shut. "Jinx."
Morrigan made a disgusted sound that didn't quite hide her envy.
Lyra's eyes flicked up, caught the whole thing, then returned to her slate like she refused to be dragged into it. But her mouth had a faint curve at one corner.
The unit breathed.
Then the ship pinged.
Lyra froze. "External comm request."
Dack's head snapped toward her. "From."
Lyra's fingers moved. "Port control." A beat. "No. Not port control. A private channel spoofing port control."
Jinx's grin vanished.
Taila swallowed. "They found us."
Lyra didn't answer. She didn't need to.
The Union's external cameras flickered—one angle, then another—until the yard view showed movement that hadn't been there a moment ago.
A DropShip descending low and fast over the far ridge of scrap.
Compact silhouette. Stubby wings.
A Leopard.
Not the carrier variant, but still a predator.
It came in too hot to be "normal traffic." Dust plumed behind it. The yard's cranes and loaders froze like animals hearing thunder.
Lyra's voice went tight. "No transponder."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Of course."
Jinx's smile turned sharp and hungry. "Finally."
Dack's voice was blunt. "To cockpits."
No yelling. No panic. Just motion—disciplined, practiced in sims and sharpened in blood.
They moved.
---
The mech bay became a storm of clamps releasing and reactors waking.
The Dire Wolf powered first, because it always did. Dack sealed in, helmet on, harness tight, the familiar cocoon of the cockpit swallowing the outside world. Displays came alive. Heat readouts stabilized. The low hum of the reactor settled into his bones.
Jinx's Highlander spun up next—warning tones blipping, then smoothing as she brought it to combat idle.
Taila's Griffin followed, a touch slower but steady. Her breath came fast over the comm for a second, then she forced it down into something controlled. Dack heard the effort. He didn't comment.
Morrigan's Marauder came alive like a dark animal waking—PPC capacitor whine climbing and leveling.
Lyra stayed in the Union, hands on ship systems, voice on comms. "Leopard touched down at the far side of the yard. It's unloading."
Rook and Rafe stayed off the field—locked behind blast doors, their job now to keep the ship from becoming a coffin if something hit the bay.
Rafe's voice came tight over internal. "They—"
Rook finished. "Came for her."
Dack's eyes narrowed at that word.
Her.
The Atlas overhead, silent and chained.
Mother Lark.
Lyra's tactical overlay painted heat blooms as the Leopard's bay doors opened.
One mech dropped first—heavy, broad-shouldered, missile racks and barrel lines unmistakable even through dust.
Warhammer.
Then a long-bodied heavy with twin shoulder pods:
Catapult.
Then something quicker—a medium silhouette moving like it wanted to get behind them:
Phoenix Hawk.
And finally the command anchor—tall, bulky, unmistakably assault-class.
Zeus.
Bone-white and slate with teal wing-sweeps.
Brass bird insignia.
Not Mother Lark's Atlas, but the same family colors. The same threat made into metal.
Lyra's voice went colder. "Wing Captain Quill is likely in the Zeus."
Jinx whistled low. "She brought a Zeus to a yard fight."
Morrigan's tone was sharp. "She wants to smash our ship."
Taila's voice tightened. "If they hit the Union—"
"They won't," Dack said. "Not yet."
He could already see the shape of it: a retrieval mission, not a massacre. Disable the Union. Force compliance. Extract the Atlas and the prisoner. Leave the rest as a warning.
That meant the enemy would aim for engines, legs, weapons—control points.
That also meant they could be baited.
Lyra's voice snapped. "Yard boss is scattering. He's not part of it."
"Good," Dack said. "Less noise."
He brought the Dire Wolf down the ramp into the yard, heavy feet crushing debris. The outside was a wasteland of scrap piles and container stacks—perfect for ambush, perfect for flanks.
Jinx took high ground on a mound of broken fuselage, Highlander's gauss rifle tracking, stable and hungry.
Morrigan slid her Marauder left into a canyon between container stacks, using the narrow path like a knife sheath.
Taila stayed closer to Dack than she would have earlier in the campaign. Support position. Not hiding—supporting.
Dack didn't praise the choice. He just accepted it and used it.
