Chapter 63: Zeynn

"Are you sure about this?" Vykhor asked, his gaze fixed on the landing coordinates provided by the local contact.

"As sure as I can be," Evelyn replied, her voice masked behind carefully measured neutrality. She turned her head toward him, a flicker of mischief in her altered gaze. "Besides… you’re here."

The ship landed with a low rumble on a secondary platform at the edge of the black market. No customs. No authorities. Just a jungle of tents, cargo containers, and metallic structures swarming with every known species—and even a few long forgotten.

"Recap the rules," Vykhor murmured as they descended the ramp. "No real names. No emotion. We observe. We infiltrate."

Evelyn nodded. She had learned. Hardened. But nothing could fully prepare her for what she was about to discover in the corrupt alleys of Aethra IV. And no one—not even her—knew that just a few streets away, in a darkened room… Jonathan Kane was already watching the newcomers, still unaware of their true identities.

The air was heavy, saturated with the acrid scent of burnt metal, synthetic spices, and sweat. The black market streets were alive—too alive. Dozens of languages clashed in a dizzying cacophony: traders shouting, distant alarms, and the constant hum of overloaded ventilation systems. It was organized chaos, typical of places where legality had long since been replaced by profit.

Evelyn—or rather Nyra Vex—moved with purpose, her gaze masked by her nano-veil. Vykhor trailed slightly behind, fully embodying the role of silent bodyguard. At their feet, Blue padded soundlessly, invisible to those who didn’t know what to look for.

They passed a row of cages where screaming, half-organic, half-cybernetic creatures were sold as guard beasts. Exotic weapons lined makeshift counters, and suspicious eyes followed them with every step.

"This isn’t the place to hesitate," Vykhor murmured low. "Everyone’s hunting for weakness."

Evelyn gave a subtle nod. But tension simmered beneath her skin. This was the kind of place where identities slipped, where masks cracked. And one slip would be all it took.

They reached a broader junction—some sort of central hub in the heart of the market. There, an unusual stall caught her attention: rare medical artifacts, ancient surgical tools, and—

A scalpel.

Not a modern model. An old one. One she knew. Too well.

Her gaze brushed over it. A single second. But she paused. Imperceptible to anyone else—except for the man watching from a screen.

In a shadowed room atop a nameless building, Jonathan Kane froze.

He’d seen the walk. The hesitation. The micro-reaction. He narrowed his eyes. Rewound the footage frame by frame. Zoomed in.

No doubt. Her.

And the giant beside her?

His jaw clenched.

"You can’t run from me forever, Evelyn Ashcroft…" he muttered, voice thick with hate and something darker—twisted fascination. Then, with quiet venom:

"And Vykhor… Still breathing. I’ll fix that mistake soon enough."

He activated a discreet lockdown protocol.

The trap had just been set.

**Observation Room – Lower Deck of the Gorgone**

Jonathan Kane stood motionless in the glow of his surveillance screens, a shadow among the neon lights. How long had it been since he’d seen that face? Evelyn Ashcroft. And beside her—that Kael’tarien bastard.

He narrowed his eyes.

They weren’t the same fugitives who’d fled the ruined Earth base. They were grounded now. Bonded. Dangerous. Inseparable.

"Tsk…" He clicked his tongue. "Couldn’t even die like they were supposed to."

He scanned through feeds until another face caught his attention—young, defiant, with that unmistakable fire. Barely recognizable at first, until the data sheet clarified:

Zeynn. Nytherian. Captured on Cael’morah. Acquired through a shady auction. Tried to escape within two days. A real pain in the ass.

But Kane saw potential.

A rebellious kid. Unpredictable. And Evelyn—always too kind. That damn bleeding heart. She always clung to anything that suffered. He’d read enough about her to know.

Too human. Too soft for the world she now walked in.

Perfect.

He selected a spot in the heart of the market—high traffic, high visibility.

"Put him there," he ordered. "Separate cage. Bright lighting. Give him a flashy label. Rare. Untouchable. Whatever sells."

The guard hesitated. "And if he tries to run again?"

Kane’s smile turned glacial.

"That’s exactly what we want."

**Black Market – Central Zone**

The chaos buzzed at its peak. Spices, metal, sweat—all melting in the electric air.

Evelyn, cloaked in her borrowed identity, moved through the crowd beside Vykhor. Outwardly calm, but her eyes never stopped scanning. Vykhor, massive and silent, kept pace half a step behind, the perfect bodyguard. Blue prowled at their side, alert.

Then Evelyn stopped.

Her eyes locked with a boy behind reinforced bars.

Zeynn.

He didn’t know her. Didn’t know who she was, or what she represented. But something about her struck him—hard. A light. A quiet strength.

He stared back. And with typical Nytherian boldness, barked:

"You don’t look like a slave buyer. You don’t have the face for it."

Evelyn blinked. Surprised.

The boy went on, insolent:

"But you’ve got honest eyes. And damn good taste in beasts." He nodded toward Blue. "That one’s worth ten guards."

Blue growled low, one ear twitching toward Zeynn—but there was no hostility. If anything, recognition passed between them.

Vykhor frowned.

"Evelyn. We move."

But Evelyn didn’t budge. Something in the kid’s gaze anchored her.

There was rage, yes.

But more than that… freedom. A spark that hadn’t been crushed. Not yet.

And she knew. She felt it.

She couldn’t walk away.

**A Few Steps Further**

"Evelyn, we move."

Vykhor’s voice was low. Sharp. A blade in velvet.

But she didn’t move. Her gaze stayed locked on the boy. That scrappy, defiant kid battered by life, yet still standing.

He reminded her of something long buried. That raw ache of being alone, terrified… but refusing to break.

"Evelyn…" Vykhor repeated, quieter this time. Just for her.

She tilted her head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes—those glacier-blue eyes glowing with a quiet, unshakable resolve.

No fear. No doubt.

Just that stubborn, gentle conviction that defined her better than any database:

You don’t leave the innocent behind.

Vykhor exhaled through his nose. Almost a growl. He rolled his eyes skyward for a fraction of a second, as if begging the galaxy for a break.

No such luck.

"You’re going to pull him out, aren’t you?" he finally said, resigned.

Evelyn didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

He knew her too well.

Vykhor crossed his arms. Studied Zeynn from head to toe. The kid held his stare—defiant, cocky—even in chains. A smirk tugged at the corner of the Kael’tarien’s mouth. Not a soft smile.

A fatalist’s grin.

This. This is why she’ll be the death of me.

Because she looked at a dirty, insolent stranger in chains… as if he mattered.

Because she broke her own rules without warning.

Because she’d never ask permission.

And because, stars damn it, he loved her for it.

Not with words.
Not yet.
But with silence. With presence. With shields drawn and claws ready. He loved her the only way a Kael’tarien could.

"You know it’s going to be a bloodbath if you make a move now," he muttered, resting his hand on her shoulder with that firm, possessive steadiness he no longer bothered to hide.

Evelyn gave a small nod.

"I know."

Blue, between them, turned his head toward the cage. He stared at Zeynn with the calm of a predator.

Then, almost playfully, licked his fangs.

Zeynn stared right back.

And winked.

Vykhor sighed. Long. Deep.

"Hell," he growled. "He’s worse than you."