The Razorwing's engines hummed, ready for departure. I stood at the ramp, my knuckles bleaching white around the guardrail. Below, the hangar buzzed, mechanics barked orders, fuel lines hissed, and I caught Jax and Zara talking in hushed tones through the chaos. Their secrecy pricked at me like a needle.

  I turned away, storming into the ship's belly to slump into a passenger seat, looking out the Front viewport. My two new guards stood next to the ramp as I signed and tried to turn them out. They were the Beta team that I had been promised. But I hadn't known they would be cyborgs. Grotesque patchworks of flesh and chrome, their eyes glowing with the cold blue of machine compliance.

  I shook my head again. I hated these things. I'd seen one march through a crumbling building once, its targeting systems coldly marking civilians as obstacles. It didn't hesitate. It just walked through them—no orders to stop. No hesitation. Just death.

  The military used them as expendable elite cannon fodder. It surprised me that there was even one on Drakara. They were incredibly expensive for anyone outside of elite military command. They were created by getting death row prisoners and subjecting them to forced modification.

  A mishmash of brain and computer made them aware but completely obedient. Following these commands to the letter. No matter the cost. Needless deaths had been only the starting point for these things.

  Jax walked over, staring at the two cyborgs. "Are they necessary, Alex?"

  I smiled weakly. "They are apparently my new guards. Courtesy of our friend Theon."

  Jax bristled that they were my guards before his face returned to a false calm. "Very well. Moving on. It seems we have a situation at the Spire. Someone has entered a restricted area and tampered with key structural components. Lyra has been monitoring it. We will investigate after meeting with the spire management."

  "Have we sent a team there to stop any more attempts of…"

  Zara cut in before I could finish, her voice sharp. "Lyra's already en route with a team. She'll report findings soon."

  I frowned. "Since when do doctors inspect structural sabotage?" The words hung like a challenge. Jax and Zara exchanged glances that spoke of secrets piled between them."

  "Lyra’s more than a doctor," Jax said with a half-smile. "She’s an engineer and scientist. She has a team with her—they’ll assess the damage and handle repairs."

  "Ok," I answered. "If you say so." They were hiding something from me. And if they didn't want to tell me, I'd have to find out myself. I stood up as Zara stopped me, her voice low and almost hesitant. "You just woke up. You don't have to do this now, Alex. No one would blame you for taking a moment to breathe."

  I turned to her, my gaze hardening. Something was off. "This isn't about proving anything," I said. "It's about fixing what's broken. And I have to start somewhere."

  She held my gaze for a long moment before nodding. "I know. Just… Don't push yourself, ok."

  The Razorwing thrummed as it lifted off, the neon sprawl of capital glowing like stars in the night below us. I stared out the window, my thoughts racing with Lina's voice, her words, and Seraphina's...

  I watched as Zara's hands flew across the console, directing the Razorwing to set up the flight path to the Spire. Every so often, I caught her watching me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it—and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  The skeletal outline of the Iron Spire was like a jagged monolith clawing at the sky. Rust streaked its hull like old blood, and even from here, I could see the swarm of ant-like figures hauling cargo at its base.

  My stomach tightened at the site. I knew this was going to be a difficult day. The ministers had taught me that. Most people here still saw me as hope—the flag of resistance. I needed to show them that I was different.

  Zara brought the ship to land with practised ease as I stood waiting for the lower ramp. I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the growing tension. The two dammed cyborg guards stood still as statues. No emotion, nothing. Yet, when I shifted, I swore I saw one of them subtly tilt its head like it was watching me. Analyzing. I clenched my jaw. Maybe I was imagining things.

  I felt the ship touchdown a few moments later as the ramp lowered. I started to exit before the ramp had even touched the ground. The two guards stepped out behind me a step after.

  A group of people were waiting for me to exit as Jax stepped before me. "Krell, I presume?" He asked the man who stepped forward. He was a bloated man in a too-tight suit and looked slimy. It was not someone I really wanted to deal with, but I had expected this.

  “Welcome Baron Draven. It is an honour to meet one of your esteemed station. I hope…"

  Jax cut him off before he could continue with whatever speech he had prepared. "There will be time for pleasantries later. I sent the itinerary for our visit before we arrived. I can assume you have everything ready for us?"

  I watched as Krell wiped the sweat from his forehead before he replied. "Y…yes. Everything has been arranged. This way, please."