The enemy lance advanced in a stagger: Warhammer and Catapult laying fire lines, Phoenix Hawk probing for a gap, Zeus moving like a judge walking to the gallows.
Quill opened comms, voice crisp and calm.
"Moonjaw," she said. "Power down. Release the Atlas. You leave alive."
Jinx laughed into the channel. "You're adorable."
Taila didn't speak. Morrigan didn't either.
Dack answered, blunt and flat. "No."
Quill's pause was short. "Then I remove your mobility."
The Catapult fired first—LRMs arcing into the sky, splitting into streams that rained down toward the Union's landing zone.
Dack snapped his Dire Wolf forward and answered with his own LRMs, intercepting lanes—missiles colliding midair, detonations shredding dust and scattering shrapnel into harmless arcs.
Not all of them. Enough got through to pepper the yard around the Union, throwing up geysers of scrap and dirt.
Lyra's voice was tight. "They're trying to bracket the ship."
"Move the ship," Jinx sang.
"I can't," Lyra snapped. "Not with the Atlas chained and the Awesome unsecured. We lift, we risk shifting mass."
Dack's voice stayed calm. "Then we hold."
The Warhammer stepped forward and fired twin PPC bolts—white-blue lances that sizzled through dust and slammed into the Dire Wolf's armor. Warning lights blinked. Heat climbed.
Dack didn't flinch. He fired the AC/10 once—solid recoil through the chassis—and the shell punched into the Warhammer's left torso plating, tearing armor away in a brutal spray.
Jinx saw the opening and took it—gauss rifle thunder cracking the yard. The round slammed into the Warhammer's shoulder assembly and blew plating apart. The heavy mech staggered, forced to pivot and protect its damaged side.
"Oops," Jinx said brightly. "Did I do that?"
The Phoenix Hawk tried to use the distraction. It boosted forward, jets flaring, aiming for the Union's flank—fast enough to get under the Dire Wolf's worst angles.
Taila caught it before Dack could.
Her Griffin fired a PPC shot that ripped across the Phoenix Hawk's chest armor, making it stumble and veer, jets flaring unevenly.
Taila's voice came tight over comms. "I—hit."
Dack's answer was immediate. "Keep it off the ship."
The Phoenix Hawk recovered and angled toward Taila instead, trying to bully the "weaker" unit.
It was a mistake.
Morrigan's Marauder stepped out of the container canyon like a nightmare, PPC capacitor whine rising—then a bolt slammed into the Phoenix Hawk's leg, shearing armor and forcing the medium to drop its angle.
Morrigan's voice was low and vicious. "Mine."
The Phoenix Hawk tried to boost away.
Morrigan followed with a measured laser rake that ate into exposed myomer.
Taila added LRM fire—controlled, not a full dump—just enough to keep the Phoenix Hawk off balance.
The medium mech faltered, unable to commit to a flank.
Quill's Zeus kept advancing, patient. It fired—heavy autocannon burst and missile streaks—aimed not at Dack's torso, but at the Dire Wolf's legs.
A control shot.
Dack shifted, brought his bulk behind a stack of containers, using scrap like cover. The Zeus's fire chewed through metal, shattering container walls into a rain of twisted sheet and sparks.
Jinx whistled low again. "She's good."
"She's trained," Lyra said. "She's not here to duel. She's here to take."
Dack's eyes narrowed on the Zeus's approach path. He keyed comms to Lyra. "If they get close to the bay doors, they'll try to board."
Lyra's voice was tight. "I know."
Dack didn't hesitate. "Cycle bay defense. If anything hits the ramp, burn it."
Lyra paused half a heartbeat. "That's our yard."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "It's a battlefield."
Lyra exhaled once. "Copy."
The Catapult fired again, trying to keep pressure on the Union. Missiles arced—
—and then the Union's point defense lit up.
Not pretty. Not elegant. Brutal bursts that turned missile trails into blossoms of debris.
Dack used the moment. He stepped out from behind cover and fired LRMs at the Catapult's ridge-line position, forcing it to shift. Then he followed with a gauss shot—short window, tight angle.
