15. Where the Magic Happens

Niko watched in silence as the icy moon before them grew in the ship’s windshield view. It was a small, barren thing that didn’t even have a formal name, so far from its star that it remained in perpetual night, despite its rotation. The ship’s coordinates listed it as simply RM-9832642G. The solar system it resided in was similarly named, simply a string of numbers and letters to classify its location. No one lived in this system. There were no settlements, no cities, no ports. The entire system Elliott had come to reside in was silent and still, each planet and moon constituting billions of miles of emptiness.

It definitely made for a good hiding spot, at least.

Niko guided the So?adora Despierta down to hover above the surface of the moon; it didn’t possess an atmosphere, nor breathable air of any kind. Below him as the ship flew were towering loops, spires, and jagged cliffs of rock frozen in eternal ice which stood dark under the dim light of its distant star. A large crescent filled the western half of starry sky, a quiet, rocky planet that was a deep red and bore a similarly dispassionate string of numbers to identify it among the vast sea of celestial objects.

“It should be just past this outcropping,” Elliott murmured. Niko glanced at him. The man’s voice came dull and quiet, his eyes matching his tone. Since they’d entered the solar system, everything about Elliott had turned inward and bland.

“You doing alright?” Niko ventured.

“Yes. Why?”

He hesitated, not wanting to press it. If Elliott didn’t want to talk, that was fine. Instead, Niko glanced out at the silvery structure on the horizon, exactly where Elliott had said it would be. It looked to be an abandoned research facility of sorts, with signs and logos printed in heavy, blocky Quwa-quay along with an industrial sort of hangar entrance. The entire thing was built for function over form, dim lights lining the outside and flooding the icy ground below in a wash of ghostly white. It stood like a silent eidolon among miles of emptiness.

“So, how’d you find this place, anyway?” Niko asked, maneuvering the ship down and slowing it as he approached the hangar doors. They opened on their own, some sort of automatic sensor, likely. Niko couldn’t imagine anyone else living here to consciously open and close the gates.

“It was an old Yhanwe-han mining facility. Apparently, this moon has ample deposits of rare elements. It was abandoned decades ago along with dozens of other classified mining operations the Quwa-quay lost funding for. It had all been initially for experimental weapons crafting. I found out about this when I was researching Honeybliss. I found out a lot of interesting tidbits of dark government projects along the way. Every planet and nation has their fingers dipped in something.”

Interesting, Niko thought. But not surprising, either.

He guided the ship into the hangar, setting it down gently into a space that was far too large and far too empty. He was used to crowded hangars full of ships, with people wandering to and fro. The bright and flashing lights of neon advertisements, the little pop-up shops of convenient toiletries and supplies for weary interstellar travelers. Food stalls that smelled of fried and crispy treats. None of that was here now. The only contents of the hangar besides the So?adora were two small utility ships with Quwa-quay printed along the side, parked near the back of the hangar. They looked like they’d been there a while.

Elliott must have been using one of the mining ships to get to and from his marks.

Niko heard a soft sigh beside him, a quiet exhalation of held breath. Elliott gazed out blankly at the vast, silent hangar ahead of them as the gates slid closed and oxygen cycled through again. His gaze was unreadable, everything about him turned sharply inward.

“Home, sweet home,” he murmured. “Is it what you imagined?”

“I—” Niko started. Thinking about it, he realized he had no idea what to expect of where Elliott had been working from. Imagining it had simply drawn a blank. “I don’t know, actually.”

Once the chime and announcement in Quwa-quay sounded, clearing them to safely exit the ship, Niko moved to the back of the cabin and hooked his suit back in its charging station, then switched over to his chair. “This place is Quwa-quay made. So I assume stairs aren’t a problem?”

“There aren’t any,” Elliott confirmed.

He helped Niko haul up his supplies. Then they exited in silence. Outside of the ship, the heavy stifle of the place pressed down on Niko even more. He was dwarfed by the size of the empty hangar, with its five-story-high ceilings and expansive space. Each movement echoed in the vast chamber. There were no announcements over comms, no purring of ship engines, no looping advertisement tracks or jingles or catchy music. The entire experience was bizarrely inviting of agoraphobia. Everything felt erroneously too big, like it had been designed wrong. Niko briefly missed the small, familiar walls of his cramped apartment on Kaapra-19. The earthy, sage green of them. The decades-old holiday cactus he’d kept in the kitchen that had once been his mother’s.

