Page 74 of Nansar
They surrounded Ahrick in seconds, a closing circle of weapons and hostile intent.
"Easy, easy!" Ahrick raised his hands, his voice carrying back to us with just the right note of nervous surprise. "Just out hunting. Didn't mean to stumble onto anyone's territory."
One of the Trogvyk barked something guttural and sharp—a language that sounded like rocks grinding together. Ahrick shook his head, playing confused with an actor's skill. "Just a prisoner, trying to survive like everyone else on this hellhole."
The Trogvyk exchanged glances, clearly uncertain. Then the ship's hatch opened wider, and another figure stepped out.
My heart stopped.
Declan.
He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, with that same cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth like a private joke only he understood. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore clothing that probably cost more than most people earned in a year, absurdly out of place on this prison planet. But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold. Those calculating, predatory eyes that had looked at me like I was property to be appraised and acquired. The eyes that had haunted my nightmares.
It took everything in me not to scream.
"Nansar," I whispered, my voice shaking so badly I barely recognized it. "That's him. That's Declan."
The change in Nansar was immediate. Every muscle went rigid, his body transforming into something coiled and deadly. When I looked at his face, I saw something I'd never seen before—pure, murderous rage.
"I'm going to kill him," Nansar said, his voice so low and deadly it barely sounded like him. Each word was a promise carved in stone. "I'm going to tear him apart with my bare hands."
I grabbed his arm, holding him back even as my own fury threatened to overwhelm me, even as part of me wanted to let him go, wanted to watch Declan suffer. "Not yet. There are too many."
Down in the clearing, Declan circled Ahrick slowly, a smug smile playing at his mouth. "Well, well. What do we have here?" His voice was smooth, cultured—the same voice that gave speeches on freedom and justice while keeping people as slaves. "You're a long way from Fange City, friend."
"Just hunting," Ahrick repeated, maintaining his casual demeanor despite the blasters pointed at his head. "Didn't realize this area was claimed."
"Everything on this planet is claimed by someone." Declan stopped in front of him, tilting his head curiously. "You look familiar. Have we met?"
"Doubt it. I keep to myself mostly." Ahrick shrugged, the picture of unconcerned indifference.
Declan studied him for another long moment, and I held my breath, terrified he'd see through the act. Then he smiled—that same cold, calculating smile I'd seen hundreds of times, the one that never reached his eyes. "You know what? I believe you. You're just an unlucky prisoner in the wrong place at the wrong time." He waved to the Trogvyk. "Bring him. He'll fetch a nice price in the gladiator pits."
My stomach lurched. The gladiator pits. If they were anything like the gladiators of ancient Rome, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
More figures emerged from the ship like ants from a disturbed nest. A dozen total—half hairless cat aliens, and the other half Romvesian. There had been one on the Alliance shuttle, with kind eyes and a gentle manner. My heart clenched, knowing that nice alien no longer existed, thanks to Declan.
Two of the Trogvyk grabbed Ahrick's arms, and he didn't resist, still playing the part of a confused prisoner who'd stumbled into bad luck.
Nansar's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with barely controlled fury. "We can take them," he hissed, his tactical mind wrestling control from his rage. "Trogvyk and Romvesians—they're mercenaries, not warriors. They rely on their weapons like crutches. Ahrick could cut through half of them before they even drew their blasters. With the element of surprise..."
"There are twelve of them," I whispered back, reality check delivered with a heavy dose of dread. Thirteen if you counted Declan, but he didn't count. Declan had never gotten his own hands dirty in his life.
My mind betrayed me, flashing back to the Welati games—Nansar's body broken and bleeding, his pale skin a canvas of purple and black. The memory made my chest tighten with protective instinct.
But when I looked at him now, really looked, I couldn't find a single trace of those injuries. The bruises that had painted his torso like a violent watercolor? Gone. The cuts that had wept blood? Vanished, as if his skin had never been broken at all.
He wasn't human. He didn't heal like a human. And watching him now, coiled and ready to strike, I knew he didn't fight like one either.
"Twelve overconfident mercenaries who think they've already won." His eyes tracked every movement below. "If I can circle around, come at them from behind... but we need something to split their attention. A distraction."
"A distraction," I echoed, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. Because I already knew what—or rather, who—would make the perfect bait.
"No." Nansar's voice was steel. He'd read my face like an open book. "Absolutely not."
But the plan was already forming, inevitable as gravity. Declan hadn't come all this way, hadn't risked landing on a prison planet crawling with the galaxy's most dangerous criminals, for Ahrick. He'd come for me. If I showed myself...
"It's the only way," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
