Chapter 57: Reflections

The Narak’Tharr drifted peacefully in orbit around a barren moon—the kind of place Vykhor favored to power down between missions. The ship was quiet, save for Blue’s soft purring and the muffled hum of voices coming from the common room.

Evelyn sat at one of the communication stations, transmitting a secure signal toward Iskaara. On screen, Tarn Vesik’s tired but peaceful face appeared.

“Evelyn. Good to see you.”

“Same,” she smiled. “How are the kids?”

Tarn told her everything: the new routine, the younger ones still too fond of chasing glowing bugs during lessons, the infirmary slowly becoming their cozy little safe haven… and the simple joy they were finally starting to find. Evelyn soaked in every word, every smile. She felt her heart grow lighter, piece by piece.

Once the call ended, she switched lines.

**Connection established: SKYE**

Her friend’s face popped up instantly, sprawled across a chair, a drink in hand.

“Hey, genius. Forgot about me or what?”

“Never. Just... a lot happening.”

Skye raised an eyebrow. “Like temples full of villagers worshiping your Kael’tarien dressed like a living idol?”

Evelyn burst out laughing, which made Blue flick his ears from where he lay curled nearby.

“You read the report.”

“Of course I did. And I saw your last two missions had nothing to do with the old Vykhor style. He’s usually all about caution and distance. But now? Saving test subjects, dodging traps, tribal ceremonies? He’s becoming... I dunno. More human?”

Evelyn was quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“Maybe... maybe I’m the one making him human.”

Skye blinked, then grinned.

“And you, Evelyn? You’ve changed too. You used to talk like you had a damn dictionary in your mouth. Now you throw sass like confetti. You laughed three times. You even trashed my sweater. What’s next? You gonna call me a galactic hen?”

Evelyn chuckled despite herself. “Maybe.”

After the call ended, she sat in silence for a while.

She had changed.

She felt it in the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she felt things. Less tense. Less obsessed with performance and analysis. More spontaneous. Freer.

She’d shed her armor of data and slipped into something softer: emotion.

And Vykhor…

He wasn’t just her partner anymore. He was her balance. Her compass. He had never said I love you, not with words. But in his actions, in his eyes, in that whispered word amidst the chaos—My’Lari—he said it every day.

She glanced up toward the ship’s metallic ceiling.

“Kryna, remind me I need a new journal.”

“Already noted. I could also archive the entry: ‘Agent Evelyn Ashcroft—Emotional Humanization Phase: Advanced.’”

Evelyn laughed. “Just write: ‘I think I’m starting to feel alive.’ That’ll do.”

Blue let out a soft meow in his sleep.

Yes. Slowly, surely, she was changing. And she wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

**Training Room, Narak’Tharr**

Lit by a cold, sterile glow, the room echoed with the rhythmic impacts of fists on reinforced alloy. A space designed for elite mercenaries—and Vykhor was giving it hell.

Bare-chested, blue skin slick with sweat, he struck the training dummy with brutal precision. A knee, a combo of hooks, a pivot—and the dummy cracked with a groan.

He stopped. Not to catch his breath.

To think.

He wiped his forehead with his forearm, leaning back against the wall. His eyes caught his reflection in the observation glass—and for a moment, he froze.

That same hardness lingered in his gaze. The shadow of who he’d always been. But now… something else shimmered beneath it. Something he couldn’t name.

Evelyn.

She had disrupted his routines, his control, his silence. And he’d let her.

She’d brought warmth into the coldest corners of his mind. Humanity into his quiet. Light into his structure.

And yet… he’d failed her.

The Blue test. He still carried the weight of that choice. Cold. Strategic. Cruel. Evelyn had forgiven him—he knew it—but the look in her eyes that day… he never wanted to see it again.

He straightened, accessing the mission log on the wall panel. Two successful contracts.

But not the usual kind. They’d been colorful. Alive. Messy. Rooted in chaos he would’ve once avoided like a plague.

He ran a hand down his neck.

A smile. Rare. Faint.

She was changing him.

And maybe… maybe that wasn’t weakness. Maybe growth didn’t mean breaking.

Maybe it meant expanding. Protecting better.

He left the training room, passing Blue in the hallway. The feline watched him silently. No growl. No hiss.

Just a long look.

A silent pact: You watch her. So do I.

Vykhor kept walking.

Evelyn had become his balance—and he’d been hers for longer than he could admit.

The Narak’Tharr floated in the void, still as a breath held. The last few days had settled into a surprising routine: shared meals, training sessions, data sorting, and Blue’s increasingly absurd nap spots. Evelyn worked on upgrading Kryna’s protocols while Vykhor scanned mission boards from the command post.

Everything was quiet.

Too quiet, maybe.

Until the soft but urgent chime of the secure channel shattered it.

**Incoming Transmission — Shadow Protocol 7 — Security Clearance: EV-A**

Vykhor’s head snapped up. That signal... it was rare.

He rerouted the message to the common room. Evelyn looked up from a projected screen, immediately alert as the lighting shifted and that familiar tone rang out.

“This isn’t standard,” she murmured, standing up.

Kryna confirmed in her usual neutral voice: “Identifier code: Alpha-G. Source unknown, but signature matches Dr. Alan Griffin.”

Evelyn went pale.

Silence weighed on the room. Then the message auto-played.

A screen lit up. Static. No image. Just a voice.

His voice.

“Evelyn. If they intercept this message, I’m already dead. This place is a trap. If you come—be ready. This isn’t a mission. It’s a trial.”

Same voice she remembered. Calm. Measured. But urgent, like every word was meant to carry weight.

“You need to decide if you’re ready to face what made you. If not, delete this message. But if yes… come. Coordinates attached. Access code: Genesis.”

The screen went dark.

Silence again.

Even Blue, curled near the console, didn’t move—his ears low, watching her.

She didn’t speak. Just stared at the black screen.

Vykhor stepped closer, watching her carefully.

“You think it’s real?” he asked, voice low and steady.

Evelyn nodded without hesitation, jaw tight.

“It’s him. He wants us to find him. Or... find something.”

Vykhor crossed his arms. “Or it’s a well-set trap. You’re a target, Evelyn. He said it himself—if this got out, he’s dead.”

“Then we go.”

Her voice left no room for argument. But her fingers… they trembled slightly.

Vykhor studied her, then turned to the central interface.

He input the coordinates.

A planet appeared: Mendark-9. Isolated. Off the trade routes. With dangerous atmospheric readings.

The perfect place to vanish.

“Fine,” he said, locking in the course. “We go. But this time, Evelyn… you stay close. If things go south, we pull out. No heroics. Got it?”

She nodded, a faint smile curving her lips.

“Got it, Tav’Ren.”

And Blue—sensing a new journey on the horizon—leapt onto the console with feline grace and let out an approving meow.

Later.

The cabin door hissed shut, sealing off the world. Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, her journal open in her lap—but she didn’t write. Not this time. Her eyes lingered on the black screen of the wall console, as if Griffin’s voice might echo again.

Vykhor stood for a moment, then stepped forward. He knew. He knew her too well now to miss the weight pressing on her.

He knelt in front of her, one steady hand resting on her thigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”