Page 73 of Nansar
The clearing opened up before us, bathed in sunlight. At first glance, it appeared empty. Just another patch of open ground in the endless wilderness. But then Ahrick raised his hand, pointing toward a specific area near the far edge.
"There," he whispered, barely audible. "Do you see it?"
I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was looking at. The air seemed to shimmer slightly, like heat waves rising from sunbaked concrete, but the distortion was subtle. Wrong, somehow.
Nansar's jaw tightened. "Cloaked ship."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Could it be the Alliance?" If it was the Alliance, maybe there was a chance that this could end with Declan in chains... or dead. I'd take either.
Ahrick shook his head slowly, his expression doubtful. "The Alliance controls this entire planet. Why would they need to cloak their presence?"
"He's right," Nansar agreed, though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. "They have no reason to hide."
"But we can't know for sure," I pressed, unwilling to let go of the possibility entirely.
The three of us fell silent, watching the shimmer in the air. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between myself and that clearing as possible. But running wouldn't solve anything. Declan had found me once; he'd find me again.
"Someone needs to get closer," Ahrick said finally. "See what we're dealing with."
"Too dangerous," Nansar replied immediately.
"It won't be dangerous for me." Ahrick met Nansar's gaze steadily. "Hewes isn't looking for me. Neither is anyone else, as far as I know. I'm just another prisoner trying to make it on this rock."
My stomach dropped. "Ahrick, no. We can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm volunteering." He gave me a small, reassuring smile. "I'll play it casual. Just a prisoner out hunting. If it's the Alliance, we'll find out. If it's not..." He trailed off, the implication heavy in the air.
Nansar studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing the risks. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Stay alert. At the first sign of trouble, you run. Understood?"
Ahrick nodded and began methodically removing his weapons. First came the axe from his back harness—a well-worn blade that had clearly seen its share of battles. He handed it to Nansar with a meaningful look. "Keep this safe for me."
Next, he pulled two knives from sheaths at his belt, then another from his boot. The blades clinked softly as Nansar accepted them, his expression growing more troubled with each weapon Ahrick surrendered.
Finally, Ahrick unholstered his blaster, checking the charge one last time before passing it over. "Can't walk inthere armed to the teeth. Need to look harmless. Just another scavenger."
Nansar's jaw tightened as he secured the weapons. "You're making yourself vulnerable."
"I'm making myself believable." Ahrick's voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "A prisoner with this much weaponry would raise questions. One with nothing but his wits? That's just survival."
I watched the exchange with growing dread, realizing Ahrick was stripping away every means of defending himself. If things went wrong, he'd have nothing.
Ahrick checked the single short blade still attached to his belt, then straightened, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a casual stroll rather than walking into danger.
As he started to move away from our hiding spot, I grabbed his arm. "Be careful."
He squeezed my hand briefly. "Always am."
Then he was gone, stepping into the clearing.
We watched from our concealed position as Ahrick made his way across the uneven ground, each step deliberate and unhurried. For a moment, nothing happened—just the whisper of wind through dead grass and the distant cry of something predatory. Then reality itself seemed to shudder.
A low hum built in the air, making my teeth ache. The empty clearing rippled like water disturbed by an unseen hand, and suddenly a ship materialized before us—the cloaking technology disengaging in a cascade of distorted light that made my eyes water.
Nansar's hand shot out, gripping my shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Trogvyk. That's a Trogvyk vessel."
The ship was smaller than I'd expected but infinitely more menacing—sleek and predatory, all angular lines and dark metal that seemed to drink in the light. It looked like somethingdesigned by someone who understood that death could be beautiful. A hatch opened with a pneumatic hiss that sounded like a serpent's warning, and figures began to emerge.
They were massive—easily seven feet tall, with thick, hairless skin that gleamed a sickly green-gray in the dim light. Trogvyk. To me they looked like hairless cats, if cats had been stretched on a rack and pumped full of muscle and malice. Each one carried a blaster and they moved with the coordinated precision of trained soldiers.
