Just the two of them in this warm chamber carved from ancient rock.
“You can refuse the wristband,” Sylas said, his voice dropping to something almost conversational. “For now. I find your defiance…entertaining.”
Elsa tracked his movement, turning to keep him in her line of sight. “You’re not angry.”
“Should I be?” He stopped in front of her again, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his fur. “You have no power here. Your refusal changes nothing except how long it takes for you to accept reality.”
His gaze raked over her, clinical and thorough. “But I’m curious. What do you think refusing accomplishes?”
“It reminds me I’m still human.” The words came out quieter than she’d intended. “That I haven’t given up yet.”
Something flickered in those cyan eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or respect for the sentiment even if he found it futile.
“You’ll kneel eventually,” he said. Not a threat. Just certainty. “They all do.”
“I won’t.”
“We’ll see.”
He turned toward the door, movement fluid despite his size. Then paused, glancing back at her over one broad shoulder. “Rest while you can. Tomorrow, you’ll begin earning your keep.”
The door closed behind him before Elsa could respond.
She stood alone in the warm chamber, heart hammering against her ribs, hands trembling with adrenaline she had nowhere to put.
The wristband still sat on the table. Waiting.
Elsa sank onto the bed, her legs finally giving out. The furs beneath her were soft, warm, impossibly comfortable. Everything in this room was designed for comfort. For compliance.
She stared at the wristband, the blue gem pulsing like a heartbeat.
Tomorrow, you’ll begin earning your keep.
What did that mean? What use could a navigator possibly be on a planet with no vessels to chart, no stars to map?
Unless—
Voices drifted through the door. Faint, but clear enough to catch fragments.
“—core from the human pod—”
“—missing since the retrieval—”
“—purity unlike anything we’ve mined in decades—”
Elsa pressed closer to the door, her ear against warm wood.
“The Alpha King wants it found.” A male voice, deep and authoritative. Xar, maybe. “That Moon Tear core is worth more than all five humans combined. If it’s been stolen—”
“It hasn’t been stolen.” Another voice, calmer. Familiar. Yarx. “It’s buried in the wreckage somewhere. We just haven’t excavated deep enough.”
“Then excavatefaster. Without that core, the grid destabilizes further. The Fallen grow bolder. And when the next Blood Moon rises—”
The voices faded, moving down the corridor and out of range.
Elsa stepped back from the door, her mind racing.
Moon Tear core. From her pod. Rare purity. Missing.