Page 55 of Stalker

The door whooshes shut, leaving us alone again.

The lockpicks from my utility belt make quick work of Prova's chains. She rubs her wrists, scales gleaming in the dim light.

"Let's go." My voice shakes. "Before someone else checks on us."

We slip into the hallway, my stealth field covering us both. The music from the lounge grows fainter as we climb the stairs back to Father's office.

Father's office. The thought makes bile rise in my throat. How many nights did I sit on his knee while he worked late? How many times did he tell me stories about protecting the innocent, serving justice? All lies.

Every memory of my childhood twists like a knife in my gut. The proud smile when I got into engineering school. The way he dried my tears after my first breakup. The bedtime stories about brave Alliance officers keeping the peace.

Was any of it real? Or was I just another possession to show off?

Prova's clawed hand squeezes my shoulder. "Focus. Grieve later."

She's right. We need to move.

The admin building's night shift barely glances up as we pass. Just another late meeting ending, as far as they know.

Vorpa waits in the shadows outside, tension visible in every line of her body. When she spots us, her usual stoic expression cracks.

"Little sister!"

The two Vakutans collide in a tangle of limbs and scales. Vorpa's gravelly voice breaks on a sob as she clutches Prova close.

"You're safe now," Vorpa whispers. "You're safe."

My condo isn't far. The guards won't think to look there - who would suspect the Commander's dutiful daughter of harboring fugitives?

I lead them through back alleys and maintenance tunnels, every shadow making me jump. But we make it without incident.

No one's coming after us…but for how long?

CHAPTER 21

BRUTICUS

The door splinters under my boot. Wood fragments scatter across the plush carpet of Daniels's office. The old man's head snaps up from his paperwork, recognition dawning in those steel-gray eyes.

"You." His hand darts toward the desk drawer.

My boot slams onto his mahogany desk. One hard shove sends both furniture and man crashing against the wall. The impact knocks medals and plaques to the floor. The sound of breaking glass punctuates Daniels's grunt of pain.

"We're going to have a little chat, Commander Daniels." The title tastes like acid on my tongue.

His face reddens as the desk edge digs into his chest. "The half-breed from the other night. Should have known you'd try again."

"Shut up." My bone spurs extend with a satisfying click. "You remember Rakura IV?"

A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. His perfectly trimmed mustache twitches. "I remember a lot of things, boy. Been serving the Alliance longer than you've been alive."

The desk creaks as I lean more weight onto it. "Then you remember ordering those hostages killed. My mother was among them."

"Casualties happen in war. Nothing personal."

My claws dig grooves into the wood. "Nothing personal? You made it personal when you murdered civilians to cover up your slave trading operation."

"Bold accusations." His voice remains steady despite the pressure on his chest. "Got any proof?"