He wondered if Zann had managed to get a hold of it. Probably not.

They made their way through the hangar and up a metal ramp towards a set of double doors that Elliott unlocked with deft fingers over a number pad hologram.

The doors slid open and they entered the facility proper, another huge control room that was equally too big and too quiet, the overhead lights blinking on one by one as sensors caught their movement. Niko could hear their soft, electric hum. Along the far end of the room were metal benches, chairs and consoles, and a single small window with half-a-foot-thick glass revealing the frigid, dark landscape beyond. Every wall was bare, except for old instructional and cautionary signs posted in Quwa-quay.

Niko thought it would be more exciting to see the infamous Kestrel’s secret lair. He hadn’t been sure what to expect—something matching the wit and cleverness of Elliott, something that had more quirkiness. Spite, even. Anything. But all he was met with here was a disarming silence and emptiness, devoid of any traces of personalization. How long had Elliott spent in this place, countless miles from the nearest person, plotting to avenge the death of his sister? Months at the least. But likely even years. The isolation must have been agonizing.

Nothing about RM-9832642G’s research facility was stimulating. It was, instead, horrific.

“It’s, um. It’s quiet in here,” Niko commented. He swallowed and heard the click of his throat. He could hear his breathing and became painfully conscious of it.

Elliott moved to one of the consoles, punching in a few commands and waking the screen up. A moment later and the heavy silence was banished, a wash of sparkling pop music and rhythm flooding the room from overhead speakers that were once likely used for internal communications.

“It can’t keep me down, can’t hold me,

Gravity can’t touch me when I’m with you.

Free me, love me, take me, remake me.”

The music was familiar and Niko couldn’t help but laugh. The conjoined voices of Hayura and Kuliedi Taan sang to them in harmony. It was the new music they’d made together, the very same song the starlets had debuted when Elliott had gone for the CEO of StarSeam on Vhesa Station.

“Really?” Niko asked, incredulous.

Elliott smiled wanly—though sincerely. “I mentioned I’m a fan. I love their stuff.”

“Not what I expected, honestly.”

“No? What, then?”

“I don’t know. Metal? Something angrier.”

Elliott made a face. “Oh, god, no.”

Niko laughed again at the bizarre irony of it all, at the idea of Elliott Kestrel, decked head to toe in weapons and gadgets aplenty, waiting in the private balcony to fuck up Matteo Ricci’s day while tapping his foot in time to the sparkly music that flowed below. Enjoying it. Stealing a little moment of private delight before his work began.

“What about you? What do you like?” Elliott asked.

“No, I want you to guess,” Niko said, feeling a little ornery now.

Elliott pressed his lips together in thought, staring hard at Niko. He clearly took the question seriously. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know. Rock? Blues? Classic rock.”

Niko laughed. “Nope. Rap.”

“And?”

“No, that’s it. Just rap. I like the harder stuff. Royce RG and Lord Fukkaho are what I had on repeat lately.”

“Lord… Fukkaho.”

Niko grinned.

“I wish I’d thought to make an alias for all of this, after all. I could have gotten so creative,” Elliott lamented.

“What was it Jande Seiiren called you?”

“‘Dick-fisting fuck-sandwich,’” Elliott said, reveling in it. They both laughed, despite the lightless mood Elliott had seemed to fall into since they’d arrived.

“You could call yourself the Dickfister. ‘Oh, did you hear? The Dickfister came for him last night. He didn’t make it.’”

Elliott burst out a peal of laughter, tilting his head back. It was beautiful to Niko to see and hear it. He could drink up that sound. It left him relieved to see a stubborn joy breaking through Elliott’s quietude. It pushed back against the walls of the empty, huge room and transformed the place.

“He really was an artist,” Niko said.

“Too bad it never translated to his ‘paintings.’” Elliott was still smiling, eyes squinted.

The song switched to another familiar track, pulsing through the speakers, filling the still and empty room around them. It was going to get stuck in Niko’s head and he knew it. It did every time he heard it.

“When you’re lost, my love will guide you home.I’ve got you, baby.”

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” he said. “I was so convinced you were there for the singers that night. My brother and I had this big argument over it, over whether you’d show up at the concert or this Toliai political parade that was happening at the same time. But I’d picked up your music on Yhanwe-ha and was convinced they were next. It was this same song.”