The round slammed into the Catapult's leg joint. The heavy mech lurched, tried to stabilize, and lost the clean line it needed for missile rain.
Jinx laughed. "He's so hot when he does that."
Taila flushed inside her cockpit. Morrigan made a sound like disgust. Lyra ignored all of it, because the Zeus was still walking forward.
Quill was still coming.
The Warhammer, damaged, tried to re-anchor the fight. It fired PPCs again, one bolt clipping Jinx's Highlander shoulder armor. Jinx hissed and answered with SRMs, the burst hammering into the Warhammer's midsection and forcing it to stagger back another step.
Then Quill made her move.
The Zeus surged—assault mech moving faster than it had any right to—closing distance with the Union's ramp line as if she intended to physically stand in front of it.
She wasn't trying to kill them.
She was trying to own the yard.
"Last warning," Quill said, voice sharp. "Release the Atlas."
Dack's voice was calm. "No."
Quill's tone went colder. "Then I take your pilot."
Her Zeus aimed at Taila.
Not Dack. Not Jinx. Not the Dire Wolf.
Taila.
The "weak link."
Taila's breath caught. She didn't run. She didn't freeze.
She moved.
She backed her Griffin into cover, using the container stack like Dack had taught her—break line of sight, force the assault mech to choose between chasing and losing position.
Quill fired anyway—missiles and cannon tearing through container walls, shredding metal into sparks.
Taila's comm came strained. "She's—on me."
"I see it," Dack said.
He stepped out and took the shot he'd been saving.
LRMs first—forcing Quill's Zeus to raise its arms and torso to compensate for impact and balance.
Then the AC/10—hammering into the Zeus's knee plating, the same way they'd brought the Awesome down.
Not enough to drop it. Enough to make it pay attention.
Jinx took the second shot—gauss round slamming into the Zeus's opposite leg armor, stripping plating clean.
Quill's Zeus stumbled half a step.
Not much.
But it broke the myth that it couldn't be touched.
Quill's voice sharpened. "So you want a duel."
Dack didn't answer with pride. "I want you away from my ship."
The Warhammer tried to help Quill, stepping into a supporting angle.
Morrigan punished it.
Her Marauder's PPC hit the Warhammer's damaged shoulder again and this time something inside gave—sparks, smoke, the arm dipping like it had lost strength.
The Warhammer backed up instinctively.
The Phoenix Hawk, battered, tried one more flank toward the Union—desperate now, more fear than tactics.
Taila saw it and fired her PPC again, the shot slamming into the Phoenix Hawk's torso and ripping off armor in a long, ugly scar.
The Phoenix Hawk broke off, limping.
Taila's voice was shaky but fierce. "Not—today."
Dack didn't praise her.
But his next words were meant for her anyway.
"Good," he said.
She inhaled like she'd been holding her breath for days.
Quill's Zeus kept pressing, stubborn and disciplined. It fired again at Dack's Dire Wolf—legs, hips, trying to cripple.
Dack shifted, took the hits on armor where he could, and kept returning fire low. Not flashy. Not cinematic. Just systematic destruction of mobility.
Quill realized it too late.
The Zeus's left knee armor was gone. The joint actuators were exposed. The next AC/10 hit punched into the mechanism and the leg buckled.
The Zeus dropped to one knee with a grinding shriek.
Not down. Not dead.
But compromised.
Quill's voice came over comms, colder now, anger threading through discipline. "You're good."
Dack's answer was simple. "You're not taking her."
A beat.
Then a faint hiss cut into the channel—weak, routed through something in the Union's hold.
Mother Lark.
"You're wasting assets, Quill," her voice purred, calm as poison. "They'll strip your Zeus and sell your teeth."
Quill froze for half a heartbeat—just long enough for Dack to register it.
"She can still transmit," Lyra snapped.
"She's using internal ship comm bleed," Rafe's voice cut in, fast. "We—"
Rook finished. "Can't fully stop it without cutting ship comms."
Quill's voice turned sharp. "Lady Lark."
Mother Lark's laugh was soft. "Did the LIC tell you to retrieve me… or to erase me?"
Silence on the channel—too short for a full thought, too long to be nothing.
