Gravel skidded around a corner, catching sight of their exit—a narrow loading bay, half-collapsed, littered with rusted crates. The southern blast doors loomed ahead, barely illuminated by the flickering emergency lights.

Then came the voices. “Seal off their escape!”

“They’ve got nowhere to run!”

The officers were closing in.

Sloan cursed under her breath, raising her stolen rifle. “We need a distraction.”

“Working on it,” Priest muttered, already scanning for alternate routes, his cybernetic fingers twitching as he rerouted control overrides to Fang.

Hunter fired a few suppressive shots down the corridor, forcing their pursuers to scatter for cover.

Then Gravel saw him—Koto.

He moved differently than the others, stepping into the open without hesitation. His shock rifle was slung across his chest, but he wasn’t reaching for it.

Instead, he just stood there.

“Sloan,” Koto called out, voice calm, controlled. “You don’t want to do this. I can get a word in for you; for old time’s sake. You’re getting 20 years, max.”

Sloan hesitated, her weapon still raised.

Koto continued. “I’ll tell Mura you were forced into this. That you were gathering intel.”

Gravel scoffed. “Yeah, sure. And we’ll get a medal too?”

Koto ignored him, his focus locked on Sloan.

His tone sharpened, almost urgent. “You don’t have to go down with them.”

Gravel could see it happening—she was considering it. His grip tightened around his sidearm.

Then Priest’s voice cut through the tension, low and even. “Sloan. You know better.”

She stiffened. Her jaw clenched, fingers flexing around the trigger.

Koto took a slow step forward. “Come on, Sloan. You’re gonna listen to those outlaw rats, or you’re gonna choose reason?”

Gravel’s finger hovered over the trigger, eyes flicking between Sloan and Koto. Am I dropping her first, or him?

Sloan exhaled, a single drop of sweat tracing down her temple. She pulled the trigger.

The plasma bolt ripped Koto’s chest apart. He staggered back, shock flashing across his face. Then he crumpled.

Silence.

Sloan stared down at the body, her breath shallow. Her hands, steady a second ago, trembled slightly.

Gravel lowered his weapon. “Well. Guess that settles that.”

But Sloan wasn’t looking at Koto anymore. She was staring at her own hands, the rifle still clutched tight.

Reality hit.

She was now one of them. There was no going back.

***

The air outside the industrial dockyards was thick with smog, the neon glow of Kestris’ undercity barely cutting through the haze. Gravel adjusted the collar of his jacket, eyes scanning the skyline as they approached the shipyard perimeter.

The Black Fang was here—somewhere.

Sloan walked a few steps ahead, her movements tense but measured. She’d barely spoken since Koto. Hunter had kept a wary eye on her, but Priest had said nothing.

“This was supposed to be temporary,” Fang muttered over comms from a nearby vantage point. “Tell me why we’re still here.”

“Because Sloan stashed our ship before Mura’s men got to it,” Priest answered.

“Mura already knows,” Sloan added flatly. “I had people relocate the Black Fang to a secure impound—Mura’s already in contact with them.”

Gravel sighed. “Fantastic. So much for an easy getaway.”

Sloan shot him a look. “I didn’t say it was impossible. Just difficult.”

Fang’s voice crackled over comms. “Yeah, uh, before you guys go off, you wanna tell me where the hell I’m supposed to be?”

Gravel winced. Right. Fang had been monitoring from a safe position, away from the heat. “Where are you?”

“Couple districts out.”

Sloan muttered something under her breath, then switched to a secondary frequency. “There’s an old transit line that runs under the impound facility. It’s been decommissioned for years, but I know the maintenance access codes. It’ll drop her two blocks from us, and she won’t have to risk running patrols.”

Priest tapped at his visor. “I see it. Route’s mostly clear. But she’ll have to move fast.”

Hunter sighed. “Fang. Can you not take your sweet time?”

“Excuse you? I was the only one playing this smart.”

Gravel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just get over here, will you?”

“On my way, boss.”

A few tense minutes passed. The others remained in position, watching the security rotations, waiting.