“No. I just knew Ricci would be there. But I won’t lie and say I wasn’t excited to go, too.”

“I wish I could take you to a concert,” he said.

Elliott smiled, but it was thin and languid again. “That would be nice.”

Niko knew he’d fumbled, that it had only served as a reminder of what Elliott could probably never do again. The emptiness of the facility had returned, cold, vast, and utilitarian.

He wanted to take Elliott’s hand. He longed, oddly, to dance with him—a strangely spontaneous impulse. He wanted to sweep Elliott up and move to the music with abandon, just the two of them here alone, the only two beating hearts and conscious minds in trillions of miles. If they couldn’t go to concerts, they could make their own enjoyment together. He wheeled the chair closer, but Elliott turned and walked across the room.

“I’ll show you around,” he said flatly.

Elliott led him up another ramp and to various hallways lined with empty rooms. He passed quickly over most of the rooms, showing him only the first, then explaining they were abandoned labs, recreational lounges, and storage areas. Some hallways had internal windows leading to the labs. Niko could see a glimpse into one of the common areas, where several shriveled, dead alien plants sat under a wash of white, fluorescent lighting.

“Kind of bright in here for a Quwa-quay setup,” he said. He’d expected something artificially crepuscular, for every corner to be steeped in heavy shadow to accommodate the former workers’ light-sensitive eyes.

“I replaced many of the lights myself, early on. It was hard to see what I was doing without it.”

Music still played over various speakers throughout the facility, though when they entered the cafeteria, which sported huge windows fully displaying the frigid and fatal landscape of black rock and jagged ice that surrounded them just beyond these plain walls, Niko felt the music for what it was—a flimsy bandage taped over a gaping, raw wound. It covered and obscured, but didn’t change what really lay underneath.

The cafeteria was equally huge and equally empty, save for a vast stack of crates and bags along the far corner near the kitchen.

“I stocked up before I began,” Elliott said, apparently predicting the question on Niko’s tongue. “I ran calculations on how long something like this would take at maximum and gave myself an extra two months just in case. I have just enough to see this through. The same goes for weapons and other parts. I have extra ammunition for practice.”

Niko ached. The music no longer served its purpose at all anymore, was no longer acting as even a flimsy balm. A new song started, peppy and layered and fun, but none of it reached him. It all felt wrong in this empty place. The signs were everywhere: in Elliott’s speech, in his mannerisms. In how he’d calculated and prepared. He saw his life as reaching its coda soon. There was an end date in sight, a finality. Elliott had orchestrated everything, his death the final preparation.

He wanted to speak, but didn’t know what to say.

Elliott briskly continued on their depressing tour, leading him next to another—to Niko’s great and total lack of surprise—huge and mostly empty room, the longest one so far. Niko guessed it must have once been the main equipment and supplies warehouse. The uncanny size of this one had been put to good use, however: target posters and dummies stood lined at the furthest end of the room, bullet holes peppering them.

“Shooting range,” Elliott said.

Next were the residential quarters. He opened one door to a tiny room that had a small pile of dirty clothes cast on the floor and two half-emptied water bottles on the plain nightstand. The blankets were pulled back, clearly previously used, the only sign of recent life Niko had seen so far in the entire place. Niko recognized the gray sheets as the same from the photograph Elliott had sent.

“I’ve been sleeping in this one. Do you want to stay in here?” His question came quiet, stilted, and with maybe a hint of self-consciousness.

“Yeah,” Niko said, watching him. “I do.”

Elliott looked relieved, something in his gaze turning a little less withdrawn. He took Niko’s bag from him and set it on the bed.

He led him down the hallway to a simple bathroom with a walk-in shower that had a built-in bench.

“Towels are in there,” Elliott said, gesturing to a plain, gray locker. “I stocked up on hygiene supplies too. There should be extra toothbrushes.”

Niko reached up and pried open the medicine cabinet above the sink, the plain mirror swinging open with a groan. It was impulse and curiosity, but he felt Elliott stiffen beside him and wondered if he’d made a mistake to help himself to exploring, instead of waiting to be shown.

Inside the cabinet were several bottles of sleeping pills. Niko winced as he thought about Elliott needing them—the man clearly had trouble sleeping often. He’d mentioned anxiety before.

Maybe Niko could help him with that. He wondered if Elliott would find it easier to sleep wrapped in his arms, body pressed against him, no longer despairingly isolated anymore. He felt his cheeks grow warm at the presumptuous thought, and closed the medicine cabinet again.