  I looked at Jax as we were led to a waiting elevator. I had to assume it was meant for cargo as the capacity seemed excessive for anything else. Zara appeared behind us just before the doors slid closed.

  "I thought you would be staying with the ship?" I asked.

  Zara gave me a look before turning away. "The ship is on standby; if we require it, I can remotely pilot it for us."

  I stared at her for a bit. Was she angry? Upset at me? I wasn't sure. And honestly, I wasn't willing to spare any more effort to figure out what was happening in her head.

  The Iron Spire's underbelly reeked of rust and sweat. Damp, metallic air clawed at my throat as we descended into the worker quarters, where flickering lights painted shadows across faces gaunt with exhaustion.

  Flickering strip lights cast long shadows over cramped bunks and hollow faces. One of the cyborgs’ heads twitched. Its glowing blue eyes flicked toward a child for a fraction of a second before returning to idle as the child darted past, her skeletal fingers snatching a protein wafer from a passing cart. Security raised their shockrods.

  "Touch her, and I'll end you." The words left my lips before I knew I'd spoken.

  Krell blinked sweat from his piggish eyes. "My lord, surely–"

  Zara stepped between us, her shoulder brushing mine. Static crackled where we touched. "The Baron wasn't asking."

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  Krell quivered. "With respect, my lady, this isn't some spacecraft you can–"

  My fist slammed into the wall beside his head. The clang of metal echoed like a gunshot, and Krell's sweat sprayed as he flinched. "Call her my lady again," I hissed, "and I'll redecorate this wall with your teeth."

  Zara's hand closed around my wrist. Not restraining. Anchoring.

  "Feel better?" Zara murmured, her thumb pressing against my racing pulse.

  I yanked free. "Don't."

  For a heartbeat, her mask cracked—a flash of hurt, or maybe fear—before her eyes hardened into shards of ice. She was all steel again as Krell continued on his ramble.

  "Production demands have doubled this quarter," droned Krell again, like he wanted to pretend my outburst hadn’t happened. He didn't blink as a coughing fit wracked the woman scrubbing the grate beside him. "We're understaffed. Can't magic efficiency from thin air."

  I stopped, staring at the woman. Her hands were raw, her boots held together with fraying tape. It reminded me of Seraphina's manicured fingers clutching her gown—how she'd folded in on herself as if she could disappear from everything. I groaned, trying to block out the memory.

  "You're wrong," I said quietly.

  Krell blinked. "Excuse me?"

  I turned to him, the cyborgs shifting behind me like weird statues. "You're wrong. Do you want more workers? Start by not working your people to death. Automate the refineries. Rotate shifts. Fix the damned air filters." My voice rose, sharpened by the memory of Seraphina's plea: "I need to get away." These people couldn't run. They had nowhere to go.

  Krell's throat quivered. "Lord Draven, idealism won't power the generators."

  Zara stepped forward, her hand resting on her holstered pistol. "How about a review of your accounting logs? I've heard that someone is skimming profits. Wonder what we'd find once we start looking."

  Krell paled. Jax smirked.

  "We will look into ways to improve the working conditions." Krell started to say before he froze as I turned on him, pointing my finger at his chest.

  "No. I will arrange this. You will be reporting to Jax here. He will be overseeing everything you do."

  Krell paled as I talked before he nodded slightly. "Ah, y-yes. Management things. Urgent matters! Pressing! I, uh, must attend to them—immediately."

  I watched as Krell turned and hurried away. I sighed. This was not how I expected this to go. "Dammit," I muttered.

  Jax smirked. "He lasted longer than I expected."

  I exhaled sharply, the weight of the Spire's oppression pressing down on me. The air was thick with sweat, oil, and something worse—something that smelled like decay. I hadn't noticed it at first, but now it clung to my senses, an acrid stench lurking beneath the metallic tang of rust.

  A distant clang echoed through the corridors, followed by the faint wail of machinery—no, not machinery. I strained my ears—a moan.

  Zara caught the sound, too. Her fingers twitched toward her holster.

  "Jax," I said quietly. "Where does that lead?" I nodded toward a side passage, half-concealed by a stack of rusted crates. Unlike the rest of the worker quarters, the dim emergency lighting didn't reach there, and the darkness was thick and oppressive.

