Page 38 of Aliens Love Curves

Two days to pray our love is stronger than whatever Harlan has planned.

Some truths are better left unspoken.

But others need to be shouted from rooftops.

Or whispered in the dark between heartbeats.

"I love you," we tell each other again and again, like a talisman against tomorrow.

Like a promise we intend to keep.

Chapter 18 - Stryker

Race morning dawns cold and clear, Ova's three moons still visible in the pale sky. I watch Casey dress in her flight suit, memorizing every movement, every breath. Something feels wrong – the air too still, the complex too quiet.

"Ready?" she asks, fastening the last seal.

Before I can answer, our door slides open. Harlan enters flanked by guards, his usual smooth charm replaced by cold purpose.

"Good morning,Enforcers."

The word hits like a physical blow. Casey freezes mid-motion, her hand instinctively reaching for mine.

"Oh, don't look so surprised." Harlan's smile shows too many teeth. "We've known for weeks. Your credentials were... impressive. But not perfect."

The guards raise their weapons – not standard security issue, but military-grade plasma rifles. My tail lashes as I calculate odds, distances, possibilities.

"The question is," Harlan continues, drawing something from his pocket, "what to do about it?"

The syringe in his hand glows with an unnatural blue light. Casey takes an involuntary step back.

"The race starts in an hour," he says conversationally. "Our shareholders are expecting quite a show. It would be... unfortunate if anything disrupted their entertainment."

"We know about the pilots," I growl. "The experiments. Everything."

"Do you?" His laugh is soft, dangerous. "You've barely scratched the surface."

He tosses the syringe to Casey. She catches it reflexively.

"Inject the contents into yourself," he orders, "or watch your partner die."

A guard's rifle presses against my temple, the plasma core humming with lethal promise.

"Casey, don't—" The rifle butt slams into my stomach, cutting off my words.

"Ten seconds," Harlan says pleasantly. "Or we see if Enforcers are as hard to kill as they claim."

"There has to be another way," Casey pleads, her voice shaking.

"Nine. Eight."

"I'll take the shot," I gasp. "Give it to me instead."

"Seven. Six."

Casey's hands tremble as she raises the syringe.

"Don't do this," I beg. "Please."