[= Establishing Urban Link... =]

  [= Location Data Initialized =]

  **New Vothar**

  Industrial Hub, Kelthar-3, Trelos Rift System

  **Standard Galactic Date**: 2739, Cycle 07

  **Local Time**: 20:47 Rift Standard

  [= City Access Verified =]

  I turned down the next hall and ducked into a lavatory. Though calling it that felt like an insult.

  It wasn’t a bathroom, more like a cathedral to vanity.

  The floors were black marble, polished so clean I could see my reflection before I even reached the mirror. The sink wasn’t metal or ceramic, it looked like sculpted obsidian, with a faucet carved to resemble some kind of swan or serpent, water pouring from its mouth in a perfect stream. The walls glowed faintly with soft ambient light, reacting to movement. No switches required.

  I didn’t belong here.

  I was used to military-grade sinks stained with cleanser, half-broken dispensers, mirrors bolted on crooked. I’d lived on starships where the showers rattled if you leaned too hard. However that was before the Valkyrion. She wasn’t luxury, but at least she didn’t shake when you flushed.

  I leaned on the edge of the vanity, staring at the mirror. Hell of a word, "vanity." Named after the sin, I think. Fitting, really—what better place to realize you no longer have a face?

  I turned the water on cold and let it run, still frozen there, watching the thing in the reflection. Finally, I cupped a handful and brought it up slow, dabbing gently. Barely more than a press.

  To my surprise, the water didn’t hurt much. I’d expected worse. Probably because most of the nerve endings were already cooked.

  Blood and soot came away in thin red streaks, swirling down the drain, but it did nothing to help. If anything, it made it worse by highlighting the raw places where skin had peeled back exposing angry red meat beneath the char.

  Blackened flesh warped and blistered across my cheekbones. The tip of my nose was gone, scorched to bone and cartilage. My lips were cracked but still mostly intact. Hair? What hadn’t been torched was brittle and fused together like burnt nylon. When I touched it, it disintegrated, coming away in strands and ash. Both eyebrows were gone. My left ear was untouched, but the right looked melted, slouched against the side of my skull like wax sliding down a candle.

  Didn’t even recognize myself. It was like staring at a stranger who’d lost a war and lived.

  Then the mirror flickered.

  A low shimmer ran across the surface, subtle at first—then sharp, unmistakable. Ares’ blue holographic face appeared behind the glass, like a ghost peering in from another layer of reality.

  I flinched back a step, breath catching.

  “Apologies,” he said coolly, unfazed. “I attempted to respect your directive not to initiate contact. However, given your current state, and the dinner invitation you just accepted, I believe the phrase is… time-sensitive exception.”

  I scowled at him, bloody water still dripping from my jaw. “Don’t get clever with me, I’m in no mood for your little computer games.”

  “I’m aware,” he said, tone flat as ever. “But you look… objectively terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “If you’d permit it, I could guide you through dermal regeneration protocols. A temporary restoration is achievable in with some of the items located within this building. It would return your appearance to within ninety percent of baseline until we get you back to the ship.”

  I wiped my hands off on a sterile towel and leaned forward again, staring at the ruin.

  “No need,” I muttered. “This helps. Masks the identity. Valor was supposed to be scarred anyway, wasn’t he?”

  Ares hesitated, just a beat. “Yes. Though… perhaps not this thoroughly.”

  “Then I’m overachieving,” I said, turning toward the door. “Now shut up and stay out of my mirrors.”

  “Commander!”

  I stopped at the door. “What?”

  “I did not appear solely to comment on your appearance.”

  I turned, brow twitching. “Speak.”

  “There is another reason I made contact.” The mirror flickered slightly, his face tilting. “The guest list for tonight’s dinner includes a certain Yuki Takahashi. She’s currently listed under restricted access. Floor Forty-Seven.”

  That stopped me cold.

  “Restricted?” I asked. “As in a prisoner?”