  Jax exchanged a glance with Zara. "Restricted zones," he muttered. "Security keeps unauthorised personnel out."

  I strode toward it.

  Krell's assistant, a wiry woman with dark-rimmed eyes, stepped in my way. "My lord, that area is off-limits. We should continue the tour—"

  I didn't slow. My cyborg guards followed, their servos hissing as they moved perfectly synchronised. Jax let out a soft curse and fell in beside me. Zara hesitated for half a breath before following.

  The passageway was colder, and the floor sloped downward. The deeper we went, the worse the smell got. A rot, thick and cloying, seeped into the metal itself.

  Then we heard it—sharp, ragged breathing.

  Zara flicked on a light.

  The beam of light sliced through the darkness, illuminating a makeshift infirmary—or what was left of one. Rows of metal slabs lined the walls, each occupied by a figure barely recognisable as a human.

  Filthy bandages wrapped around wasted limbs, their skin stretched tight over skeletal frames. Hollow eyes flickered open at the intrusion, but no one spoke. They didn't have the strength.

  One man, little more than bone, reached a trembling hand toward us. His lips moved, forming silent words.

  I swallowed hard and stepped closer. "What happened to them?"

  The assistant shifted uneasily behind us. "They… they are too weak to work. We don’t have enough resources to waste on those who won’t recover." She swallowed. "It’s not cruelty, my lord. It’s a necessity."

  Zara's hand clenched into a fist. "And?"

  The woman wouldn't meet her eyes. "And they remain here until… until they're no longer a burden."

  Rage coiled in my chest. "You mean until they die."

  No answer.

  Jax knelt beside the man who had reached out. "Who did this to you?"

  The man's fingers curled weakly. He wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "Th-the mines," he rasped. "No masks. No rest. The dust… it eats your lungs." His breath hitched, and a deep, rattling cough wracked his body. A thin trail of blood leaked from his mouth.

  My vision blurred at the edges.

  "You just let them rot here?" I turned to the assistant, my voice like steel.

  She flinched. "Resources are limited. They are no longer… viable."

  Zara's pistol cleared its holster with a sharp click. "How many more?"

  The woman hesitated.

  "How. Many. More."

  The assistant swallowed hard, then motioned toward a sealed door at the back of the infirmary.

  I moved first, slamming the release panel. The door hissed open. The smell hit like a physical force. It wasn't just an infirmary. It was a morgue.

  Rows upon rows of bodies were stacked in the dim, freezing chamber. Some of them had been wrapped in cloth. Others weren't. The frost on their skin barely masked the signs of exhaustion, malnutrition—and murder.

  Jax exhaled slowly. "By the stars…"

  Zara said nothing. Her jaw was clenched so tight I thought she might shatter her teeth.

  She shuddered. "Please—this is just—this is just protocol. What would you have us do?" She gestured around at the dying workers. "We have quotas to meet. The mines don’t stop because a few labourers can’t keep up. If we saved every weak one, we'd all be out of jobs—out of food." Her voice cracked. "We don’t have the luxury of mercy."

  My fingers twitched toward my gun. For one dark moment, I wanted to do it. To end her, to wipe her from existence like she'd been the one that had allowed these people to waste away.

  "Beta 1," I said. I was still fighting with myself not to end the entire staff managing the Spire.

  A cold, mechanical voice broke the silence in response.

  "Awaiting objective."

  I turned.

  One of the cyborgs was staring at me, its glowing blue eyes unreadable. It took a step forward. "Awaiting directive." It repeated

  My breath caught. It wasn't waiting for anyone else. It was waiting for me.

  I could order it. Right now. To kill. To destroy. The power of it trembled in my hands. I looked at the assistant, at her wide, terrified eyes. I thought of Seraphina, her voice echoing in my mind: Don't become what they expect you to be.

  My fingers flexed. Itched. Then I turned away. "No."

  The cyborg froze. "Awaiting directive."

  "Help them," I said. "All of them. Find medical supplies, food, and anything useful. Keep them alive."

  A flicker of hesitation. Then: "Directive received."

  I exhaled.

  Zara holstered her gun. Jax ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath.

  I turned back to the assistant. "We're not done here."

  She shuddered. "What are you going to do?"

  I met her gaze, cold and unyielding.

  "Fix this."

  And for the first time since we arrived, I meant every word.