MICHAEL

  “IT'S TIME TO PART our ways, Rayla,” Big Mike said, already turning back toward the ship that had carried them across the sea just hours before.

  “What?” she snapped, caught off guard. “You can’t just—”

  “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do,” he cut her off, voice flat. Done. No room left for argument.

  He walked. Slow. Deliberate. Boots heavy on the damp planks of the dock. Rayla followed, of course she did, heels tapping out her rage like gunfire. Her cloak flared with each hurried step.

  Behind them, the others lingered on the pier. Varn with his arms folded, Eloen whispering something to Thirra, Brask cleaning his nails with a dagger like this was just another Thursday. Koleth stood stiffly. Grambel, the dwarf let out a snort, unimpressed. Obedient little dogs. Stopping whatever they were doing and waiting for whatever Rayla will tell them to do next.

  They were all there now. Except for Yanick. He was already gone. And that stung. Of course it did.

  Big Mike had spent years with this crew. Ate with them. Bled with them. Slept on the same mud, cracked the same skulls. It was supposed to be a quick mission to track down Nemeth, mop up some of his former officers along the way to Valhafen, but turned into a slow-bleeding mess worse than anything since the Great War. He never been away from the station for that long. Not ever.

  “You gave me your word!” Rayla’s voice chased after him like a thrown rock.

  Mike didn’t look back. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t keep it.”

  Her voice cracked, raw now. “I have to find him. I have to.”

  Mike stopped just before the bridge to the captain’s deck and turned halfway. “We don’t have leverage. Not anymore. You should’ve taken both of his kids. Now we’ve got neither. Nothing left to play.”

  “We can still catch him,” she pleaded. “He’s there. I know it and you know it. We just have to follow the burnt villages, the battlefields…”

  “I’m not getting dragged into another war.” His voice was iron. Cold, iron certainty.

  “You too have your orders, Mike. You had orders to help me. They want him dead too. You said so. Your people. That’s why they’ve sent down here.”

  Orders? Oh, yes, he had orders, of course he did. He had shoved them up his arse though. The photos of documents which Yanick had brought from the farm have changed everything.

  Big Mike turned to the captain, who stood just behind him, unsure if this was all theatre or something real.

  “Tell your men to raise the anchor,” Mike barked. “We’re setting off.”

  The captain hesitated, eyes flicking to Rayla.

  “What about her?” he asked.

  “She was just leaving,” Mike said.

  Then he moved fast.

  Before Rayla could react, Mike grabbed her. Lifted up like she was made of air. Her legs kicked, fists pounding uselessly at his chest, but he barely felt it. With one easy swing, he tossed her over the rail, off the stern and into the sea below.

  ***

  THEY COULDN'T TAKE HIM all the way to Lunareth. Of course they could not. That much was clear.

  They were still in neutral waters when the crow’s nest spotted patrols of the Faithful. Their presence so far ashore could worry.

  Mike stood on deck, arms crossed over his chest, watching the horizon. The war couldn’t have reached this far yet. That made no sense. The army massing west of Valhafen was preparing for the continent, not this place.

  But the game had changed.

  The captain gave him the biggest lifeboat they had. More than a lifeboat in fact. A compact fishing cutter with a foldable mast and a patched sail. The rest of the crew didn’t approve captain’s decision. They grumbled behind their beards and under their breath. But no one dared speak up. They remembered how Mike had handled Rayla. Of course they did.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The silence was enough.

  He rowed out alone. Heavy oars dipping into grey water. The cutter rocked in the swell, slow and stubborn, but steady. Less than an hour out, he spotted the first crescent-flagged vessel. The Faithful.

  They let him pass. No words. No warnings. Just still silhouettes watching from the deck.

  They knew who he was.

  They saw him. Saw the size of him, the way he moved. They were trained to spot the Overmen. And that’s who he was to them. A relic. A god. Or maybe just another monster in the shape of a man.

  He reached the island just before sunset. The lagoon glowed a soft, impossible blue. It was quiet here, too quiet. He dropped anchor near the shore, grabbed only what he needed, and left the rest behind. He wouldn’t need it where he was going.

  He didn’t dock in any port. Of course he didn’t.

