The Hollow was the kind of place you walked into knowing you might not walk out. A relic of Kestris-9’s past, it had survived gang wars, corporate takeovers, and at least two explosions—mostly because it was too much trouble to get rid of. The air carried a sharp mix of engine grease, old liquor, and something acrid—like overheated circuitry left to burn in the damp. Its patrons thrived on secrecy, and its owner, a reformed smuggler with a mean streak, made sure no one caused problems they weren’t willing to die over.

A pair of Virrok loitered by a rust-streaked alleyway, their translucent skin shifting between dark blues and purples as they murmured in their native clicks and trills. Virroks were bioluminescent, their bodies glowing faintly beneath their tattered cloaks, a trait that made them terrible at hiding but excellent at intimidation when the light pulsed in just the right way.

Priest slowed his pace as they approached the entrance.

Hunter arched a brow. “Having second thoughts?”

Priest shook his head, scanning the shadows. “No. Just making sure we’re not walking into an ambush.”

Gravel smirked. “C’mon, what’s life without a little risk?”

Priest didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The Hollow swallowed them whole.

The air was thick—part smoke, part something stale that had settled into the walls long ago. The low thrum of conversation buzzed just beneath the music, a slow, grinding beat that matched the flicker of dim red lights overhead. The patrons barely looked up as the crew stepped inside, though Priest could feel the shift in the room. The way some voices dipped lower, the way a few hands twitched closer to concealed weapons. The Hollow had a memory, and it remembered new faces.

A pair of Trelvian sat hunched at a back table, their exoskeletal fingers clinking against shot glasses filled with something thick and dark. A Grinnak bartender wiped down the counter with a rag that did more smearing than cleaning, his two lower arms idly adjusting the bottles on the shelves while his upper set worked. His six black eyes locked onto them, his mandibles clicking in silent acknowledgment.

Fang leaned closer to Gravel. “Remind me why we keep coming to places like this?”

“Ambience,” Gravel said, grinning.

Hunter sighed. “If by ambience you mean the likelihood of getting stabbed, then sure.”

“Stabbing you, maybe. My skin, on the other hand, is impenetrable.”

“Reattach my spine, Priest. Reattach my spine,” Hunter whispered.

“I said my skin is, not my bones.”

Gravel’s eyes locked onto a corner booth, where a skeletal figure sat, hunched over a datapad. The screen’s glow lit up the man’s face—older than the last time Gravel had seen him, more gaunt, more paranoid. His exoskeleton was cracked in places, the once-glossy surface now dull and weathered by years of secretion. His head, elongated with hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes, seemed too large for his emaciated body.

Vanje.

His fingers twitched when he noticed them, but he didn’t bolt. That was a good sign.

“Let’s greet our old friend, shall we?” Gravel said.

“This is the first time I’m meeting the guy,” responded Hunter.

Vanje’s eyes darted around the room as they approached, his posture tense, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the table. He didn’t look up until Gravel slid into the seat across from him, flashing a lopsided grin.

“Vanje,” Gravel said, leaning back. “You look terrible. And that’s not just because you’re a Trelvian.”

Vanje scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “And you look exactly the same. Which is impressive, considering the number of people who’d like to see you dead.” His gaze flicked to the others, assessing. His fingers twitched again, toward his datapad. “Who are they?”

“Associates,” Gravel said easily. “Hunter, Fang, and the one glaring at you is Priest.”

Vanje’s mouth twisted at the name. “Priest. Right.” He exhaled sharply and glanced toward the bar as if making sure no one was listening. “You’re insane for coming here.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Hunter crossed her arms. “So we’ve been told.”

Fang tapped the table impatiently. “Look, Vanje, we need your help.”

“Help?” Vanje snorted, shaking his head. “You don’t come to Kestris for help, you come to disappear. And right now, I’d rather do the latter.”

Gravel’s grin didn’t fade. “Well, unfortunately for you, we have something that needs cracking. And you’re the best there is.”

Vanje’s fingers twitched once more. “The best there was,” he corrected. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Priest spoke for the first time, his voice quiet but firm. “You do now.”

Vanje hesitated. His eyes flicked to Priest, then to the datapad in Fang’s hands. His paranoia warred with his curiosity. Finally, he sighed. “Alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

Fang placed the datapad on the table, screen glowing with the encrypted file. Vanje stared at it, then let out a low whistle.

“Oh,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “You really know how to find trouble, don’t you?”

