Kira's POV
The wait was torture.
I paced the small room like a caged animal, counting seconds, then minutes, then giving up because time felt meaningless when you were waiting to hear your own death sentence.
The High Council was deciding right now whether to execute all the offerings. "For our protection," Vex'thor had said. Like killing us was a mercy.
Just like the resistance thought killing us was mercy too.
Everyone wanted to save me by ending me.
I pressed my ear against the door, trying to hear voices from the hallway. Nothing. The walls were too thick. I was completely cut off.
My hand found the communicator still hidden against my skin. Should I call Lysa? Tell her what was happening? But what could she do? The resistance had just tried to kill me. Her people thought I was corrupted, a traitor because I'd saved Vex'thor.
I'd saved him.
Why had I done that?
The memory played again in my mind—seeing the plasma bolt, seeing his violet eyes widen, my body moving without thought. Throwing myself between him and death.
He'd hurt me. Used me. Treated me like property.
But he'd also protected me when his own officer suggested leaving me behind. He'd covered my body with his when the transport exploded. And now he was in that council meeting, fighting to keep me alive when it would be easier to let them kill me.
Maybe monsters weren't simple. Maybe nothing was.
The door lock beeped.
I jumped back, my heart hammering. This was it. Either Vex'thor returning with good news, or guards coming to take me to execution.
The door opened.
Vex'thor stood there, and I couldn't read his expression at all.
"Well?" I whispered. "Am I going to die?"
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Stood there for a long moment, just looking at me.
"The vote was seven to three," he finally said. "In favor of termination."
My legs went weak. "So I'm... they're going to kill me."
"I said the vote was seven to three. I didn't say that was the final decision." He moved to the room's only chair and sat down heavily, like he'd aged a hundred years in the last hour. "I made them an offer they couldn't refuse."
"What kind of offer?"
"My resignation. My position. My entire military career." His violet eyes met mine. "In exchange for the lives of all current offerings. Not just you. All forty-three humans currently under contract."
I stared at him, unable to process what he was saying. "You... you gave up everything? For us?"
"I gave up a title and some power," he corrected. "You saved my life today. That's worth more than a career."
"But you're a Commander! You're a war hero! They can't just—"
"They can, and they did. Effective immediately, I'm no longer Commander Vex'thor. Just Zair." He said his own name like it was foreign. "I haven't been 'just Zair' since I was twelve years old."
Guilt crashed over me. "This is my fault. If I hadn't saved you, if I'd just let her shoot—"
"Then I'd be dead, and you'd still be facing execution." He stood up, and suddenly he was right in front of me, his presence overwhelming. "Stop trying to take responsibility for my choices, Kira. I made this decision. I stand by it."
He'd used my name again. Twice now.
"What happens now?" I asked. "To me? To the contract?"
"The contract stands. You're still legally bound to me for—" he checked his wrist display, "—twenty-eight more days. But the terms have changed."
"Changed how?"
"I no longer have quarters in the upper tower. I no longer have military authority. What I do have is a private residence in the mid-levels and enough personal wealth to last several lifetimes." He crossed his arms. "You'll stay with me there. As per contract. But without my military obligations, I'll actually be... present."
"You mean you'll be using me more often." The words came out bitter.
Something flickered across his face. Not quite emotion, but close. "I mean I'll have time to actually think about what I'm doing. And what I've done."
Before I could respond, another knock interrupted us.
"Zair, the transport is ready," a voice called. Not 'Commander.' Just his name. The change had already begun.
"We're leaving now," Vex'thor—Zair—told me. "Pack anything you—" He stopped. "You don't have anything to pack, do you? We left everything when we evacuated."
"I never had anything to begin with."
He looked at me for a long moment, and I saw something in his expression I'd never seen before. It might have been shame.
"Then we'll get you things. Clothes. Personal items. Whatever you need."
"I don't need anything from you."
"Perhaps not. But you'll have it anyway." He opened the door. "Come. We need to leave before the next attack wave hits."
We walked through corridors filled with officers who saluted him, then realized he wasn't their commander anymore and awkwardly lowered their hands. Some looked confused. Others looked satisfied—like they'd wanted to see the great war hero fall.
In the parking level, a simple civilian transport waited. Not the military-grade vehicle from before. Just a basic car, the kind normal people used.
Zair opened the passenger door for me. "Get in."
I climbed inside. The seats were worn. The console was old. This was probably the least expensive vehicle Zair had ever been in.
He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
"Where's your residence?" I asked as we pulled out of the fortress.
"Sector Twelve. The mid-levels. Not fancy, but secure." He navigated through streets still smoking from the earlier attack. Fires burned in several buildings. Medical transports screamed past, carrying the wounded.
The resistance had done this. Lysa's people.