  Instead, he headed for a beach on the southeastern curve of the island, near the Blue Lagoon. That’s where operatives like him always landed. Off the books. Under the radar.

  Mike was still on a mission, just not theirs anymore. This one was his own.

  He was going back home. To confront the elites. He will show them the photos. The documents. The orders. All of it traced back to them. All of it born in their hands.

  And as he dragged his gear up the slope, wind cutting at his face, the words came back. The voice of his closest friend.

  “How do we know we’re on the right side? How do we know we’re the good guys?”

  Mike had laughed at the time.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “In books and movies, there’s always the heroes and villains, right? But we were taught to believe we’re the good guys. But that doesn’t make it true.”

  “Of course it does,” Mike had said. “What we do matters. It’s necessary. It’s right. It’s good.”

  “So were the people we fought. They thought they were right, too. They had goals. They weren’t evil. Just… different. Driven. Hungry.”

  “Oh come on. Don’t give me that fairy tale logic.”

  “It’s a metaphor, Mike. The wolf doesn’t eat because he’s evil. He eats because he’s hungry. That’s nature. Nature isn’t good or bad. The hunter at the end? He’s not good or bad either. He just did what his nature demanded. You see where I’m going?”

  Mike had stopped walking back then. Had really thought about it.

  “So you’re saying we shouldn’t interfere. Let nature take its course.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But maybe interfering is nature now. Maybe we’ve done it for so long, it’s part of the world’s natural order. So not interfering? That would be the real disruption. The real interfering.”

  Back then, it sounded smart. Of course it did. Back then, it made him feel like a man with purpose. Like a piece of something bigger.

  But now? Now he wasn’t sure.

  They’d gone from silent watchers to warmongers. From guides to gods. From gods to butchers.

  This wasn’t what he signed up for.

  Big Mike walked nearly the entire night. He wasn’t tired. He was furious. Of course he was.

  And with every step, his fury sharpened, condensed, solidified into something cold and focused. Like gravity had shifted, and his rage was what pulled him forward.

  By the time he climbed the ridge and began the descent toward the launchpad, the burn in his chest was ebbing. His anger, like heat leaving a cooling engine, slid down with him.

  The valley below was quiet. Too quiet.

  A few rockets stood poised like frozen giants, ready to be awakened. But the floodlights were all dark.

  Not dimmed. Off. No standard lighting. No activity. Just shadows and silence.

  Malfunction? he thought.

  Big Mike didn’t like guesses. Of course he didn’t. And he sure as hell didn’t like surprises.

  Two figures stepped into his path.

  Overmen, like him. Kids, barely twelve. Fresh-faced, under-grown. Should’ve been in a classroom or running drills, not guarding a dormant launch site.

  Mike saw himself in them, years ago. But if these two thought they could stop him... He wouldn’t want to be them.

  “Sir,” one said, the bolder of the two, of course. “You can’t go any further.”

  Mike held up his ID. Nearly punched the kid with it.

  The second one found his spine.

  “Sir, it’s not that. It’s just...”

  “Just what?” Mike stepped forward. And stepped over them.

  He towered. His shadow swallowing the kid whole. A mountain in motion. No shouting. No posturing. Just mass. Just presence. Enough to make the boy flinch.

  “Sir,” the first one said again, with a flicker of nervous steel. “No flights allowed until tomorrow night. Orders from above.”

  “Show me.” His voice dropped an octave. Growled.

  They did. Of course they did.

  Mike scanned the orders. Every flight, every coordinate.

  He saw it instantly.

  Flight E365; Destination: 55.6617, 49.0993; Passenger: Amaia Nemethdóttir; Flight mode: Automated;

  A shiver ran up his back, and it wasn’t the night air.

  They were sending her to the Wastes. Why? For what? He thought and couldn’t comprehend. Mike’s jaw clenched.

  He didn’t ask questions. He acted.

  “Move,” he said, and shoved past them like they were curtains in a doorway. Walked straight to the closest rocket.

  “Sir!” The boys stumbled after him. “We can’t authorise a launch! Not to the station! Please, sir, they’ll have our heads!”

  “Relax.” Mike didn’t look back. “I’m not headed to the station.”

  They blinked.

  “Then... where, sir?”

  He turned, already flipping switches on the control panel.

  “Punch in the coordinates from Flight E365.”