  “No, Commander. She is labeled as an associate, with diplomatic access scheduled to attend tonight’s event.”

  I stared at the mirror, but not at him, through him. Like maybe I’d catch a glimpse of her face behind the glass, tucked somewhere in that web of surveillance.

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  An associate.

  The word left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  She wasn’t locked up, Yuki was here, walking the halls, trading smiles, sitting down to dinner like it was just another mission. Either she was neck-deep in Orion’s game, or already drowning in it.

  We’d saved each other more times than I could count.

  But bonds fray.

  People change.

  And I hadn’t seen her in a long time.

  I felt the old thoughts creeping in like smoke under a sealed door. The doubt, the anger, the sick twist in my gut that came from not knowing which version of her I’d meet tonight.

  The one who had my back?

  Or the one holding the knife?

  Ares interrupted the spiral.

  “Would you like me to intercept her movement, Commander?”

  I stared at the mirror, jaw tight. “No, I’ll handle it.”

  A pause.

  “Understood.”

  His image faded, the mirror falling silent again.

  I ran a hand down my face, stopping when fingers scraped across blistered skin and exposed cartilage. No expression left to hide behind. No mask to wear.

  I straightened, took a deep breath, and stepped back into the hallway.

  Faint ambient music drifted from hidden speakers. It wasn’t there for comfort. The Republic had spent years testing soundscapes to influence behavior. They started with prisoners, moved on to diplomats, and eventually applied it to the general population. The right frequencies could lower your heart rate, dull your edge, and make you more compliant. But once you knew what they were trying to do, your mind stopped falling for it. The effect vanished.

  Ignoring the frequencies I continued to make my way down the corridor with no real destination in mind. If Agent Valor had a suite here, I’d find it. And if I wandered somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, I figured someone would let me know.

  Apparently, this wing was reserved for the important people. Guards stood at even intervals along the walls, watching me pass but saying nothing. Whoever Valor was seemed to carry weight, enough to earn space, if not outright fear.

  The deeper I went, the more it felt like a hotel for the elite. Female staff in skin-tight uniforms floated past in pairs, carrying crystal bottles worth more than most people's yearly income. Miralynth Spark, no doubt—Xyrelian royal swill turned luxury export. Once sacred, now poured into glasses for bored men with money and no conscience.

  Every few doors, I caught flashes of what lay inside. Private suites, mood-lit lounges, soft laughter. Humans and aliens sprawled on couches, draped in silk and sin, acting like war didn’t exist past the walls.

  At least everyone gave me space. Eyes flicked to my ID, then away. No one wanted trouble with the man they thought I was.

  If they knew the truth—that I’d ripped the real Valor’s head off with a thought—they’d probably give me more than space. They’d run. Or kneel.

  At the end of the hallway, the space widened into a quiet corner lounge, glass walls on two sides offering a panoramic view of New Vothar’s skyline. From up here, the city looked calm, but I knew better.

  I turned left, heading toward the what I figured to be the next wing—only to nearly collide with two figures rounding the corner.

  Both were tall, elegant. One woman with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and auburn hair pinned back in a tight coil. The other, a blue-skinned Xyrelian with silver eyes that shimmered faintly and matching facial markings like etched jewelry. Their uniforms were cut sharper than the others I’d seen, dark, fitted, accented with shimmering metallic threads. Definitely not housekeeping. More like personal escorts for the rich and powerful.

  The human woman offered a shallow bow, graceful but mechanical. “Sir. I am Ari. This is Siyasha.” Her voice was smooth, almost too calm. “We are here to assist you with preparations for the evening.”

  She glanced toward the corridor behind me. “It appears you’ve forgotten the location of your suite.”

  “Ah yes, the blast appears to have not only affected my equilibrium, but my my memory as well.”

  “It is of no concern,” Ari replied. “Our master has arranged for you to be… attended to until dinner.”

  “Attended to, huh?” I muttered, letting a grin tug at my cracked lips. “That can mean a lot of things… by all means lead the way.”

