I took the open seat next to the blue alien as she seemed the least likely to kill me.

  The chair was smooth and absurdly expensive, the kind you’d find in a senator’s war chamber or a cartel boss’s trophy room. It adjusted to my weight without a sound, as if it already recognized who I was pretending to be.

  A server appeared beside me in a black uniform, no expression, no footsteps. He bowed, slid me into place, and disappeared in the time it took to blink.

  I could’ve done that myself, but ok.

  The table was massive. Wide enough to land a skiff on, long enough that even with the other guests seated, I still felt like I was sitting alone.

  But they watched me. All of them.

  I adjusted my cuffs slowly. No tremble in my hands. Just the kind of calm you fake when you’re surrounded by people who could kill you with a glance.

  I didn’t belong here.

  But that was the point.

  The door behind me opened.

  She entered without hesitation. Same measured steps. Same perfect posture.

  Yuki Takahashi.

  Deadpan-chan. Frostbyte. Katana Barbie. Snow. Snowbitch, depending on the day.

  But to me, she’d always been Dollface.

  The last nickname hadn’t come from affection.

  She was beautiful, yes, but not in the way the Republic advertised on recruitment posters. There was nothing soft or bubbly about Yuki Takahashi. Her beauty was cold like her name.

  Her face didn’t move unless it had to. Perfect symmetry. No wasted gestures. No visible emotion. Not fear. Not joy. Not even satisfaction. That’s why we called her Dollface. It had nothing to do with being cute.

  It was because no one could ever read her.

  Tonight, she wore crimson.

  Not the playful red of dancers and diplomats, more like the color of blood. It was a dress built like a weapon. Her heels echoed lightly with each step, perfectly spaced. She moved the same way she used to load her sidearm. Methodical, quiet, efficient.

  And maybe this was always the plan.

  Maybe she'd been walking this exact path all along.

  She didn’t look at me at first.

  Just approached her chair directly across from mine and sat down without a sound. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and drew a single, steady breath.

  I recognized it.

  The same little breath she took before breaching doors. Before the first shot. Before it all went sideways.

  Then, finally, her eyes met mine, just for a second.

  But her face gave nothing away.

  Not recognition.

  Not surprise.

  Not even curiosity.

  Whatever she felt, it stayed behind that gaze, locked up and unreadable.

  Same as always.

  Same as back then.

  I felt the corners of my mouth twitch, almost a smile. But I kept my face blank.

  I forced a breath, steady, calm.

  But in my head, the alarm was already going off.

  Tonight, everything was about to change.

  She didn’t speak.

  Neither did I.

  What could we say. I had a fake identity maybe she did as well. However we were the only two without a mask for now… Not that I knew what that meant. Ughh I need to turn of my brain and just wait for el jeffe to arrive.

  We sat across from each other in total silence.

  Her eyes stayed on the glass in front of her. Mine drifted between the others at the table, occasionally landing back on her face.

  Nothing.

  Not a twitch. Not a blink. Not even the slightest shift in breath.

  She was the same as I remembered. Untouchable. Unreadable. A face like smooth porcelain, carved without fragility.

  Still the same girl.

  If she recognized me, she didn’t show it.

  And if she didn’t... well, that was worse.

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye, trying to read a signal. A glance. A flicker of thought behind her mask. But there was nothing.

  Then, a soft voice.

  “You are reacting quite strongly.”

  I turned slightly. The Xyrelian woman to my left hadn’t moved a muscle. Her gaze stayed forward, head resting against a slender hand adorned with shimmering rings. Her voice was low, smooth, and far too knowing.

  “I’ve been watching you,” she said, her tone somewhere between amusement and boredom. “Your aura shifted the moment she entered the room. Your jaw. Your heart rate. The way your pupils responded to the light.”

  Her skin shifted slightly in color, from a muted sapphire to a faint lavender glow.

  “You humans lack visual indicators, but I’ve learned to read you anyway,” she continued. “You find her appealing, I assume?”

  I kept my face blank. “Attractive? That’s your read? I was wondering who she’s here to kill. Me or someone else.”

  “Fascinating.” Her glow deepened slightly. “You try to remain composed, but the tension bleeds through your posture. Your species calls this attraction, yes?”

  I said nothing.

  She leaned in just slightly. “Or perhaps fear? You are difficult to read. But not impossible.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  Then the lights shifted.

  A dimming at the corners of the room. The air thickened. Like the building itself had taken a breath and was holding it.

  The door at the head of the table opened and Orion walked in.

  Thank God.

  Even the devil has good timing.

  He didn’t seem rushed, just arrogant enough to make it clear the night didn’t start until he said so.

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  His coat charcoal black, high-collared, tailored to hell and back. Nothing flashy, but every stitch screamed money.

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Just moved past his servants like they were statues in a gallery built in his honor.

  Only once he took his seat did the rest of the room start moving again.

  Servants sprang into motion like someone had flipped a switch.

  Dishes glided out from hidden panels, placed one by one in front of each guest with quiet, mechanical grace. Bottles opened with practiced flair. Steam rose from silver plates. Napkins folded themselves.

  I glanced down at the plate in front of me.

