The square was silent—dreadfully so. Only the footsteps of the lieutenant echoed through the dust-covered market.

  Jason looked toward the direction of his house, praying Ashar wouldn’t appear. But then his gaze shifted to the center. The girls from the Whispering Night knelt in the dirt, tears streaming down their cheeks. The lieutenant circled them slowly, calm, composed, like a lion among prey.

  He came to a stop behind them and sighed.

  “Seems I wasn’t clear.”

  From a holster on his side, barely visible from Jason's angle, he drew a pistol.

  POP.

  A loud bang cracked through the silence and rang in Jason’s ears. He flinched, instinctively ducking, hands clamped over his head. Then he looked up.

  One of the girls lay motionless, face turned toward him but vacant—unfocused.

  Before Jason could process the image, Friederick yanked him down beneath the window.

  “Stay down,” he whispered sharply.

  Jason’s breathing quickened. His chest tightened. That wasn’t just a death. That was someone he knew. His stomach turned.

  A scream cut through the square. The second girl cried out—but was silenced just as quickly.

  POP.

  And then… nothing.

  “We will continue,” Karn announced coolly. “Think about your position. We will not hold back—not for slaves, not for citizens.”

  His voice stayed eerily calm, even as soldiers began to fan out.

  “Shall we start with the residents of this street?” he asked. “There are children here, are there not?”

  Soldiers began forcing open doors. Screams echoed from inside the homes.

  Jason trembled.

  Then, a voice—familiar, hoarse, defiant.

  “STOP!”

  Ashar stumbled forward, leaning on his cane, emerging from the far end of the street.

  He walked past the frightened citizens, past the soldiers, until he stood before the lieutenant. He saw the bodies of the girls lying still in the dirt, the blood soaking into the sand.

  The lieutenant scanned him from head to toe. Old. Unarmed. Worn.

  “Where’s the crystal, old man? Who took it?”

  “I stashed it. Let the people go, and I’ll—”

  A low rumble interrupted him. Engines.

  Three dropships flew overhead, descending into an open patch near the market. They bore the insignia of Lord Veyrn.

  From the middle ship stepped a slightly overweight man with sharp features and greased black hair. Next to him was a taller, broader man in a sleek suit, wearing the sigil of a starship arcing into space.

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  “The Nova Enterprise…” Friederick whispered grimly.

  Lord Veyrn cast a glance over the scene, his expression unreadable. His eyes met Karn’s. They shared a subtle nod.

  “Where is the crystal, old man?” Karn repeated, less patient this time.

  Ashar stared him down.

  “I told you. Let them go, and I’ll give it to you.”

  Karn looked to Veyrn. The lord offered no words—just a slow blink.

  With a sigh, Karn raised his weapon and shot Ashar in the knee.

  Jason stifled a shout, Friederick covering his mouth again. Ashar collapsed to the ground, gritting his teeth but refusing to scream.

  A soldier slammed his baton into Ashar’s arm, knocking the cane from his grasp. Still, he said nothing.

  Around them, more citizens were being dragged from their homes and forced to kneel. Lord Veyrn studied them like cattle at a stockyard.

  Ashar’s face began to swell from the beating. Still, he held the same defiant stare.

  Karn exhaled through his nose. “We’re not getting anywhere. Get me someone I can—”

  He paused. His gaze drifted toward Ashar’s house.

  “Is that your home?” he asked.

  He turned to a nearby group of citizens. “Which one’s his?”

  Someone pointed.

  Karn grinned, grabbed Ashar by the collar, and dragged him toward the house.

  Inside Friederick’s place, Jason and Friederick moved carefully to the back, gathering Jason’s trinket as they crept toward the rear door.

  But a soldier passed by outside, searching rubble. They froze.

  At the same time, they heard the front door creak—someone entering Ashar’s home.

  When the soldier outside finally walked past, Friederick gave Jason a look and let him go.

  Jason seized the moment. He clutched the dusty trinket, then darted out through the alleys toward Ashar’s house, moving unseen.

  As he reached the corner, he stopped.

  Karn had just emerged, dragging Ashar and tossing him like a broken doll onto the ground. In his hand, he held an aquatic-blue, crystalline object, glowing faintly. Its top was chipped.

  Veyrn approached.

  “Is this it?”

  The Nova merchant studied the crystal without blinking. “Yes. The importance of this is more than you can imagine. Good thing you found it in this dump.”

  He turned and headed back toward his ship.

  Veyrn didn’t bother looking at Ashar. “Well, you know what to do.”

  Karn nodded.

  POP.

  Ashar’s chest jolted from the shot. He gasped for breath, but it came out in short, shallow pulls.

  “Fire,” Karn ordered.

  BRRR. BRRR. Bursts of gunfire rang out as soldiers opened fire on the kneeling civilians.

  “I need some alive, remember!” Veyrn called casually as he returned to his ship.

  Two slaves ran. One was gunned down mid-stride. The other stumbled to his knees, screaming at Veyrn:

  “Why?! WHY?!”

  Veyrn didn’t stop. “The mines are empty.”

  Another burst of gunfire cut the man down.

  Jason watched the chaos unfolding—but his eyes stayed locked on Ashar. Three guards circled him. Karn stood just beyond, barking orders.

  Jason’s breath caught. He was about to rush forward, when something stopped him—

  Not a real hand. But it felt like one, firm and grounding on his shoulder.

  Watch for signs. Look for tells.

  Ashar’s voice echoed through his mind, just like it had on the day with the guard at the marketplace.

  Jason crouched again, heart pounding, fingers tightening around the trinket.

  The soldiers moved. For a moment—just a second—there was a gap.

  He launched himself forward.

  One guard turned, too slow to react. Another shouted. Jason darted past them both. Karn turned toward the noise, his foot shifting slightly, bending his knee.

  Foothold.

  Jason stepped hard onto it, leapt, and drove the trinket into Karn’s neck.

  The mechanism burrowed in. Karn reached for his throat, stunned.

  Jason rolled on the ground, landing hard. He looked up—not at Karn, but at Ashar.

  He crawled toward him, tears welling in his eyes.

  “Gramps? Gramps!”

  Ashar’s gaze flickered. “Jason... I’m sorry—cough—I wish…”

  “No! Gramps, please stay with me!”

  “I promised—cough—your mother…” His breath wheezed. “I would protect you from… from your father.”

  “Gramps, don’t—don’t die—I can’t—”

  “Jason… I’m proud…”

  His chest went still.

  “Gramps? Gramps!”

  Behind him, Karn turned, falling on his knees, clutching his neck. Blood poured from between his fingers. His face contorted with rage.

  Jason didn’t notice. His hands held Ashar’s body, trembling.

  Then—

  Click.

  The trinket's inner gears spun, cracked, and clicked.

  POP.

  The piston drove its axle clean through Karn’s neck. He slumped to the ground, dead.

  Jason still hadn’t looked.

  But then, as if sensing it, he turned—only to see Karn’s lifeless body.

  A scream of rage burst from him. He surged forward, ready to strike again—until he realized he didn’t have to.

  Then—

  A boot slammed into his gut.

  He collapsed. Hands grabbed him, pinned him.

  He thrashed, but it was useless.

  Bootsteps approached.

  Polished, expensive shoes stopped just in front of his face.

  Lord Veyrn looked down at him.

  “You’ll be perfect,” he said with a grin. “For the pits.”