Pirates lurk in the darkstrings, convoys shift under Assembly orders, and the freighter Hikshuur races toward danger. Among marines restless for a mission, Linuka must find her voice. What begins as a memory of her mother’s last speech turns into a rallying cry of her own, igniting warriors who refuse to run or hide. Together, they will strike fast, strike final, and strike fatal.

The straps cut deep into Linuka’s skin. She couldn’t breathe. The burn had begun. Anything loose would slice through bodies now. Tiny particles of animal filth puffed from the walls, stinging her nose and tongue. She could not only smell but taste it. Retched. Stop the burn. Make it magiis stop!

The marines woke one by one—confused, weak, and convinced they’d spent years in the dark. But Linuka knew better. Only days had passed. “Help someone who can’t walk. Quiet steps. We’re getting out,” she said. They didn’t ask why she was in charge. They just followed. Behind them: a dead technician. Ahead: alarms, klaxons, and the narrowest window to freedom.