  The first thing I noticed? It looked more like abstract sculpture than food.

  Thin slices of something translucent, curled like origami and drizzled with something blue and glittering.

  Was this art?

  Then the meat twitched.

  Not a lot. Just enough to let me know it was still processing its trauma.

  Well at least it’s edible.

  Probably.

  I considered asking for a burger and fries, but figured I’d grab takeout after I capped this bastard and rescued Astra.

  At the head of the table, Orion lifted two fingers.

  A servant stepped forward instantly and filled his glass with a shimmering violet liquid.

  Then, without another word, they moved around the table, pouring the same for each of us.

  Whatever this drink was, it caught the light like it was alive.

  And now we were officially... dining.

  “Welcome. Tonight, we come together not as rival species, but as collaborators.”

  Orion’s voice was calm, deliberate, and cold. His gaze moved slowly around the room, giving each guest their allotted moment beneath his judgment.

  “Each of us has something to gain,” he said. “And something to lose.”

  “I expect you’ll all listen carefully to what’s discussed here,” Orion said, his voice calm, almost conversational.

  His gaze finally landed on me.

  “And remember,” he continued, “the consequences for betrayal are severe.”

  He wasn’t addressing the room. He was talking to me. Not even subtle about it.

  Message received.

  And filed under go fuck yourself.

  I glanced across the table at Yuki.

  She was calm, unbothered, like this was just another job. Like we weren’t sitting across from each other for the first time in… how long had it been? Months? Years? It felt like another lifetime.

  Then, just for a second, her eyes flicked to mine.

  There was something there.

  Whether that was good or bad news, however, was hard to say.

  I couldn’t tell if she was playing a role… or if this was the real her now.

  Orion suddenly rose, lifting his glass.

  “To power unbound by limits,” he intoned, voice sharp and cutting through the silence like a blade. “To a galaxy shaped by those bold enough to seize it.”

  The others followed his lead, glasses raised, their eyes turning to him with that mix of reverence and fear.

  I raised my glass, careful to keep my expression neutral.

  Yuki’s hand reached out for her glass. Her eyes flicked to mine, brief, unreadable. But I caught the slightest tension, a hesitation so faint it almost didn’t exist.

  Then it was gone.

  Typical Yuki. Perfectly controlled. But not unaffected.

  I took a slow, deep breath. Placed my hands casually on the table. Watching as the others began to eat.

  To my left, the Xyrelian noblewoman plucked a glowing fruit from her dish with two fingers and raised it beneath her veil, delicate as a flower, while the Khuvrin warlord tipped his entire plate of twitching meat into his jaws, chewing with a kind of reverent violence.

  Yuki lifted a sliver of something green to her lips with practiced indifference.

  Orion watched me for a moment, then glanced down at my untouched plate.

  "You haven’t tried the dish," he said, his tone light. Conversational. “A shame. The meat was imported from Veylith Prime. A delicacy. The muscle is cut while the animal is still alive, then flash-seared to preserve its instinct.”

  The Khuvrin let out a low grunt of approval.

  I tilted my head toward the Exodite seated across the table, still motionless.

  “He hasn’t eaten either,” I said. “Maybe we’re just waiting to see who keels over first.”

  Then he leaned forward, folding his hands, posture relaxed but eyes razor sharp.

  Orion’s smile widened by a fraction. “How strange. I wasn’t aware Agent Valor had a sense of humor.”

  “It’s rare,” I said, matching his tone. “Usually shows up when I’m surrounded by liars.”

  That earned a glance from the Xyrelian beside me. Her glow shifted slightly.

  Orion didn’t react. He just folded his hands again, letting the tension breathe between us like a third party at the table.

  “A curious thing, humor,” he said. “Often used to disarm. Or deflect. I wonder which you’re doing now.”

  “I suppose that depends on what you think I’m hiding,” I replied, still not touching the drink.

  The shimmering violet liquid in the crystal glass caught my eye for a second, but I didn’t reach for it.

  “You haven’t touched your glass,” Orion noted, leaning back slightly, his gaze drifting to the untouched drink beside my plate. “That’s Kharossian Bloomwine. Aged in gravity-stabilized nebula casks. There are only thirty-nine bottles left in the galaxy.”

  “Make that thirty-eight,” the Xyrelian murmured, setting her empty glass down with a quiet clink.

  I glanced at her. Her skin had taken on a soft gold hue, and her posture was a little looser now, like the drink had oiled her bones.

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “I didn’t know decadence had such specific numbers.”

  Orion chuckled low in his throat. “Decadence is a weapon, Commander. As sharp as any blade. And just as effective when used properly.”

  Commander.

  I kept my expression steady, but inside, everything paused.

  So, he knew?

  What gave it away, my almost perfectly healed fucking face, or did Ares fail me once more…

  I met his gaze. “I think you mean Agent, don’t you?”

  Orion smiled a little too wide. “Of course. My mistake.”

  It wasn’t a mistake.

  Not even close.

  “You’re cautious,” Orion said, studying the untouched drink beside my plate. “A good trait. Most field operatives I’ve met rush to swallow whatever’s put in front of them. And die just as quickly.”

