Chapter 74: Misadventures on Trovia-6

Zeynn groaned. “That’s exactly what you say before we nearly get chopped into pieces.”

Evelyn burst out laughing. “He’s got a point.”

Vykhor raised a brow, implacable. “This time, it’s a safe mission.”

Zeynn pointed at the case. “It’s never just a delivery.”

“If things go sideways,” Vykhor said, slamming the weapon compartment shut, “you stay behind me.”

The shuttle landed in a small, open clearing. Humidity rushed in as soon as the hatch opened.

Zeynn grumbled immediately, “Great. The air’s as thick as Kryna’s soup.”

Evelyn smiled. “Noted. You’re already comparing everything to the ship. You’re getting attached, Zeynn.”

He muttered something inaudible, already wrestling with the collar of his sticky tunic.

Vykhor, case in hand, stepped into the jungle trail. “No lingering. Rendezvous point is less than a klick away.”

The trio moved through the lush undergrowth of Trovia-6, where the local flora seemed dedicated to inventing new ways to ooze, drip, cling, and tickle. Evelyn kept the case close to her chest while Zeynn mumbled curses every time a root tried to trip him.

“Can’t have flat ground, can we...” he muttered. “Nooo, we get an obstacle course in a steaming jungle.”

“It’s a wild planet, Zeynn, not an embassy hallway. What did you expect? Red carpet and butlers in uniform?” Evelyn teased, stepping over a root.

“Well, that still doesn’t explain why Mr. Alpha gets to carry the fancy case,” Zeynn grumbled, nodding toward Vykhor.

Evelyn glanced forward, watching Vykhor a few paces ahead, the biometric case perfectly balanced in his hand like it weighed nothing. The Kael’tarian didn’t reply—but the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed silent amusement.

“It’s not my call. It’s hers,” Evelyn said, nodding at the case.

Zeynn raised a brow. “Did you just gender the suitcase?”

She shrugged, smirking. “You’ll understand when she locks you out just because you sneezed near her.”

At that exact moment, Vykhor stopped cold.

A sharp, almost mocking beep emitted from the case, making Zeynn jump.

BEEP-BEEP. UNRECOGNIZED USER. TEMPORARY LOCK ACTIVATED.

“Well, well…” Evelyn said, all innocence. “Told you she had attitude.”

Vykhor, stoic, looked down at the case as its energy lines turned red. A wisp of steam escaped the main lock, as if it had just taken offense at being carried by a Kael’tarian without proper authorization.

Zeynn burst out laughing. “Wait—did the case just tell you to piss off?”

Vykhor didn’t reply. He simply handed the case back to Evelyn, who accepted it with a resigned sigh. At her touch, the light returned to blue.

USER A-011 RECOGNIZED.

“There we go, darling. I’m the favorite.”

Zeynn gave her an exaggerated bow. “All-powerful mistress of the temperamental suitcase.”

Vykhor barely growled, but Evelyn knew he was mentally vowing to dismantle that damned biometric system the moment they were back on the ship. A device that refused to obey him? Unacceptable.

They resumed the trek, Evelyn now cradling the case like a sacred relic. Zeynn kept muttering about the humidity, the bugs that apparently loved his neck, and the vines clinging to his feline tail like overly enthusiastic fanboys.

At least the case was in the right hands.

That is… until they hit the marsh.

Vykhor led the way, silent and focused. Every step calculated. Every tremor felt. Every breath of wind interpreted. He was vigilance incarnate.

That is… until the infernal trio reached the only swampy stretch of the entire region.

And of course, Evelyn tripped.

Just a slight misstep on a moss-covered root. A graceful, slow-motion slip followed by a very ungraceful yell:

“Ah—!”

The case flew from her hands.

Zeynn lunged instantly. “Sh—! Evelyn!”

He dove after her, tried to catch her… only to slip as well, get tangled in his own legs, and in a cosmic ballet worthy of Kryna’s “Galactic Humor Archives,” dragged Evelyn down into a puddle of warm, questionable-smelling mud.

SCHPLOOORSH.

Dead silence.

Then…

“I’m gonna murder this planet,” Zeynn growled, his head caked in mud, a strange mushroom stuck to his left ear.

Evelyn, on the other hand, was laughing. A clear, genuine laugh, despite the fall, the filthy clothes, and the dubious swamp stench. The case was resting on her stomach. Intact.

Vykhor stared at them for a few seconds. Not a word.

Then he sighed. Deeply.

Very. Deeply.

And without a word, he took off his combat coat, set it aside with care… and dove into the mud with the deadly grace of a cosmic predator.

He pulled them both out without effort, like he was used to rescuing people from acts of pure ridiculousness. Once Evelyn was standing—soaked but still laughing—and Zeynn was still cursing the local flora, Vykhor finally spoke, voice low and deadly calm:

“Next time… you walk behind me.”

Evelyn, wiping mud from her cheeks, looked up at him. “You mean… even further behind? Because we already were.”

A twitch in Vykhor’s jaw. A flicker of irritation in his eyes. He stepped closer, gently wiped a smear of mud from her cheek… then added, in a neutral tone:

“You have five minutes to look presentable again. Otherwise, I’m strapping you to the hull for the entire trip back.”

Zeynn finally burst out laughing. “Oh! I vote for the mud version! Total camouflage look!”

Still giggling, Evelyn glanced at Vykhor. “Would you rather I put on the Anatu Prime dress again?”

This time, Vykhor closed his eyes for a second.

Why me?

They quickly found a nearby stream weaving through the rocks, bordered by violet ferns and translucent vines hanging like natural curtains. The water, though cool, gave off a soft mist, almost soothing.

“We’re taking a break here,” Evelyn announced, already undoing the muddy straps of her suit.

Zeynn didn’t argue. “Finally! I’m covered in... things. I don’t even know what they are.”

He wandered off a bit, boots squelching, and sat down with his back to them, muttering that he deserved a medal for putting up with all this.

Evelyn knelt at the water’s edge, dipping her hands into the stream. Her white strands clung to her temples. She peeled off the top of her suit, revealing a thin, soaked tank top. Cold water rolled over her pale skin as she washed her arms, then her neck. The shiver that passed through her was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

But not to Vykhor.

The Kael’tarian crouched nearby, letting the water run over his forearms. He hadn’t moved a muscle—but his eyes never left her. Not for a second. Every motion Evelyn made, every sigh, every careful rub to rid herself of the mud clinging to her collar... it was torture.

Sweet. Delicious. Infuriating torture.

She glanced up. Met his gaze. Burning. Dark. Intense.

“You planning on staring like that forever?” she murmured, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stood. Stepped toward her.

Water splashed gently under his boots.

He stopped right in front of her.