And Dack understood.
Quill wasn't sure.
Quill had orders. But orders changed when a House cell decided you were inconvenient.
Mother Lark had just shoved that doubt into the open.
Quill's Warhammer and Catapult shifted—subtle repositioning like they were suddenly less interested in dying for "property."
Quill snarled, "Enough," and fired a full burst into the Dire Wolf's cover, shredding metal and dust into chaos.
Lyra's voice came sharp. "They're pulling back—no, they're repositioning for a lift. Leopard engines are spooling."
They weren't retreating because they'd lost.
They were retreating because Quill had two problems now: a crippled Zeus and a captive she couldn't risk "recovering" if she couldn't secure it cleanly.
Quill made the only decision that preserved her unit.
"Disengage," she snapped. "We leave with what we can."
The Catapult launched one last LRM wave—not to kill, but to blind. Missiles hammered the yard, detonations throwing dust into a wall.
The Leopard's bay doors opened. The Phoenix Hawk limped toward it. The Warhammer backed up, covering. The Catapult moved like it was dragging its own pride.
Quill's Zeus stood with a heavy grind, leg damaged, and turned away from the Union.
Jinx's voice was bright and savage. "Oh no you don't."
She lined up the gauss and almost fired—
"Stop," Dack said.
Jinx froze. "Dack—"
Dack's voice stayed flat. "We don't chase into their DropShip guns."
Jinx exhaled, furious, then laughed like she wanted to bite the air. "Fine. You're right."
Taila's Griffin held position, shaking slightly from adrenaline. Morrigan's Marauder stayed angled, ready to punish any last trick.
Quill's Leopard lifted in a storm of dust and heat, her unit limping under its belly like wounded animals returning to a den.
Then it was gone—up and away, not clean, not triumphant.
But alive.
Lyra's voice came cold. "They'll be back."
Dack's answer was immediate. "Good."
---
The yard boss didn't come back until the dust settled.
When he did, he looked at the scorch marks and shattered containers and the cratered scrap piles and the trail of torn metal where the Warhammer had bled plating—and his face did something like regret.
"You just made me unpopular," he said.
Jinx's laughter crackled over comms. "You were never popular."
Lyra met the boss at the base of the ramp with her slate and her calm. "You deliver our supplies," she said, "and you don't talk."
The boss swallowed. "Those were… professional."
Dack stepped into view behind Lyra—Dire Wolf towering at the ramp edge like a wall of intent. He didn't threaten. He didn't need to.
The boss nodded quickly. "Cranes move now."
Good.
Fast.
Quiet.
They got what they came for: ammo pallets, coolant drums, actuator seals, myomer bundles, a battered diagnostic rig that Rook and Rafe immediately started arguing over like it was a pet that needed rescue.
And they got something else.
A field.
Data.
Lyra pulled external sensor logs and captured comm fragments. Not enough to indict a House on its own—but enough to build a chain, one link at a time.
Back inside, the mech bay smelled like hot metal and victory that hadn't finished costing them yet.
Taila climbed out of her Griffin only after clamps locked and the bay doors sealed. She pulled her helmet off with shaking hands and leaned her head back against the ladder rail, breathing hard like she'd just run a marathon.
Jinx was out too, rolling her shoulders, grinning like she'd had the time of her life. Then she made a small face again and swallowed hard.
Dack saw it. Again.
Morrigan climbed down from the Marauder and stalked over to Taila without warning.
Taila flinched.
Morrigan stopped inches from her, stared, and then—awkward, sharp—poked Taila's chest with one finger.
"You didn't fold," Morrigan said.
Taila blinked. "I—didn't."
Morrigan nodded once like that was a verdict. "Good."
Then she turned away like she hadn't just offered the closest thing to praise she was capable of.
Taila watched her go, stunned.
Jinx bounced over and hooked her arm around Taila's shoulders again. "See? She loves you."
Morrigan threw a look back that could curdle coolant. "I don't."
Jinx laughed, then abruptly paused and pressed a hand to her stomach again, breathing through it.
Taila's eyes narrowed. "Jinx…"
Jinx waved it off. "I'm fine. Just… weird."
