* * *
Still, she was being watched; she’d felt a pair of eyes on her ever since she had disembarked. And then there was this other ship. The closer she grew, the more she began to think it was, in fact, operational.
“Something’s not right,” she whispered, clenching her jaw.
“Very perceptive! I expected nothing less,” a disembodied voice boomed.
Vladia reached for her weapon, only to remember that she hadn't been armed since her encounter with Malthus on the Dragoon.
In her peripheral, a nearby viewscreen flickered on. There, a man with stark white hair and a wide, toothy smile spoke: “Nice to finally meet you, daughter of Robespierre.”
* * *