Elliott stared dully at Niko, gaze hollow, somehow even more devoid of life than before. It was like talking to a shell now, the person inside somewhere else. Elliott had become a chameleon in this place, just as empty as his surroundings.

Niko decided he wasn’t a fan of RM-9832642G nor its facility. He especially wasn’t a fan of what being here clearly did to Elliott.

“Laundry is down the hall.” Niko nodded. “The last place is my workshop.”

Elliott led him to what must have once been a laboratory of sorts, full of island counters, tables, shelves and consoles. He had since taken over and converted it to a multifunctional workshop, with weapons and tech parts scattered in a chaotic mess on the counters and stacked upon the shelves, replacing whatever had once been there. In the back of the room, lining an entire wall, was a mixture of holographic diagrams and information—schedules, maps, and architectural blueprints. Niko recognized the layout of Vhesa Station on one of them. Elliott must have hacked and collected maps, plans and diagrams months ahead of time in conjunction with a curated schedule of public events. The preparation behind it all was, to say the least, impressive to Niko.

Some of the blueprints had handwritten notes, all in the same despairingly awful, illegible handwriting Niko recognized from the original photograph everyone had mistaken as mentioning ‘the Kestrel.’

So, he really did write that piss-poorly. Niko shook his head.

To the right of the maps and information was a grid consisting of dozens of photographs, each a portrait of the Honeybliss members from Elliott’s files. The first ten portraits had a thick, messy red X scratched across them. Niko recognized them as the figures Elliott had successfully eliminated. A tactical knife was driven into Imperator Khaathra’s portrait, straight in the middle of her three eyes.

Niko grimaced and Elliott noticed. “I may have imagined your face instead of hers at the time,” he commented airily.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Niko mumbled.

“A plan of this complexity and scale is always going to have a high chance of unforeseen obstacles along the way.” The memory of their first encounter came to Niko’s mind. The irritation, the easy, strategic pivot. Not again. Niko had just been one obstacle of many, then. He wondered how many times he’d forced Elliott to have to readjust on the fly since.

“I’ll go back and take care of her later,” Elliott added, his voice clipped. It was back once more: the sharp turn inward, the dulled expression. “Chancellor Iincha’cul too.”

Niko’s eyes wandered further along the room, his gaze falling on a single sign that hung on the wall opposite of the maps and portraits—the first true evidence of Elliott in this place. It was purple, covered in cheap glitter, and looked like the kind of tacky thing you could find at any five-credit store. It read:

This is Where the Magic Happens

Niko barked out a laugh. This was what he’d expected, anticipated. Elliott glanced at him, a sly—pleased, even—smile touching his lips, a ghost of tension slipping away.

“Nice.”

“Thank you. It felt fitting in my Murder Room.”

Niko shook his head. Here was one, tiny glimpse of Elliott: dry and witty, even a little petty. Here was the man behind the mission, the human being underneath the anger, resentment, and isolation. The life that preceded its meticulously-arranged expiration.

He swept his gaze around again. On one of the consoles hung a printed photograph of Elliott and Cleo. It carried the same spirit as the graduation photo, though in this case, it appeared to be Cleo they were celebrating instead of the other way around. Cleo wore a slick, asymmetric designer dress, silver earrings dangling, glinting like tiny stars. She clutched a bouquet of pink roses to her chest with one arm, grinning triumphantly. Elliott was beside her, clad in upscale clothing as well—a nice, soft gray turtleneck, vest, and slacks. He stood beside his sister, both siblings with one arm around the other. Elliott smiled alongside her. He looked proud.

Elliott was younger there—maybe eighteen, or twenty, his hair trimmed shorter, the cowlicks not yet so aggressively taking over like golden weeds. Behind them was a crowd of models, judging by their clothing and makeup.

This had been from one of Cleo’s fashion shows. Her brother had gone to support her.

“Did you buy her the roses?” Niko blurted before he could think on it. Elliott went stiff, the color draining from his face as he looked over at the photograph.

“I did,” he said after a long silence. His voice was so quiet, Niko could barely hear it over the music. “I wanted to show her how proud I was of her.”

Niko ached.

“We always supported each other,” Elliott continued. “I came to every show. That’s the last picture I ever got of her.”