Then, a vent cover near the alleyway rattled, and Fang crawled out, shaking dust from her jacket. “I hate tunnels,” she muttered, brushing off grime.

Gravel raised a brow. “You look like you lost a fight with an exhaust pipe.”

“Yeah, well, you’re still ugly.” Fang stretched her arms, then turned to Sloan. “So, what’s the master plan?”

Priest studied the facility ahead, his visor pulling in security feeds and layout schematics. “We need an entry point.”

“I’ve got one,” Sloan said. “But it’ll involve looking like we belong there.”

Gravel frowned. “That’s already a stretch.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Sloan ignored him. “I know the patrol schedules. There’s a shift change in ten minutes, which means a window where the new guards are getting briefed and the old ones are clocking out. If we time it right, we can slip in before they notice an extra set of faces.”

Gravel crossed her arms. “And when they do notice?”

Hunter chimed in. “Then we make sure they’re too busy dealing with a different problem.”

Sloan pulled up a holo-display, highlighting a nearby security hub. “The Black Fang’s locked down under automated defense protocols. But if we trip a breach alert on the opposite side of the impound yard, it’ll reroute security forces there. We just need someone to cause a mess while the rest of us move in.”

Fang grinned. “Say no more.”

Fang’s grin was equal parts enthusiasm and recklessness. That immediately put Gravel on edge.

“Hold up,” he said, eyeing her. “What exactly do you plan on doing?”

Fang stretched her arms. “Something noisy.”

Hunter pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not an answer.”

Priest tapped his visor, scanning the security feeds. “The external defense grid runs on an outdated response algorithm. If we force a system lockdown, it’ll trigger an automatic high-priority alert—one that requires manual clearance. That’ll buy us a window.”

Sloan nodded. “There’s a power junction near the north entrance. Overloading it will trip the internal failsafe, pulling security forces off the shipyard perimeter. But it has to be precise.”

Fang placed a hand over her heart, feigning offense. “Oh ye of little faith.”

Gravel sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Just don’t get yourself fried.”

Fang snapped a mock salute. Then she turned and disappeared into the shadows, already moving toward her target.

Hunter glanced at Sloan. “And what about us?”

Sloan exhaled, eyes flicking to the approaching security detail near the impound’s main gates. “We walk in.”

Gravel scoffed. “That’s your big plan?”

Sloan shot him a look. “You’ve got a better one?”

Gravel opened his mouth, then shut it.

Priest adjusted his coat. “She’s right. Act like you belong.”

Sloan led the way, her posture shifting as she adopted the brisk, confident stride of someone who was supposed to be there. The others followed suit, moving toward the gates as the first warning sirens crackled to life in the distance.

Fang had done her job. Now, it was up to them.

They reached the perimeter checkpoint without a hitch—so far, Sloan’s plan was working. The guards at the impound barely spared them a glance, too distracted by the blaring alarms and the flickering status feeds on their terminals.

Inside the facility, the Black Fang sat docked behind a high-security bay door, clamps securing its landing struts. Gravel clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to break into a sprint.

Priest tapped at his visor, running a bypass on the security panel. “Severing remote access. The ship’s ours again in ten seconds.”

Sloan pulled up a secondary display. “Flight control’s still active. If they realize we’re launching, they’ll have anti-air locked on us before we’re in the clouds.”

Hunter cracked her knuckles. “So we don’t give them a chance to notice.”

Gravel snorted. “Has security on this planet always sucked this hard?”

Sloan shot him a look. “You’re benefiting from it, aren’t you?”

The loading ramp unlocked with a hiss.

“Fang, we’re grabbing you in thirty, kid. Be at the rendezvous,” Gravel said. “I’m sending the coordinates.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry before they patch the grid.”

The crew moved fast. Priest booted the Black Fang’s systems, cutting external feeds to prevent an automated lockdown. Gravel dropped into the pilot’s chair, hands flying over controls. It had been a long damn time since he had to fly this ship himself—Fang had handled piloting since she joined.

The clamps released with a metallic groan.

“Stealth vector engaged,” Priest reported. “Keeping us under sensor sweeps.”