  I picked up the glass. Swirled it once. The violet shimmer caught the overhead light like liquid crystal.

  “I imagine your missions haven’t allowed for much indulgence.” He continued. “It’s always the finest soldiers who forget what luxury tastes like.”

  “Not sure I ever knew,” I replied, setting the glass back down without so much as a sip.

  Orion nodded slowly, almost thoughtfully. “Your record shows remarkable discretion. Precision. The kind of efficiency I rarely see outside of engineered loyalty.”

  There it was.

  I met his gaze with the same steady calm I used on every mission that ended with a body count.

  The Xyrelian let her eyes linger. The Khuvrin tore into his meat without care. Yuki sipped her wine like she hadn’t noticed a thing. And the Exodite still hadn’t moved.

  Orion reached for his own glass and raised it. “To those who survive what others can’t. To agents who do what needs to be done, even when their orders are unclear.”

  I raised mine slightly in return but didn’t drink. “You’ve got a lot of toasts.”

  “I’ve been patient a long time,” he said, letting the wine touch his lips. “One learns to savor the details.”

  He placed his glass back down with a soft clink.

  I tilted my head slightly.

  “Patience,” I said. “Must’ve killed you.”

  Orion’s smile didn’t move, but something colder settled behind his eyes. “Worse things have tried.”

  I raised my glass. “Then here’s to the ones that failed.”

  I downed it and smacked my lips once.

  “Pretty tasty,” I said, glancing down at the twitching meat still cooling on my plate. “A little sweet for dinner, but I’ve definitely had worse.”

  I leaned back just slightly and glanced around the table.

  Honing in on Yuki, I noticed a subtle shift of her shoulders and a glance, brief, toward me.

  I couldn’t read it, then again, I could never read this girl.

  But was that a signal for something?

  Probably trying to tell me to shut up.

  I smirked anyway.

  “So tell me,” I said, letting my voice carry just enough to make the Exodite’s optical sensors twitch, “did you bring all these fine ladies and..." I looked at the exodite and lizard boy for a fitting word, there was none, "gentlemen here just to watch us trade compliments? Or are we going to get to the point before dessert starts breathing again?”

  Orion set his glass down, tapping the rim once.

  “The point,” he said, “will come soon enough. But first, I wanted to get to know our guests."

  That got a reaction. A murmur of interest down the table.

  The Xyrelian to my left, the one with too many rings and too few expressions, tilted her head slightly. “Humans are new to the galaxy,” she said, as if commenting on the weather. “Unproven. Fragile. Most of you still believe reputation is enough.”

  The Khuvrin beside her let out a guttural, clicking grunt that sounded like he was probably agreement. Or had indigestion.

  I raised an eyebrow and didn’t even turn my head. “No dinosaur noises at the table, lizard boy.”

  Silence.

  Then his chair scraped back.

  The massive bastard stood, scales shifting, cloak falling behind him like a curtain of teeth and testosterone. He loomed, broad-shouldered, one clawed hand resting on his belt. Posturing. Trying to make a show of it.

  I didn’t move. Just gave him a slow, unimpressed look and sipped my wine.

  “Do yourself a favor,” I said, my voice calm, “and sit your prehistoric ass back down before I toss you out that window from this very tall building.”

  “It’d be a shame if your spine ended up as wall art in one of those grimy bars down below.”

  The Khuvrin bared his teeth.

  Then Orion chuckled.

  “Enough,” he said, voice smooth as a knife slipping between ribs. “We’re here to test resolve. Not redecorate.”

  The lizard glared at me for another long moment, then slowly eased back into his seat. His claws clicked once against the table as he folded his arms.

  I didn’t break eye contact until he looked away.

  Score one for the mammals.

  Orion didn’t stand when he spoke. He didn’t have to.

  His voice carried the same weight as a loaded gun pressed against your temple.

  “We may be new to this galaxy,” Orion saidd, folding his hands atop the table, “but we’ve already surpassed you in every way that matters. Our genetic engineering is cleaner. Our science is more adaptable. Our soldiers fight wars you haven’t evolved the stomach for. And unlike the rest of you, we’re still hungry.”

  He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

  The Khuvrin let out a rough, hissing laugh. It echoed off the walls like something dragged out of a cave.

  "And what, exactly, do you humans hope to gain from this?" His tongue flicked past his teeth. "Dominion over the rest of us?"

  Orion didn’t look at him immediately. He sipped his wine. Thought it over. Then raised a single hand quieting the moment like he was taming a wild animal.

  “Ambition, Aldrok,” he said at last, and this time his smile was sharp enough to draw blood, “is a language we all speak fluently, is it not?”

  Ah. Dino boy finally had a name.

  Aldrok’s slit-pupil eyes narrowed, and his forked tongue flicked out briefly. “Perhaps. But I wonder if your kind knows when to stop… if you even know how.”

  Orion merely chuckled, then turned slightly in his seat, no grand gesture, just a glance.

  “Vorrus,” he said, his voice cool and exact. “Share with our guests what your Overseer has prepared.”

  For the first time since I’d sat down, the Exodite moved.

  Its head turned, slow and deliberate, until its synthetic gaze locked onto mine.