Gravel spread his hands, his grin never quite reaching his eyes. “Look, Vanje, I wouldn’t be here if I had another option. But we go way back. You owe me.”

Vanje snorted. “I owe you? Last I checked, I saved your sorry ass on Belthos Prime.”

“And I saved yours on Korrin Station,” Gravel shot back smoothly. “Twice.”

Vanje huffed, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed. “That’s debatable.” He looked at the datapad again, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “This is deep stuff. Layers of old Republic encryption, custom modifications, likely a failsafe or two—whoever locked this down didn’t just want to keep people out, they wanted to make sure no one even thought about looking.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s impossible.”

Gravel leaned forward. “Not for you.”

Vanje’s fingers drummed against the table, faster this time. His eyes darted toward the exit. “Even if I could crack it—which I’m not saying I can—why would I? This kind of job? It’s a death sentence.”

Gravel held his gaze. “Because it’s me asking.”

Vanje scoffed. “Oh, well, that changes everything.” He threw up his hands. “Tell you what, Gravel. If you want me to take this on, I’ll need—oh, I don’t know—sixty million ducats. Up front.”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “This man’s got a loose screw somewhere.”

Fang arched a brow. “You do realize we don’t own a planet, right?”

Vanje smirked. “Exactly. Which means I can go back to pretending I never saw you.” He made a shooing gesture. “Go ahead. Walk away.”

Gravel didn’t move. He just tilted his head, smirk fading slightly. “Come on, Vanje. If you really wanted us gone, you wouldn’t have even looked at the file.”

Vanje's jaw clenched. He let out a slow breath through his nose, staring at the datapad as if it might burn him.

“Void take me,” he muttered.

Gravel leaned back, his smirk creeping back into place. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

Vanje scowled. “I haven’t agreed to anything.” He tapped the screen with one finger. “This encryption? It’s not just any old system. I’ve seen something like this before—military-grade, but not just that. It’s layered, built to self-corrupt if you prod the wrong way. And if I had to guess who put it together, I’d say someone with a hell of a lot more firepower than you.”

Hunter frowned. “Firepower like . . .?”

Vanje gave her a flat look. “The kind that turns people into cautionary tales.”

Priest finally spoke up, his voice low. “You’re saying it’s Republic black ops. Valle-44 beams.”

Vanje didn’t nod, but he didn’t deny it either. “Could be. Or it could be someone pretending to be them. Either way, you’re playing with something big.” He rubbed his eyes, exhaling hard. “If I do this, I need a clean setup—isolated terminal, no outside interference. And you’ll owe me. A real favor. Not this ‘I saved you on Korrin Station’ nonsense.”

Gravel didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

Hunter lightly slapped Gravel in the back. “Our dear Captain . . .”

“I know what I’m doing.” He winked at her.

Fang raised a hand. “Define ‘favor.’”

Vanje’s smirk returned, sharp and knowing. “Oh, you’ll find out when I need it.”

Hunter groaned. “That’s never good.”

Vanje pushed the datapad back across the table. “Meet me at my safehouse in four hours. I’ll send you the coordinates through an encrypted relay—one-time access, no repeats. If you’re followed, don’t bother showing up.” He eyed Priest warily. “And keep your old friends off my back.”

Priest said nothing, but the look in his eyes promised nothing would be that simple.

Then he slipped through the crowd, disappearing into the neon haze beyond the bar’s entrance.

Hunter exhaled, leaning back. “Well, that went about as well as expected.”

Gravel smirked. “Better, actually. He didn’t detonate the entire bar.”

Fang was already tapping at her datapad. “I’ll run scans around the meeting point when we get the coordinates. No way he’s not going to have security.”

Priest, still watching the door, muttered, “It’s not his security I’m worried about.”

Hunter frowned. “You think Sloan’s already watching us?”

Priest finally turned back to the table, his expression unreadable. “I think Kestris has never been a place where you can make a move without someone noticing.” He pushed away from the table. “We should go. If Vanje’s serious about the meeting, we need to make sure no one else follows us there.”

Gravel clapped his hands together, standing. “Alright then. Time for a little counter-surveillance.” He grinned. “Haven’t lost a tail in a while. Should be fun.”

Hunter sighed. “Your definition of fun is deeply concerning.”

“Second that,” said Fang.

With that, they filed out of The Hollow, stepping back into the restless streets of Kestris-9, where the neon shadows stretched long, and unseen eyes were already watching.