The corridor grows darker the further Lex and Scorvo travel. At one point, the floor dips, forming a gentle incline. Lex continually glances over her left shoulder, expecting to hear an alarm blare. Or to see a spiny black figure crawl across the floor, over the walls, or on the ceiling. She shakes her head to regain clarity.

“Are you okay, Lex?” Scorvo asks, concern in his voice.

“Sure. I’m just really cold. These clothes aren’t exactly doing me any favors down here.”

“I quite disagree. But then again, you are not a yautja.”

“O-kay. Please tell me that Scar isn’t nearly as…Open with his feelings as you are.”

Scorvo’s heavy footfalls suddenly stop. The rustling of his armor alerts Lex that he has turned in her direction.

“What does it matter? You are his vil’par. You bare his mark. What more could be said?”

“That was a long time ago. And…Like you said…He may not even be the same yautja. He probably won’t even remember me. I just mean…I don’t think I can handle two of…You.”

The rustling of armor again. Lex’s shoulders droop as Scorvo moves off down the corridor. Lex walks quickly to catch up. She reaches forward, hoping to grip some part of Scorvo. Her hand makes contact with the mesh on his muscular back. Scorvo stops midstride and whirls around. Lex feels the whoosh of air from his movements and backs up a step.

“Don’t take things so personally, Scorvo. I’m under a lot of stress. I’m not trying to be rude…Or mean. I thought you said truth was what was most important to a yautja.”

“It is. And the truth is that I wish Scar had never been chosen to go down into the chuf’trhat. I wish it had been me. I would much rather have died in glorious battle than be second best to a warrior who has managed to rise from the dead. I would prefer it even more…To live. With you as my vil-par.”

“This again? Scar, I’ve already told you—,” Lex says.

Replaying her own words back in her head, Lex realizes her mistake. She covers her mouth with the palm of one hand, eyes wide.

“You see? Even now…You call me by the wrong name. I am nothing…To anyone. Even the battles I have won…Mean nothing. I still live in my brother’s shadow.”

“Scorvo, if you never listen to another thing I say? Listen to what I am telling you right now. Stop comparing yourself to your brother. It’s not me…Or even yautja society that is keeping you from greatness. It’s this…This…This complex you have about inferiority. Get over it! Please. Because I need you! Scar needs you. And you don’t seem to be thinking too clearly right now! You got me into this mess. I expect you to get me out of it. Do you understand me?”

Without lowering his cloak, Scorvo approaches Lex and caresses her left cheek. With a smile, he positions his upper body so that he can kiss the area where the acid scar is concealed under the makeup on her soft flesh. Lex tenses, only because she is unable to see the warrior’s movements.

“Spoken like a true vil’par!”

Lex raises a hand and cups the side of Scorvo’s face. A strange sensation ripples through her fingertips, almost like a low-level electric shock.

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“I do care about you, Scorvo. I can’t help but care about you.”

“I know. There are some things…You cannot hide.”

Withdrawing from Lex, Scorvo reaches down and grasps one of her hands. Lex squeezes the invisible warrior's hand and holds back a smile. Mostly to avoid looking like a crazed fool, smiling at empty air.

“I promise you, Alexa...I will get you out of here. No matter what I have to do.”

“Don’t Scorv—”

Scorvo presses an invisible finger to Lex’s lips. Lex tenses, wishing she could see his face.

“I have made a promise. A yautja’s word is his bond. It is stronger than even the code we must follow. Each of us knows this. It is time you knew this as well.”

-

-

Mattley residence

Detective Mackey instructs a man leading four giant canines to head over to the main house. Deputy Newsome will give the man further instructions. For now, Mackey awaits the arrival of the requisitioned backhoes. Search lights cover nearly every inch of the property—pushing back the darkness of the approaching night.

A long black limousine winds down the path toward the main gate. Mackey’s brow furrows, as he waits to greet the visitor. The mayor? Who else would be driving something that elegant? And why would the mayor be involved in a regular old murder case?

The man who steps out of the black limo is definitely not the mayor. Detective Mackey’s breath catches in his throat and his heckles rise. He moves with purpose toward the man in the navy blue trench coat. He offers the older man his hand with a sarcastic grin.

“I’m Detective Mackey. I’m in charge of this investigation. And you are?”

“I’m Michael Weyland. Chairman of Weyland Industries.”

Detective Mackey pretends to find this news enlightening. He sarcastically claps both hands together before snapping the fingers of one hand.

“That’s right…Weyland Industries. You know…That’s a real coincidence. The missing resident of this house is a former Weyland employee. Or so the paperwork says. Mind telling me why the chairman of Weyland Industries is visiting a former employee so late in the evening?”

“We received a call that another employee had agreed to meet Ms. Mattley at her home. They were…Romantically involved. This employee hasn’t been seen for several days. Ms. Mattley is an old friend. I came by to make sure everything was okay. I’m saddened to learn it is not.”

“I’m sure you are,” Detective Mackey quips. “You’re telling me…We now have three missing persons?”

“Three?” Weyland says, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah. A park ranger is also missing. Ms. Mattley’s truck was found in the immediate vicinity of where we believe a crime may have taken place. You know…I have to ask, Mr. Weyland. You say Ms. Mattley is a close friend of yours. So why is there no record of a Laura Michelle Mattley until eleven years ago? Where was she for the first thirty-two years of her life?”

Weyland bristles, his jaw tightening. He meets the detective's gaze and straightens his posture, voice deepening ominously.

“I’m afraid…I’m not at liberty to say.”

Deputy Newsome wanders up to Mackey at that exact moment. The deputy looks from Weyland to Detective Mackey, then back to Weyland.

“Not at liberty to say what?" Newsome growls. "We’re in the middle of an investigation, buddy!"

Weyland shoots Newsome an annoyed glare and then returns his attention to Detective Mackey.

“As I said. I’m not at liberty to say.”

Mackey steps directly into Weyland’s face. The two men are almost inch-for-inch in height.

“Can’t say…Or won’t?”

“I don’t see the distinction,” Weyland says, a smirk on his aging face.

“Deputy Newsome…Show Mr. Weyland…What a handcuff feels like.”

Weyland’s eyes flash with anger and his voice becomes a low growl. Menace radiates off of the furious exec like steam out of a storm drain.

“What’s the charge?”

“How about obstruction of justice and impeding an investigation?” Mackey barks back.

“You’ll never be able to make that stick. I’ll be out in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But in the meantime, you’re going to learn that no one…I mean NO ONE…Is above the law. So you can tell me what I need to know…Or you can rot in jail overnight. What’s your decision?”

Weyland huffs and sarcastically offers Deputy Newsome his slender wrists. Cuffing the executive, Deputy Newsome waves another officer over.

“See that…Mr. Weyland is given our best accommodations,” Mackey hisses.

The young officer leads Weyland to a patrol car and gently places him inside. The executive seems unfazed, a blank expression on his face.

“Bet you he’s right,” Newsome says. “He’ll be out faster than we can process him.”

“I won’t even bother taking that bet. I’m sure you’re right. Damn! Smug bastard!”