  Siyasha, the Xyrelian, gave a small nod and gestured for me to follow.

  They led me back the way I’d come, retracing the same polished corridor past the suites I’d glimpsed earlier. Those rooms had been built for indulgence. Laughter behind tinted glass, silk robes draped over furniture, bottles half-emptied on marble counters.

  This was not that.

  The door they stopped at didn’t glow or pulse like the others. Ambient light didn’t bleed through the frame, and there was no music or trace of perfume hanging in the air. It was just a silent, polished panel that slid open without a sound and revealed a space clearly meant for something else.

  This suite was still luxurious, but not so loud about it. The lighting was brighter than the others and a full in-suite med station stood in one corner, quiet and ready. Across from it, a rack of tailored clothing sat under display lighting.

  Siyasha gestured to the reclining chair beside the med station. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You’ve clearly had a difficult day.”

  Her silver eyes moved over the burns, and for a moment, she froze. The breath she drew caught just slightly. Her gaze lingered, in quiet disbelief. She blinked once, slowly, like it hurt to look at me.

  Her voice, when it came, was softer than before. “Please… sit. Let us help you.”

  I hesitated. “I’m fine,” I said, not moving. “Really.”

  Ari the human, attempted to control the situation. “You’re covered in second and third-degree trauma.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Siyasha tilted her head, not buying it. “With respect, sir, your current condition might undermine your credibility. First impressions are… important.”

  Right. Agent Valor couldn’t limp in looking like a walking corpse. But the whole reason I was here was because I didn’t look like him. The burns were cover. If they healed me too well…

  My jaw tightened. I stepped forward slowly and sat down. “Just enough to stop the bleeding. Nothing more.”

  The chair adjusted around me, silently reading my weight, my posture, my pain. A low hum kicked in overhead as three medical drones descended like vultures, sleek and soundless.

  A cold mist sprayed across my skin, tingling as it soaked into the burns and cuts. The drones began their work, weaving through the worst of the injuries with unsettling precision—tiny needles dancing across open wounds, charred skin lifting away in neat layers while new cells formed beneath.

  “These are rather extensive,” the Ari murmured, her eyes flicking across my face and arms. “The attending physician on this floor authorized a full regenerative pass the moment your bioscan came online.”

  “Cancel it,” I muttered.

  Siyashagave a small shake of her head. “Impossible. The nanites are already in circulation. If we stop the process now, the damage will compound. Inflammation, tissue rejection... You’d risk infection or worse.”

  “Fine. Let it finish.” I said through gritted teeth.

  Of course. The machines had already decided what was best for me. I sank a little deeper into the chair, exhaling through my nose.

  “I assume,” I said, voice flat, “this whole thing’s being recorded?”

  Siyasha offered a faint smile. “Only for medical compliance. Nothing leaves the suite.”

  Sure. And I was the King of Miralynth.

  By the time the last drone lifted away, the pain had dulled. Not gone, but distant. The worst of the burns were smoothed over, the wounds closed, the worst of the ruin… erased.

  I flexed my hands. No more torn skin. No open blisters.

  Then I looked at the mirror.

  Not perfect but damn close. My face was whole again. No more warped flesh or melted features. I looked like myself, minus a bit of color and a lot of sleep.

  Well… fuck. If anyone at this dinner actually knew what he looked like, I’d be in for more than just a warm welcome.

  I wiped my hands on the chair’s armrest and stood. “Appreciate the tune-up.”

  “If you’ll allow it, sir, we’ve drawn a bath to help you relax before dressing. The water’s infused with healing compounds. It will help your skin… recover.” Ari said, gesturing toward a side alcove where a wide sunken bath was already steaming.

  “Let me guess. Orion insists I smell like something expensive before dinner?”

  “Precisely,” she said with a pleasant smile. “And he prefers his guests be well-presented. You’ve… clearly had a long day.”

  “Fine,” I muttered. “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Neither of them laughed.

  Of course not.