Through the viewport, Fang sprinted across the docking lanes, smoke billowing behind her from the fried power junction she’d left in ruin.

“I hate you guys,” she panted over comms. “I hate you all.”

Hunter was already at the ramp controls. “Keep running, sweetheart.”

Fang leaped. The ramp wasn’t even fully lowered, but she grabbed the edge, hauling herself up as Hunter yanked her inside.

“Go, go, go!”

Gravel fired the thrusters, banking hard as they cleared the docking bay doors. Sirens blared below, targeting arrays snapping online.

“We’ve got missile locks!”

“Not for long.” Priest rerouted power to countermeasures, scrambling targeting signatures just as a streak of fire shot toward them. The missile lost its lock, spiraling wide before detonating in the lower docks.

Gravel exhaled sharply, hands gripping the controls tighter. “Been a while since I had to do this myself.”

Hunter smirked. “You rusty?”

Gravel scoffed. “Please. I could fly this thing blindfolded. Uh, at least, before Fang changed the interface. Now where the fuck is the . . .” He squinted at the console, flicking switches at random. “The thruster balance? The nav-lock? The—why the hell is there a ‘coolant purge’ button right next to the weapons array?”

Fang’s voice blared through comms. “Don’t press that.”

Gravel froze mid-reach. “Okay, noted. But seriously, where’s the—”

The ship lurched as an unauthorized system recalibration warning flashed red across the dashboard.

Hunter shot him a look. “What. Did. You. Press.”

Gravel frowned at the blinking panel. “Probably something unimportant.”

The ship shuddered, alarms flaring across the console as a high-pitched whine built up in the engine core.

Fang’s voice crackled through comms. “Gravel, I swear on Priest and everything holy, tell me you didn’t just disable inertial dampening.”

Gravel braced himself as the Black Fang tilted violently to port. “Define ‘disable.’”

Priest said, deadpan. “You turned off gravity compensation. We’re about to get pasted against the bulkhead if you don’t fix it. Let me take over.”

“You’ve piloted a ship twice in your life,” retorted Gravel.

Hunter, clutching the nearest surface, growled. “Turn it back on before I turn you off.”

Gravel rapidly flipped switches, trying to retrace his mistake. “Alright, alright, nobody panic, I got this. I—”

A sudden burst of acceleration threw them all sideways as the engines recalibrated with a violent jerk.

Fang’s voice was pure exasperation. “You’re the worst.”

Gravel finally found the right switch and jammed it back into place. The ship leveled out, alarms cutting off one by one.

A tense silence.

Gravel’s fingers flew over the console, bringing the Black Fang to a steady hover just above the alley where Fang waited. The ship's engines hummed low, barely audible over the distant din of sirens.

Fang’s voice crackled over comms. “Open the damn ramp. I’m not hanging around for an encore.”

Hunter tapped a control, and the rear hatch lowered. Fang sprinted forward, leaping onto the ramp just as she threw a look over her shoulder. No immediate pursuit, but they weren’t waiting to find out.

She skidded into the hold, breathless. “Go, go, go—”

“Already moving,” Gravel called back, fingers dancing across the console. The Black Fang lifted off, thrusters flaring as they banked upward, threading through the maze of Kestris’ lower skyline.

Priest’s visor flickered as he scanned telemetry. “No pursuit yet.”

Gravel exhaled, pushing the throttle forward. “Good. Let’s keep it that—”

Warning: Air Traffic Violation. Priority Response Unit Scrambling.

Fang groaned, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat. “You couldn’t fly casual for two minutes?”

Gravel clenched his jaw. “Listen, I haven’t had to fly the ship myself since you joined. You rewired half the controls! And who gives a shit about air traffic laws?”

“You keep pressing buttons like they haven’t changed.”

“Where the fuck is the—” Gravel’s fingers hovered over the wrong panel, nearly triggering the ship’s distress beacon.

Fang slapped his hand away. “Not that one!”

“Maybe label your damn buttons!”

“Maybe don’t fly like a drunk—LEFT, LEFT!”

