The sky over the Crimson Waste didn't hold a sun; it held a wound. A jagged, bleeding rift of violet light pulsed where the atmosphere had thinned, a constant reminder of the "Great Fracture."
Captain Elias Thorne adjusted the seals on his breathing mask, the hiss of recycled oxygen the only rhythm he had left. He knelt in the red dust, his fingers brushing the charred remains of a locket. It was a relic of Aethelgard, a city that had been reduced to cinders three years ago. According to every intelligence report, every survivor's testimony, and the searing heat still etched into his nightmares, the woman responsible was currently tied to a chair in the hull of his ship.
"Captain," a voice crackled over his comms. "She's awake. And she's asking for you by name."
Elias stood, his joints popping. He didn't look back at the ruins. He boarded the Vanguard, the metal floor plates vibrating with the hum of a failing engine. He walked past his skeletal crew—men and women who looked like ghosts wrapped in flight suits—and entered the interrogation hold.
Lyra Vance didn't look like a monster. She looked like a shadow. Her dark hair was matted with dried blood, and her eyes, even in the dim emergency lighting, were a startling, defiant silver. She was the Commander of the Void-Born, the rebels who had supposedly ignited the atmospheric stabilizers of his home world.
"Thorne," she rasped. Her voice sounded like grinding stones. "You've lost weight. Grief doesn't suit you."
Elias didn't speak. He stepped into the light, the glow highlighting the burn scars that crawled up his neck—souvenirs from the day she burned his life down. He pulled a serrated combat knife from his belt, not to strike, but to emphasize the distance between them.
"Where is the Catalyst, Lyra?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "My ship is dying. My people are starving. You stole the only power source left in this quadrant. Tell me where it is, and I'll make your execution quick."
Lyra let out a dry, hacking laugh that turned into a cough. When she looked up, there was a terrifying flash of pity in her eyes. "You think I took it? You think I'm the reason your world is dark?"
"I watched your ships descend," Elias snarled, stepping into her personal space. He could smell the ozone and copper on her. "I watched the sky turn white when you signaled the strike."
"I wasn't signaling a strike, you arrogant fool," she whispered, leaning forward as far as her restraints would allow. Her face was inches from his. "I was trying to vent the core before it went critical. I was trying to save you."
"Liar."
"Check your logs, Captain. Check the encryption on the final transmission from Aethelgard High Command. The call didn't come from my fleet. It came from inside your own palace."
Elias felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the ship's failing heaters. It was a ridiculous claim—political suicide for her to even suggest it. Yet, the conviction in her silver eyes stayed his hand.
"Even if I believed you," Elias said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage, "you're still the enemy. You've killed hundreds of my soldiers."
"And you've slaughtered thousands of mine," she countered. "We are both monsters, Elias. But only one of us is holding the key to making sure the rest of humanity doesn't freeze to death in the next forty-eight hours."
The ship suddenly lurched violently. A siren wailed—a long, mournful cry. The Vanguard had been intercepted.
"Proximity alert!" the bridge yelled over the intercom. "Captain, it's not the rebels. It's a High Command Dreadnought. They're locking on!"
Elias froze. High Command? His own people? They were supposed to be meeting for a rendezvous, not a target lock.
Lyra's eyes widened. "They aren't here to rescue you, Elias. They're here to make sure neither of us talks."
A massive explosion rocked the ship, throwing Elias against the bulkhead. The lights flickered and died, leaving them in the suffocating violet glow of the rift outside. As the hull groaned under the pressure of a tractor beam, Lyra reached out a bound hand, catching his sleeve.
"If you want to live," she hissed, "you have to let me out. Now."
Elias looked at the knife in his hand, then at the woman he had hated every second for three years. He reached for the restraints, his heart hammering against his ribs.
But as the locks hissed open, the ship's internal sensors shrieked a final, devastating warning: Self-destruct sequence initiated. Authorization: Thorne-Alpha-6.
His own override code.
To be continued...