It was a far throw from the abused and terrified sister Elliott’s doctored files had painted. The cruelty of it all made Niko sick. It wasn’t enough that Honeybliss had taken Elliott’s world from him. They’d had to rub his nose in it and humiliate him like a dog.

They stayed silent for a long while, Niko looking back towards the wall of data, the grid of targets. All of this—the galaxy as a whole forever changed—had been driven by a single woman’s death.

Niko had first learned Elliott through assumptions and cold facts—mostly incorrect, even outright fictional. Through detached police files and a corrupt, invented history that had cast him as unstable. He held, still, base facts about Elliott. Niko had learned he was an engineer, the top graduate of his class. He learned where he’d worked and who his professional associations had been.

Then Niko learned him in a new way, a deeper way: slowly, instinctively through their orbit as hunter and hunted—the methods he favored, the brilliance of his tactics. How he sometimes did crazy things like Niko did, thinking on his feet. The way he, also like Niko, tried to avoid unnecessary deaths.

Now Niko was being let into a deeply intimate space, and learning Elliott Kestrel as a person. As a man. He was a patient but passionate lover, enthusiastic and responsive. He liked Niko’s cooking, and his tattoos. He liked pop music. He was funny.

He was surprisingly empathetic; his entire assassination plot had been orchestrated all along in the name of putting a stop to what no one else would. He wanted to protect other families from the type of pain both of them had had to endure.

He was shockingly, painfully isolated from everyone and everything.

Niko had it bad for him.

And that terrified him. Being at Elliott’s side came at a steep price. He’d traded a galaxy to be near him. He’d traded Zann. He’d traded stability and safety. Society. Normalcy. And Elliott still spoke in circles around one, terrible deadline: the end of his mission. For him, there wasn’t a what comes after.

“Come here,” Niko murmured. He held out a hand to Elliott and the other man hesitated a moment before crossing over to him. He took Niko’s hand and Niko tugged him over, right into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around Elliott, pulling the other man against him. Elliott obliged, leaning into the embrace, seeming to sag against him as though he were letting all the horrible weight he carried settle onto Niko instead. Niko was glad to bear it. He stroked Elliott’s hair in silence.

Niko wondered how long it had been since anyone had held Elliott. This facility had already begun to crawl under Niko’s skin and get inside of him. This was a liminal space—like Sunorrna, it was abandoned and lonely, the kind of place Elliott haunted. The only kind of place he was allowed to haunt now.

“Can I just hold you a while?” Niko murmured in his ear.

Elliott snaked his arms around Niko until he was tightly embracing him too. “Only if I get to hold you, too,” he whispered.

Niko stayed like that a while, simply holding Elliott, pleased he could be a bulwark against this maddeningly empty, isolated place. He could feel Elliott’s heartbeat against his own chest, steady and slow and dutifully marching on, writing his life’s story one beat at a time.

Niko had worried how things would be after they’d slept together. He’d expected awkwardness, perhaps distance. Maybe uncertainty. But Elliott gave his affection freely, easily even; he didn’t keep away from Niko, didn’t do the dance of discomfiture. It surprised him.

It hurt, too. Niko knew that whatever happened now, whatever his future might bring, he wanted to protect Elliott. He wanted to be there for him. They were in this together now, two fugitives from a law as wide as a galaxy. His gaze trailed to the photo of Elliott and Cleo, looking again at the woman so full of jubilation as she held a bouquet of roses gifted by the brother she’d protected. She’d carved out a home for Elliott when neither sibling had had anyone else to rely on.

Niko wanted to take up her mantle, her fight. He wanted to protect her brother, to put her ghost to rest. To carry on what Cleo Kestrel had fought hard to do in her tragically short life. He met her eyes in a silent exchange. They were confident, smiling, forever caught in an eternal moment of joy. It felt like she saw him now, as though she were smiling only at him as he held Elliott in that moment, locking gazes through time.

Knowing.

I promise I’ll take care of your brother, he thought. He’s not alone anymore. I’ve got this. You can rest now, Cleo.

He wanted to give Elliott Kestrel something to keep living for.

Niko woke disoriented, not remembering where he was. He opened his eyes, his whole body stiff and heavy, his right arm asleep. Memory returned to him slowly—they had fallen asleep, embracing, Elliott sitting in his lap. Elliott was gone.

Niko cleared his throat and glanced around before seeing the other man in the far corner, quietly adding some sort of modification to a rifle scope.

