The CanisterThe spaceport on Elysara Prime smelled of ozone, fried street food, and the faint metallic tang of recycled air. I had just stepped off the shuttle from the orbital ring, carrying nothing but a duffel bag and the quiet anticipation of ten days with no missions, no briefings, no blood on my hands. Just sun, salt water, and the kind of silence that doesn’t come with a body count.Customs took one look at my passport and waved me toward the premium lane. I’d been coming here every year for the last four; the resort on the southern archipelago knew me by name, kept the same cabana ready, and never asked questions about the faint scars on my forearms or why I always paid in untraceable credit chits. Routine. Comfortable. Almost peaceful.That lasted exactly seven minutes.Two officers in pale-green uniforms intercepted me before I reached the baggage claim. No pleasantries, no explanation. Just firm hands on my elbows steering me through a side door marked “Secondary Screenin

StationfallThe *Driftwind* dropped out of FTL with a shudder that ran through every deck plate, the kind of jolt that told experienced travelers the nav computer had just shaved margins too close for comfort. Captain Hale’s voice came over the intercom, calm but edged with steel.“Calyx Station in thirty minutes. We’re running hot and quiet. Concordance cutter is still limping somewhere behind us, but station traffic control just pinged us twice routine, they claim. Stay sharp.”Kessa killed the intercom and looked at me across the cramped smuggler’s nook. Her face was drawn from lack of sleep, the scar along her jaw standing out pale against olive skin.“Thirty minutes to dock. Forty-three hours total until the second canister arrives became twenty-nine while we were dodging that cutter. We’re cutting it thin.”I checked the flechette pistol’s magazine for the third time. Full. Safety on. “What’s the plan once we’re inside?”“Calyx is a hub three hundred thousand permanent residents

Ashes and AftermathThe *Ebon Sparrow* hung in the void like a black needle against the starfield, cloaked and silent, three light-days out from the smoldering ruins of Obsidian Keep. For forty-eight hours we had done nothing but watch the sector unravel.Every major feed carried the footage Crab had uploaded in the final seconds before the fortress detonated: the Directorate’s faces, their voices, their plans laid bare. Names that had been myths—admirals, CEOs, intelligence chiefs—were now splashed across emergency broadcasts. Arrest warrants flew faster than light. Bank accounts frozen. Private fleets seized at dock. Entire governments teetered as compromised ministers fled or were dragged from offices in restraints.But wars do not end when the head is cut off. They convulse.Concordance cells—dozens, maybe hundreds—went dark or went loud. Some surrendered. Most fought. Suicide charges on Federation outposts. Assassinations of investigators. Sabotage of orbital infrastructure. Thre

The Reckoning WaveThe moon was called Serene Reach, a forgotten pearl in the Outer Volumes where the oceans glowed faint turquoise at night from bioluminescent plankton, and the only sounds were waves on black sand and the occasional cry of seabirds. We had been there for three months—longer than anywhere else since the war ended. Long enough to build routines. Long enough to almost believe the quiet was permanent.I woke before dawn, as always. Kessa was already up, standing on the balcony of our cliffside cabin, wrapped in a thin blanket, watching the horizon where the first sun would rise. Her silhouette was sharp against the pre-dawn indigo, hair loose and wild from sleep.I joined her without speaking. We had learned silence was sometimes better than words.She leaned back against me when I wrapped arms around her waist. Her skin was warm despite the cool breeze.“Dream?” I asked quietly.“Memory,” she corrected. “Varn’s voice. Telling me I’d come back.”I tightened my hold. “Y