Lyra descended from the catwalk and walked straight to Dack. "Quill hesitated when Lark mentioned LIC."
Dack nodded once. "She's scared."
Lyra's eyes sharpened. "Or she's not sure she's allowed to bring Lark back alive."
Dack's gaze slid up to the chained Atlas. "Lark knows it."
As if summoned, a faint hiss crackled through the bay speaker—Mother Lark, voice smooth and pleased.
"You saw it," she said. "Quill doesn't know if she's retrieving me… or burying me."
Jinx looked up at the Atlas and smiled like she wanted to climb it. "You're useful when you're terrified."
Mother Lark ignored her, aimed straight at Dack like always. "You wanted proof you were hunted by something bigger than a grudge."
Dack didn't move. "I have it."
Mother Lark's voice softened, predatory. "And now you have leverage. Quill will fail again. And again. She will bleed her unit dry trying to fix a problem the LIC doesn't care about."
Lyra's voice went cold. "And you're offering what, exactly."
Mother Lark paused, just long enough to make it feel like a smile. "A path."
Dack's answer was blunt. "Ceres Junction."
A quiet laugh. "Yes."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "We can't dock clean anywhere."
Mother Lark's voice slid softer. "Then don't dock clean. Dock where people don't scan. Dock where people sell secrets for liquor."
Jinx's grin returned. "That sounds like my kind of neighborhood."
Taila looked between them. "So we keep running."
Dack's voice was flat. "We keep hunting."
---
Later—after pallets were strapped down, after the diagnostic rig was bolted to a bay workstation, after the bay doors sealed and the Union began its quiet climb away from the yard—
They found a moment that didn't feel like a battlefield.
It happened in the narrow corridor outside the crew space, where the ship's hum was steady and private.
Jinx leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, trying to look casual. She failed. Her eyes were bright but tired. Her smile was a little too sharp.
Dack stopped in front of her. "You're not fine."
Jinx blinked. "Wow. Two romance moments in one week."
Dack didn't smile. "Eat. Sleep. If you're sick, you tell Lyra."
Jinx's grin softened, and she reached out, fingers catching the front of his suit and pulling him close enough to press her forehead to his chest.
Just for a second.
"Maybe I'm just… different," she murmured.
Dack's hand settled at the back of her neck, steady. "Then we figure it out."
Jinx's breath hitched—tiny, involuntary—and she looked up at him with something warmer than teasing. "You're scary when you care."
Dack didn't deny it.
Behind them, Taila stood in the doorway, half-hidden, watching like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to want what she wanted.
Jinx turned her head, caught her, and smiled—soft, inviting. "Come here," she said.
Taila hesitated, cheeks coloring.
Dack didn't speak. He just held still, letting Taila choose.
Taila stepped closer and slid in, her hands finding Dack's arms like she'd done it a dozen times now. She leaned up and kissed him—shy, awkward, real—then, after a beat of courage, kissed Jinx too.
Jinx's laugh was quiet and pleased. "That's my girl."
Taila's face went red enough to match the Moonjaw colors. "Stop calling me that."
"Never," Jinx whispered, and nipped Taila's lower lip just enough to make Taila gasp and glare.
Morrigan's voice drifted from down the hall, dry as sand. "If you start moaning in the corridor, I'm setting off the alarm."
Jinx called back cheerfully, "Jealous!"
"I'm armed," Morrigan replied.
Lyra's voice came next from the bridge intercom, crisp. "Everyone strap in. We lift in two minutes."
Jinx sighed dramatically. "Duty calls."
Taila exhaled, trying to steady her face.
Dack looked at both of them—really looked—and something in his chest settled heavier than it used to. Not burden. Not weakness.
Something he'd protect.
"Cockpits," he said.
They moved.
Because the war wasn't done.
Because Quill would come again.
Because a House cell had killed Ronan for refusing to surrender a Dire Wolf, and now that same machine walked under Dack's hands.
And somewhere ahead—at Ceres Junction, in the shadow of Halden Risk & Recovery—there was a man named Alaric Venn who thought he'd erased a problem.
Dack didn't erase problems.
He finished them.