"Do you think they'll attack again?" I asked quietly.
"Definitely. This was just the beginning." He turned onto a highway leading out of the government district. "They'll interpret the council's decision to spare the offerings as weakness. They'll push harder."
"And you're not there to fight them anymore."
"No. I'm here. With you." He glanced at me briefly. "Strange how one choice can completely change the trajectory of a life."
"Do you regret it?"
He was silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "Ask me in twenty-eight days."
We drove for twenty minutes, leaving the wealthy districts behind. The buildings got smaller, older, more human. This was where humans and lower-ranking Xylarans lived together—not in luxury, but not in slums either. Just... normal.
Zair pulled into an underground parking garage beneath a modest apartment tower. Killed the engine.
"We're here," he said. "Floor eighteen. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, basic kitchen. Nothing like the upper tower quarters."
"Sounds like a palace compared to where I grew up."
He looked at me with that unreadable expression again. "I really don't know anything about you, do I? Where you came from. What your life was like before."
"You never asked."
"No. I didn't." He got out of the transport. "Maybe that changes too."
We took an elevator up to floor eighteen. The hallway was clean but plain. Numbered doors. The sound of families behind them—children laughing, someone cooking dinner, a couple arguing in muffled voices.
Normal life. The kind I'd lost.
Zair stopped at door 1847 and pressed his palm to the lock. It beeped and opened.
The apartment was simple. Functional. A main living area with a couch and small kitchen. Two doors—presumably bedrooms. One bathroom visible down a short hallway.
"That bedroom is yours," Zair said, pointing to the door on the left. "Mine is on the right. Bathroom is shared. Kitchen is stocked. The building has security, but nothing like military-grade. If the resistance finds us here..." He didn't finish the thought.
"They'll kill me for being a traitor. And you for being you."
"Essentially." He moved to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of something blue—Xylaran alcohol, I guessed. Poured himself a glass. Drank it in one swallow. "Strange. I've spent my entire adult life in active combat zones, and this is the first time I've actually felt afraid."
"Why?"
He poured another glass. "Because for the first time, I have something to lose that I actually care about keeping."
"Your life?"
"My honor." He set the glass down without drinking. "Today, you showed me what honor looks like. You saved someone who hurt you. You did it without thinking, without expecting reward. That's... that's something I've never done. My entire life has been about calculation. Strategy. But you? You just acted on instinct to protect someone. Even me."
"I told you, I don't know why I did it."
"I do." He turned to face me fully. "You did it because despite everything I've done to you, you're still human in a way I've forgotten how to be. You still have compassion. Empathy. The things my grandfather spent decades training out of me."
Before I could respond, the apartment's communication console beeped urgently.
Emergency broadcast. Mandatory viewing.
Zair cursed and activated the screen.
The High Council spokesperson appeared—a Xylaran female with ice-blue skin and cold eyes.
"Citizens of the Empire. At 1600 hours today, human resistance forces attacked Integration Tower Seven, resulting in forty-three casualties and extensive damage. In response, the High Council has issued new directives."
My stomach dropped.
"Effective immediately, all Cultural Offering contracts are suspended pending security review. Current offerings will be held in protective custody until the resistance threat is neutralized."
Zair's face went pale.
"Additionally, former Commander Zair Vex'thor has been classified as a person of interest in the resistance attack. Evidence suggests possible collusion with human insurgents. He is to report to Integration Authority within twenty-four hours for questioning. Failure to comply will result in arrest and interrogation."
The screen went black.
Silence filled the apartment.
"They're setting you up," I breathed. "They're blaming you for the attack because you defended the offerings."
"And now they have legal grounds to take you into 'protective custody.'" Zair's hands clenched into fists. "Where they can do whatever they want without witnesses."
"What do we do?"
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his violet eyes.
"We run."
"What?"
"We run. Now. Tonight. Before they send soldiers to collect us both." He moved to his bedroom, already packing. "I have resources. Safe houses. Contacts in the outer territories."
"You're talking about becoming a fugitive! You'll lose everything!"
"I've already lost everything!" He stopped, breathing hard. "The only thing I have left is my word. I promised to protect you. That means something to me now. So we run."
"They'll hunt us forever."
"Then we run forever." He came back out with a bag of supplies. "Unless you'd rather take your chances with their 'protective custody.'"
I thought about what that meant. A cell. Interrogation. Maybe worse.
Or running with the man who'd hurt me, but who was now willing to sacrifice everything to keep me safe.
"How long until they come?"
"An hour. Maybe less." He handed me a jacket. "We need to be gone in ten minutes."
I took the jacket, my mind spinning. This was insane. Running from the entire empire. Becoming criminals.
But staying meant death.
"Okay," I said. "Let's run."
He nodded once, then grabbed supplies.