Elliott glanced up at him. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said softly.

“I don’t even know what time it is,” Niko said hoarsely, the haze and blur of sleep still in his eyes. “I don’t know that it even matters at this point.”

“It’s four thirty in the morning,” Elliott said. “We slept for about four hours.”

“More than we got the night before.”

Elliott leaned forward, examining the scope. “It’s a shame we had to leave the other rifle behind. It was my best one. I had a lot of experimental mods on it. But I had spares, just in case.”

Niko wheeled over to get a closer look. Elliott held it out to him and Niko turned it over in his hands. He wasn’t a sniping kind of guy himself, but could still appreciate the beauty of a well-made, well-modified weapon. And this rifle was a thing of beauty. He whistled, handing it back.

“My old one was named Parley,” Elliott said. “This one is Repartee.”

Niko smirked. “Hey. Come get something to eat with me. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Elliott hesitated, looking like he wanted to argue, his gaze falling back on the gun he’d laid on the table. After a moment, he relented, nodding.

Niko went to the kitchen with him, another oversized room made for several cooks working together to serve an entire staff of researchers, miners, and scientists. Elliott moved to the walk-in freezer at the back.

“Don’t get too excited. I only have the nutritional basics. Canned legumes and tuna, frozen lean meat. Oats, rice. Frozen vegetables,” said Elliott.

“No sauces?”

“No.”

“Herbs?”

“No.”

“Salt?”

“I do have that.”

“What about drinks?” Niko tried not to hold his breath over the hopes of a cold beer.

“Electrolyte water and caffeine tablets.”

Right.

Niko worked with him to cook up a meal of chickpeas and onions and tomatoes with—real, actual—chicken breast. It was plain, and in the end, overly salted due to Niko being desperate for any semblance of flavor. But it was a meal, and it was edible.

They sat together in the inappropriately vast cafeteria, in front of the thick windows overlooking the most harrowing vista Niko had seen in quite some time: dark ice and rock with occasional jagged spires, under an airless vacuum of black sky.

There was an odd silence between them, heavy and full. It carried a certain edge, a shift in mood that had been slowly and subtly building since they’d arrived at the facility. The inward turning vacuousness that had begun creeping over Elliott had dug in, settled deeply. When Elliott was down to nothing but scraps of sodium-drowned chicken left on his plate, he spoke, the same hard edge to his voice as the silence that swam through the cafeteria.

“I’m going out again in a day. It’s Yuuorta’s turn.”

Niko was startled.Some part of him had almost forgotten, as though together they could just hide away here from everything. His being here now didn’t change any of that. Elliott was still determined to finish his mission, to make his statement, to keep anyone else’s family from going through what he’d had to.

He leaned back in his chair, his heart doing a flip in his chest. Elliott was quiet and still, a tangible tension there inside him. Niko felt the unspoken questions; they didn’t need to be spoken.

Are you going to try and stop me?

Are you going to help me?

He thought about how crazy, disruptive, and frankly suicidal Elliott’s path of vengeance was. The public executions, always evading Galapol and every hungry bounty hunter ambitious enough to turn their sights his way. The idea of going with him, of helping him was madness.

They were at an impasse of wills. It was becoming familiar now.

But…

Everything Elliott was doing was exactly what Niko had been craving, had been missing for three years. He had been sleepwalking through life without the hunt, without the adrenaline. Without knowing he was out there doing something to leave the galaxy a little bit better off than it had been. Niko didn’t know how to stop, and frankly, he didn’t want to.

Though completely controversial at the least, Elliott’s work was something Niko couldn’t bring himself to disagree with. He had seen the videos, and still had nightmares about them. They still regularly crept into his thoughts, unwelcome memories of little cruel details he didn’t want to think about.

Above everything else, Elliott was clearly unwilling to capitulate. He was determined on a set course, and that course was the punishment and execution of every last living member of Honeybliss. Elliott wanted to put an end to a behemoth that was ruining lives and reveling in it, with no one lifting a finger to stop them.

All he’d wanted was to be heard when no one else would listen and his life was quietly erased, rewritten, destroyed from the ground up. In the end, the real enemy all along had been Honeybliss and every degenerate trash pile that bought its way into their elite club. They had been the arrogant ones. They had been the ones taking lives carelessly into their hands. Elliott was only doing what no one else would.

Niko couldn’t argue with it.

