The afternoon sun slanted through tall windows, painting the metallic desk in bands of gold. The office was lined with heavy bookshelves and glass cases of exotic relics from across the galaxy. Maps crowded one wall, trade routes webbing between planets in ink and string. Opposite, two sofas flanked a low table crowned with a vase of flowers. A clock ticked softly above them—16:13 local time.

  The room was quiet. Dark, save for the light of the sun. Then came the steady thud of footsteps. Closer. Louder. The door cracked open.

  A tall, broad man in a sleek suit stepped inside. On his chest gleamed the sigil of a starship arcing into space—the emblem of Nova Enterprise. Roy Welch.

  Agitated, he flicked the lights on, then hurried to his desk. Papers rustled, contracts shuffled beneath his hand. He signed them one after another, each bearing the crest of a different house or guild. Bids, offers, promises. Each more lucrative than the last. A smirk crept across his face. He was winning.

  But he glanced at the door. Always the door. Making sure no guard lingered, no ear pressed close. Satisfied, he slipped a key from his pocket and unlocked the middle drawer.

  Blue light bled into the room. The crystal lay inside, gleaming like frozen ocean. Ironwood’s prize. His prize.

  Roy lifted it carefully, the way one holds treasure—or a loaded weapon. His gaze lingered with hungry pride. Moneymaker. Fortune. Salvation. Then, hurriedly, he tucked it back, just as a knock jolted him, nearly sending it crashing to the floor.

  “Master Welch, you have a visitor,” a guard called.

  “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!” Roy snapped.

  “Master, it’s—”

  Another voice cut in, smooth and sharp as glass. “He can’t decline.” The door creaked wider. “And neither can you, Roy.”

  Roy’s eyes widened. His chest hollowed. “Prince Rayleigh!?”

  Through the doorway stepped a young man—no older than nineteen. His mantle jacket shimmered faintly at the edges where sunlight touched it, his dark trousers and polished brown shoes finer than anything most men would see in a lifetime. His black hair was brushed neatly back, his appearance immaculate.

  Lucius Rayleigh.

  Roy dropped to one knee, head bowed, right hand clasping his left shoulder. “My prince, what brings you here?”

  “Please,” Lucius said, a dominating smirk curling his lips, “you can call me Lucius. I heard you took a… vacation. In a desolate system.”

  Sweat beaded Roy’s brow. He forced a laugh, his eyes flicking—just once—toward the desk. “A vacation, yes. Lord Lucius.”

  Lucius tilted his head, studying him. “Not a place most people choose. Mining husks. Forgotten settlements. Why there?”

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  “I wished to see it before it was gone,” Roy managed.

  Lucius’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t strike me as a man who travels so far for sightseeing.”

  Roy recovered quickly, offering a greedy smile. “There are trade routes to be managed in that region. Profitable ones.”

  Lucius paced casually toward the sofa and sank into it with a sigh of satisfaction. “Strange. Because what I heard… is that you ventured very near the Rashtaki border. And you must understand—when a businessman of your… caliber… drifts so close to Rashtaki space, the Empire starts to wonder about his loyalties.” His gaze flicked lazily back to Roy.

  Panic flared. Roy rushed forward, hands raised in supplication. “My prince—I swear, I have no dealings with the Rashtaki! Vacation, nothing more!”

  “I told you,” Lucius said, his voice calm, “you don’t need to call me prince. I believe you. But my father?” His smirk faded. “He may not.”

  Roy’s lips trembled. “Lord Lucius, what can I do to prove I remain loyal to the Empire?”

  Lucius’s eyes wandered to the wall of maps. “Those routes… they’re yours?”

  “Yes, sir!” Roy said quickly.

  Lucius sighed, lifting a hand to point casually. “Cut the ones tied to the Eastern Dominion.”

  Roy froze. The Dominion was an ally. Why sever half his profit for no reason?

  “You wonder why,” Lucius said smoothly, reading the thought. “The Dominion has made questionable moves of late. I would see them crawl back, begging to explain. But that is none of your concern.”

  He leaned back, stretching comfortably. “Two things, Roy, and you’ll be off the hook. Cut those routes. And give me what you found on your… vacation.”

  Roy stiffened. His mind screamed for caution, but greed tugged him toward denial. “My lord, I don’t know wh—”

  Then he looked at Lucius. Really looked.

  The young man’s casual poise hadn’t changed. But his eyes… his irises glowed a deep, searing red.

  Every muscle in Roy’s body locked. Cold shot down his spine. His breath seized. It was as if death itself pressed a blade to his throat.

  “I know you have it,” Lucius said softly. “I’ve been very… considerate. Would you prefer that to change?”

  With shaking hands, Roy stumbled back to the desk. The crystal taken out, he lowered his head and offered it with both hands. It felt as if it was vibrating as he got closer to Lucius.

  Lucius accepted, his eyes dimming back to normal, the feeling Roy had fading away. He turned the crystal in his palm, studying it. “The origins of some things…”

  Roy dared a questioning glance.

  Lucius noticed and offered a casual shrug. “A philosophy of my family. We believe the forgotten past hides answers for the future.” His gaze sharpened. “Didn’t your past give you the empire you enjoy today?”

  He pocketed the crystal and rose. “Speaking of origins… I hear you were adopted. By Jonathan.”

  “Yes,” Roy croaked.

  “And before that?”

  Roy stammered. “I don’t know, my lord. Jonathan told me my parents abandoned me. I have no ties to the past.”

  Lucius studied him with predator’s patience, watching for the slightest tremor of a lie. Then his expression softened into a smile. “You’re lucky, Roy. Very lucky. You’re getting off easy.”

  He turned to leave, hand on the door. Then, as though it were an afterthought, he looked back. “Be sure you’re not disturbed again. Some interruptions can be… costly.”

  With a final smile, he disappeared into the corridor. His footsteps echoed away, each one hammering Roy’s heart deeper into his chest.

  When the sound finally faded, Roy collapsed into his chair, drenched in cold sweat. His breath shuddered out of him, his hands shaking so badly he could barely pour the vodka waiting on his desk.

  Had he truly escaped death?With all the things he lost in what seemed to be just a moment?

  The clock ticked on. 16:56.