Gravel yanked the controls just in time, narrowly dodging an incoming patrol craft. The Black Fang twisted into a sharp ascent, engines whining under the sudden maneuver.

Priest’s visor updated. “Still no pursuit lock, but we don’t stay in orbit—we jump now.”

Gravel gritted his teeth, finally finding the right control. He engaged the jump drive, locking coordinates beyond Garmin-44’s monitoring zones.

The Black Fang shuddered as its engines roared to life, struggling to generate enough power for a jump after sitting cold for so long. Warning lights flickered across the console—LOW ENERGY RESERVES. SYSTEM CHARGING.

Gravel swore under his breath. “Jump drive’s gotta spool up. We need a minute.”

“A minute we don’t have,” Hunter snapped, watching the scanners.

Priest’s visor pulsed red. “They’ve locked onto us. Ground units moving in.”

The ship lurched as turret fire streaked past, clipping the hull.

“Shields up!” Fang shouted, already flicking through controls.

Hunter unholstered her rifle. “Then we make sure they don’t get another shot.” She turned, sprinting toward the rear turret controls.

The Black Fang tore through the thinning atmosphere, engines straining as the jump drive fought to spool up. The last remnants of Kestris’ undercity vanished below—but pursuit wasn’t letting up.

Hostile signatures detected.

Priest’s visor pulsed red. “Skijets incoming.”

Gravel glanced at the readout. A half-dozen high-speed pursuit skijets—light, single-rider craft barely more than an exposed seat strapped to a thruster core—were closing fast. Their compact frame made them fragile, but they could weave through fire like gnats and mount grappling harpoons to latch onto larger ships.

Hunter clicked her tongue. “We’re getting chased by glorified jetpacks.”

“They’re faster than us in atmo,” Priest warned. “Jump drive’s at fifty percent. We need another minute.”

“Why is everyone asking for another minute?” Fang muttered.

Sloan had been silent since takeoff, arms folded, gaze locked on the pursuing crafts through the viewport. When she finally spoke, her voice was tight. “I can take weapons control.”

Fang scoffed. “You any good?”

Sloan replied, “I’ve done it in simulations.”

Hunter cut in. “No shooting. We’re trying to lose them, not start a war. The second we fire, we’re gonna become intergalactic criminals.”

Gravel snorted. “We already are.”

The lead skijet surged ahead, its pilot lining up a mag-clamp harpoon at the Black Fang’s underbelly.

“Not happening.” Hunter pivoted to the rear turret controls but didn’t fire. Instead, she rerouted the ship’s thruster output, sending a sudden burst of exhaust in the skijet’s path. The pilot veered off-course to avoid the scorching plume, but two more took its place, this time coming from above rather than behind.

“They’re wising up to the heat trick,” Priest noted. “Coming in from higher angles.”

Sloan’s grip tightened on the co-pilot’s seat. “They’re trying to cripple us, not kill us.”

“Comforting,” Gravel muttered. He pulled hard on the thruster, sending the ship into a sharp barrel roll. The skijets scrambled to adjust—one clipped the Black Fang’s stabilizer, spiraling out of control before detonating.

Jump drive at seventy percent.

One of the remaining skijet riders leaned forward, angling an energy caster at the ship’s starboard side.

“Gravel, drop us left!” Fang snapped.

He hesitated—then yanked the controls. The Black Fang veered down hard, just as the energy shot seared past where they’d been. Fang fired the vent thrusters again, sending a short burst of heat and debris into the nearest skijet. The rider jerked away, momentarily blinded.

Hunter sent another burst of exhaust, clipping one of the pursuers. “Priest, where’s my jump?”

“Ninety percent!”

The final skijets closed in—too close. The rider at the forefront twisted mid-air, their harpoon firing directly toward the viewport.

Sloan moved.

She lunged forward, grabbing Gravel’s wrist and yanking the controls up. The ship pitched violently, the harpoon barely scraping the underside instead of punching through.

Gravel didn’t have time to yell at her.

Priest’s voice cut through the chaos. “Jump drive ready!”

Gravel slammed the engage switch.

The ship shuddered—

The skijets dropped away. The stars stretched.

They were gone.