And he couldn’t bear to leave Elliott to take them all on, on his own. The idea of standing by while Elliott put his life stubbornly in danger again and again made him feel ill. Niko was more than capable. He had been one of the best hunters in the galaxy, before his hiatus. He was strong, intuitive, and experienced. He could help Elliott survive this. He had once been excited to go toe to toe with Elliott and match their skills. But now he wanted to see what they could do working together instead.

It was crazy to even entertain. But he had already come this far—had already chosen to throw the life he’d known away to be at Elliott’s side. To save his life and give him a tomorrow.

Niko had promised Cleo Kestrel he would take care of her brother, an unspoken vow.

He was already headed down a path he could never return from, but this was launching himself straight into freefall. How far down the ground was couldn’t be seen.

But wasn’t that what he’d always done?

“Elliott,” Niko said slowly, looking over at the other man. Elliott still sat tensely, his hands on the table as he stared down at his plate, not looking at Niko. “Let’s do this. I’m with you.”

He had Elliott’s attention now.

The other man stared at him, eyes wide and intense, the overhead lights of the cafeteria catching in them. He searched Niko’s face, profound shock written in his own expression. He clearly hadn’t expected to hear those words. And Niko couldn’t blame him—for someone as carefully, deliberately ostracized as Elliott had been, how many years must it have been since someone had told him they were on his side?

Niko reached over, resting his hand atop the other man’s. Elliott’s hand—tight and rigid with tension—relaxed. He turned it over, grasping Niko’s in his own now.

“Elliott, let’s set the galaxy on fire.”

He had committed himself. There was no going back now—Niko’s life was now on a singular trajectory. He was no longer fighting to stop Elliott from killing yet another renowned figure.

He was, instead, going to help him keep doing it.

If Zann didn’t hate him before for clocking him out and running away with Elliott Kestrel, he would now. The thought of Zann made Niko’s heart tremble, the truths Elliott had reluctantly dragged into the light haunting him. Elliott had gone to Galapol years ago. Galapol knew. Galapol had always known. Zann had admitted he’d known, too.

But how much did he actually know?

Elliott and Niko had showered, changed, and gone back to the so-called Murder Room, where Niko had a suspicion Elliott spent most of his time when he wasn’t sleeping, eating, or training. Out of anywhere else in the vast, quiet facility, this room actually felt lived in. Niko envisioned him there alone, working away on a new strategy after yet another wrench had been thrown in his plan, under a sea of sparkling, upbeat love songs delivered over comm speakers, pushing himself until exhaustion and falling asleep there at the table.

“Yuuorta’s going to be… Let me remember,” Niko said, looking at the grid of portraits. He had gone over his own list enough times to have the next few events and dates memorized by now. “At the Civic Community Center of Egleesa. The, uh, panel on establishing interplanetary relations between new colonies.”

“Right,” Elliott said, casting him an impressed look that Niko tried not to feel too pleased by.

“I did my homework,” Niko said.

“You wouldn’t have been able to keep up if you hadn’t.”

The irony of someone like Yuuorta—a controversial and hideous little Gheroun who had inherited his nepotistic position through his aunt’s influence rather than qualifications—playing ambassador between alien nations and worlds while being one of the most grievous offenders in Elliott’s collection of videos appalled Niko. There’d been multiple videos of Yuuorta’s exploits around the galaxy—the man was so sloppy, he barely even tried to cover up his revolting behavior. It was often swept under the rug or, as Honeybliss had done to Elliott, his victims and their families were discredited, blamed and sullied in the public eye by lawyers and goons of his wealthy aunt—who had died the previous year from issues with her second and third hearts.

Niko felt no qualms sending Yuuorta to a family reunion. Not after the years of worthless destruction the man had wrought. Not after what he’d watched unfold over several clearly captured videos and a dozen more images. Removing Yuuorta permanently from society was doing the galaxy a kindness no one else was making happen.

They discussed the community center building, the schedule of speakers. When Yuuorta was expected to speak. Elliott had all the architectural blueprints. He brought them up on display between the two of them, where they hovered luminous and complex. It was fascinating to Niko to be on the other side, to hear and witness and watch how Elliott worked. He’d had to try to learn Elliott on his own, to guess his next move, his angle and approach. It was fascinating to go over the plans with him as they were made, and together, they came up with a combined approach to get the job done.

