Jason stayed low behind cover. With his injured foot, big movements were impossible—he needed the enemies to come to him, and only those carrying blades would risk closing the distance.

  In the meantime, his eyes flicked to Valion’s chest.

  Five bullets left.

  “Why didn’t you bring more?” Jason asked.

  Valion turned his head slowly, giving him a sideways look.

  “Are we friends now? I’m just making sure I get out of here. You’ll have to look after yourself, mate.”

  Jason smirked faintly.

  “With five bullets, you plan to escape a guild that probably has this entire district—maybe even the city—locked down?”

  Valion stared at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

  “Alright. Stroke of luck I ran into you while standing in line. My gear’s in my hotel—”

  He snapped his revolver upward and fired above Jason’s head.

  A ricochet rang out, followed by a scream.

  “AAH—my thigh!”

  Valion continued calmly,

  “My hotel room in the city. I’d have taken you down easily if I had it. But I couldn’t let you walk away.”

  Jason glanced at him, surprised—by the honesty, and by how effortlessly Valion had reacted. As he focused on the orange glow in Valion’s eyes, he saw faint circular patterns forming as Valion scanned the room, tracking movement.

  Valion noticed the stare.

  “Could you at least help me find a way out of here?”

  His cybernetics mapped the surroundings—highlighting enemies, materials, angles. No clean shot at the two remaining mercenaries on this floor. Others were already on the stairs, the captain waiting with his weapon raised for the moment they tried to move.

  One enemy pressed his back against a pillar on the far side. Valion’s display identified the material.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. “Won’t punch through with one shot.”

  He spun the revolver’s cylinder along his chest. The barrel began to glow orange as the charge intensified. Stepping out just enough, Valion fixed his aim on a single point.

  He exhaled—slow, controlled—and fired three shots in rapid succession.

  The first round bit into the pillar, embedding itself centimeters deep.

  The second struck the exact same point, driving the hole nearly through.

  The third punched through, shattering on exit.

  Shrapnel exploded into the mercenary’s neck.

  The body collapsed without a sound.

  Jason scanned for an escape route. Then Haunt’s words surfaced in his mind. They were hunting the Grey Sight Guild—he could call them.

  He glanced at his datapad.

  Nothing.

  “Jammed?” he muttered.

  Valion’s expression tightened.

  “That’s bad. Means the client’s here too.”

  Jason turned toward the staircase.

  The soldiers entering weren’t Grey Sight mercenaries.

  Their armor was familiar—grey, polished, pristine. New.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He recognized the design instantly. Lord Veyrn’s soldiers.

  Only these were better. More advanced. More dangerous.

  Their weapons matched.

  “His personal guard…” Valion muttered.

  They moved differently—measured, disciplined. Valion tried lining up a shot, but they stayed just outside his angles. He might hit one if he tried—but with his remaining ammo, that would be a gamble.

  He could bluff. Threaten. Stall.

  Jason remained behind his crate, eyes sweeping the room. Most exits were too far. The side window was viable—but only for one person, and even then it was a risk with these soldiers present.

  Jason looked at Valion.

  A plan formed.

  His gaze hardened.

  “I have an idea.”

  Valion stared at him.

  “You gonna perform a m—”

  A shot rang out as Valion fired blind from behind cover, grazing the arm of a soldier who had just taken aim.

  “—miracle?” Valion finished. “You serious, mate?”

  Jason nodded once.

  “If this works… they’re here for me. I’ll draw their attention. You escape through that window.”

  Valion frowned.

  “Go to Dalkion,” Jason continued. “The Den Mercenary Guild. They don’t cooperate with Grey Sight. Tell Haunt and Lion what happened. Coming from a Nanium-ranked mercenary, they’ll have to act.”

  Valion glanced at Jason’s injured foot.

  Annoyance crept into his expression.

  “…Damn it. That actually makes sense.” He clicked his tongue. “I hate it when people make sense.”

  He exhaled.

  “Fine. Guess I’ll owe you one.”

  Valion reloaded his revolver, sliding the remaining bullets from his bandolier into the cylinder.

  Five rounds.

  “Alright,” he said, chambering the last one. “Get ready.”

  They nodded to each other.

  Valion took one last look at his escape route, then breathed deep—slow in, sharp out—his body priming for motion.

  Two shots rang out in quick succession.

  One struck the corner of a pillar, blasting concrete shards into a mercenary’s face. The bullet deflected and clipped another soldier’s shoulder, bouncing harmlessly off the armor.

  The second shot forced the others back into cover.

  Just enough.

  Valion sprinted.

  A soldier raised his weapon—

  Jason stepped into the line of fire.

  Pain tore through his foot as he planted himself there, teeth clenched.

  Valion ducked and slid, weaving through equipment. Another soldier fired from the opposite side—Valion twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the shots.

  Then he leapt.

  The ground-floor drop barely slowed him. Dropships and mercenaries surrounded the area, but Valion didn’t hesitate—he ran, vanishing into the treeline using the same escape Jason had used earlier.

  A few shots followed.

  Too late.

  Valion disappeared into the forest.

  Jason allowed himself a small smirk.

  Then he raised his hands.

  A soldier slammed him into the ground, wrenching his arms behind his back. Electric cuffs snapped shut, sending jolts through his body as he resisted.

  They dragged him into the open beside the building.

  Gunfire echoed in the distance.

  Not from Valion’s direction.

  From Tahuuk’s.

  Fear crawled through Jason’s chest as the shots faded—then stopped.

  Silence.

  Jason lay face-down, hands bound, unable to do anything but imagine what was happening beyond the buildings. Soldiers formed a perimeter around him.

  Then footsteps approached.

  Unhurried.

  Heavy.

  A cold chill rolled down Jason’s spine as a dark, almost buried memory resurfaced.

  The world seemed to narrow, sound dulling at the edges—until the footsteps stopped in front of him.

  Boots came into view—high-class, polished. Trousers lined with gold. An elegant coat, tailored to perfection.

  The man crouched.

  Middle-aged. Dark hair. A thin, carefully groomed beard.

  His eyes met Jason’s—burning with restrained fury.

  “I heard you killed my brother.”

  Jason stared up at him, shock mixing with confusion.

  The man noticed.

  “Ah… right. I should introduce myself.”

  He straightened slightly.

  “I am Lord Vindarion Peccarus. Master of the Demi-Frost interrogation prison.”

  A pause.

  “And brother of Lord Veyrn Peccarus—former master of the Phoenix fighting spaceport.”

  Understanding clicked.

  Anger followed.

  Jason’s expression hardened.