The View projects everything I need to learn.

  Data streams, maps, records—flooding my vision, their glow tracing my fingers as I pull apart the light, rearranging the pieces, making sense of the cosmos. Each thread of starlight bends and shifts, carving paths across Arcos.

  I whisper the name of the constellation.

  "Arcos."

  A second start for humanity, carved from the dark. A frontier built on the bones of the old world. And at its core, Mecanet—a galaxy so far beyond my reach it may as well be myth.

  But I’m getting there.

  The MECAT is one year away.

  I’m learning. I’m absorbing. I’m moving so fast the AI embedded in my View tells me I’ll be ready before the deadline.

  "Then what?" Illume mutters, his voice scraping against the inside of my skull. "Going to dig yourself a grave where dirt’s priceless?"

  I stand. My hands curl, searching for something to hit. Nothing. The pressure coils in my chest, a crushing weight, and I launch myself at the door, slamming my fist against the metal.

  "No!" I roar. "I’ll dig your grave and bury you there."

  Illume laughs—soft, slow, indulgent. Mocking my tantrum.

  My fists loosen. My body slides down the door as my knees buckle. Tears burn hot down my face.

  Maybe then, you’ll finally get out of my head.

  "Eat it, Rain," Illume jeers. "I’m coming with you to the grave."

  A noise.

  A creak beyond the door. A shift in the air. My breath locks in my throat.

  Bang.

  A fist smashes through the metal door, warping steel like it’s paper. Fingers curl, reaching for my throat.

  I lurch backward, scrambling, heart hammering like a war drum.

  What? Who is that?

  The fingers, missing my neck, dig into the steel instead. Then pull.

  The door rips free.

  I freeze. My lungs seize.

  Something just tore through solid metal like it was tin foil.

  I claw to my feet, searching for anything—anything to fight with.

  Nothing.

  I thought I was safe in Kernel. I thought this was where I’d study. Where I’d progress.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The figure steps inside.

  Bald. Thick jaw. Arms of steel, lined with pulsing veins of blue energy. Legs like pillars, built to crush.

  His golden eyes scan me.

  I’m dead. So dead.

  Why?

  Why me?

  First the Navorians. Now this—

  "I told you," Illume whispers, a fog curling in my mind. "Take the easy way out."

  Everything stills.

  Is it true? Will trouble really follow me wherever I go?

  The man speaks. His voice is thick, grinding like rusted gears. "I hadta kill kittens strongah than ye." He steps forward, the ground groaning beneath his weight. "Ye really worth fifty thousand Meccets?"

  Fifty thousand?

  Who put a bounty on me?

  Illume? Would you?

  Silence...

  Now you choose to be quiet?

  No. If Illume wanted me dead, he’d do it himself.

  This guy is after me because someone else—someone powerful—wants me gone.

  And I know exactly who.

  I remember the way I cut his hand. The way his face twisted with rage. The promise he made to kill me.

  Garnot Impulse. From a family so rich they own a planet.

  Fifty thousand? A charity fee.

  The bounty hunter steps closer. I press my back against the wall.

  He looms, smirks—a silver tooth glinting under the dim light. A ring pierces through his nose.

  "Ouath to kill ya." He bends down, his head just beneath mine. His breath smells like burnt circuits. "Whatcha say about catch? I’ll give ya a ten-second head start."

  He doesn’t wait.

  "One."

  The word rumbles through my bones.

  My heart seizes.

  Move.

  My legs won’t move.

  "Two."

  I explode toward the exit, looking right, then sprinting left. The elevator doors snap shut in front of me.

  "Three."

  I pivot to the stairwell and fly down the steps. My foot catches. I trip, crashing, rolling. My skull cracks against the wall.

  "Four."

  I daze. Something red streaks my vision. I push up.

  "Five."

  My hand slips on my blood—too much of it. I make it down—lobby spinning. I can’t stop. I have to move.

  “Six.”

  The receptionist is slumped in his chair, arms severed on the ground beside him. His legs, too. I still at the sight.

  "Seven."

  The exit. Close. Too far.

  I plant my foot, inhale—exhale—and run.

  "Eight."

  I burst outside into the night. The streets are empty. Left or right?

  "Nine."

  Left.

  I sprint, sweat stinging my eyes.

  I’m going to make it. I have to make it.

  "Ten."

  The world shudders.

  BOOM.

  I stop. Look back.

  Dust spills from the apartment building, walls buckling under concussive force.

  Then—

  Another explosion. A section of the second floor detonates outward.

  And he is midair, flipping.

  He lands. The ground cracks beneath his weight. His head tilts, scanning.

  Then his eyes lock onto me.

  I bolt.

  The world stretches, shakes—

  He appears in front of me.

  Feet slam into the ground, killing his momentum.

  He lunges. Grabs my shirt.

  And we fly.

  Then impact—

  My body shatters against concrete.

  Blood bursts from my mouth. My arms—my legs—I can’t feel them.

  But I feel everything.

  He looms over me, breath hot against my face.

  "So," Illume’s voice licks against my ear. "Any last words?"

  I try to swallow air. It tastes like iron and dust. My limbs are ghosts, my vision pulses red. But I still have breath for one thing.

  I rasp, "Fuck you, Illume."

  The bounty hunter chuckles. "That ain’t my name."

  I exhale, ragged. "Wasn’t talking to you."

  Then—

  A single gunshot.

  The man’s skull snaps forth as a hole erupts through his forehead.

  His body slumps, heavy. A ruined mass of flesh and cybernetics.

  I don’t fall. I am stuck. That or I can't move.

  A figure steps into view.

  Dark curls pinned neatly under a wide-brimmed hat. A high-collared coat, pressed to perfection, gold embroidery gleaming against the midnight fabric. Gloved hands adjusting the pearl grip of a smoking pistol.

  She exhales, unimpressed. When she speaks, her accent is rich, poised—an aristocrat who’s never once doubted her place in the world.

  "Dead or alive?" she muses. Her gloved fingers brush dust from her coat. "Alive. I do so enjoy a challenge.”

  She tucks the pistol into a holster at her waist. Then her fist connects with my face.

  The streetlights flicker.

  Her shadow looms.

  I black out.