Niko suggested using the ventilation shafts to get to a small decorative interior balcony; Elliott agreed. Elliott’s stealth tech would handle any drones, and in the case that stealth failed, he had a backup scrambling device that worked on their frequency.

Niko suggested using the few EMP explosives he still had to create a diversion, knock out the lights, and secure them an easy exit.

They both agreed it was vital to utilize earbuds with a private frequency for communicating with each other.

The research and preparation that went into this mark alone was astounding to Niko. Not only had Elliott had to compile a list of events each Honeybliss member would be at, he would have had to research each location, get the blueprints, research the types of security and authorities that would be present. He had to account for changes on his feet as he went, too—the introduction of drones and the ever-increasing swarm of bounty hunters. The diligent presence of Galapol.

“How long have you been planning all of this out?” Niko asked.

Elliott fell quiet, lost in thought before answering. “I first had the idea two and a half years ago after trying to get the files out went nowhere. I committed over a year back.”

Before Niko could ask any further, Elliott said, “Let me show you this.” He went to another small table that was scattered with various electrical and machine parts and picked up a small device. When he returned, he held it out to Niko.

“So,” said Elliott. Niko took the device, turning it over in his hands. It had all the telltale signs of being crafted by hand, wires and scrapped parts visible that were far more function than form. He recognized it as the same thing Zann had worn on Neema. “This is my Ophthalmic Refraction Apparatus.”

The words may as well have been Dvaab to Niko, but he could hazard a guess. “So, this is how you go invisible?”

“Yes. I’ve made a few, because they keep getting fried.”

“How does it work? Show me.”

“There’s a switch here— Yes,” Elliott said as Niko fumbled around with the device, trying to learn it on his own. The moment his thumb hit the small switch, an odd sensation vibrated through the air and Niko watched as his own hands and body disappeared before him, leaving only a bent visual distortion to silhouette him. He waved his arms, gazing right through his own hand at the wall beyond in fascination. He was marginally easier to see in movement, and all but disappeared when he was still.

Niko was delighted.

“This. This is great. I could get into so much trouble with this thing.”

He glanced up, watching Elliott attempt to fight off a stubbornly persistent twitch of the lips. His eyes smiled, though. He looked pleased with himself and Niko loved it.

“You’ll get plenty of chances for that.”

“Wait, I get to use this too? Out in the field?” Niko heard his voice pitch higher in excitement. He felt like a child again, giddy with a new toy he was about to inevitably go on a rampage with.

“Do you like it? I designed it myself. The shield generator too.”

“Of course you did,” Niko said. “Yeah, Elliott. I like it a lot. That’s an understatement. Though it made you a real pain in the ass.”

“Good. Then it’s doing its job.”

Niko flipped the switch on and off, again and again, blinking in and out of existence like a human strobe light. Elliott emitted an offended hiss.

“You’re going to break it. Stop.”

Niko grinned, but relented, setting the ORA on the counter.

Elliott let him test out the shield next, which Niko really got excited for, giving a boisterous whoop when it activated. “God, if I’d had this back when I was hunting regularly—”

“You don’t need it now,” Elliott said. “You have the suit. It’s bulletproof.”

Niko looked up at him. “I’ll be your personal bodyguard. Your shield. Nobody will get through to you anymore.”

Elliott swallowed, eyeing him up and down. “That’s hot, Niko. My own bodyguard.”

“I aim to please.” Niko grinned, though it faded as he thought of the severity of the real danger that lurked ahead of them. “You’re going to need the protection now. Every kill you make drives the bounty higher, brings out more ruthless hunters and mercs, sets governments’ and Galapol’s gazes on your every move.”

Elliott glanced around in thought. “I’m surprised they haven’t canceled it, actually. The panel.”

Niko thought about that. It would have been the easiest course of action—to cancel events for every Honeybliss member in Elliott’s data.

Can’t cancel events forever, Niko, Zann had told him at the beginning of all this.

“I think,” Niko said, “they’re pushing the offensive instead. Building a trap. They can cancel every event on here but they know you’ll still come for everyone who remains on the list. Like Jande Seiiren. Best to get it over with quick than draw it out and try to constantly anticipate when and where you’ll show up.”

“Niko,” Elliott said, “no matter what happens from here on out, I’m grateful to you.”

“I wish I’d listened sooner,” Niko said. “Instead of making it harder for you.”

Elliott shrugged. “I’m just glad that you’re here.”