Day 53 since his father died.
The mark went in the same place as the others—beneath the Dire Wolf's HUD lip, thin and clean. Not for ceremony. Not for grief. Just a count that didn't lie.
The next morning, the Leopard's bay smelled like paint solvent, hot metal, and fresh wiring. The kind of smell that meant the crew was still alive and planning to stay that way.
They worked in shifts.
Lyra ran the refit schedule like it was a flight deck during a storm—tight, calm, relentless. Taila stayed near the Griffin as if proximity alone could make the machine accept her faster. Jinx drifted between all of them like a mischievous current, offering help that mostly came in the form of distraction, teasing, and the occasional slap to Taila's ass that made Taila yelp and then glare like she wasn't secretly enjoying the attention.
Morrigan hovered at the edge of it all, gothic dress immaculate in a hangar full of grime, arms crossed, glare sharp enough to shave steel.
On the bay wall, the first clean rendering of their sigil glowed on a projector:
A dire wolf's head lifted in a howl, the moon caught between its jaws—a hard crescent like a trophy. Black base. Red accents. Simple, aggressive, unmistakable.
Jinx leaned back on a crate, eyes shining. "That's it. That's us."
Taila nodded, almost reverent. "Black and red."
Lyra made a small sound that meant I approve but I'm not saying it out loud. "Once it's on the hulls, it becomes a liability and a deterrent. People will remember you."
Dack watched the sigil in silence, then looked at his Dire Wolf's sanded plating—blank and waiting. "Good."
They started with the Dire Wolf.
A tech masked off panels while Lyra supervised the paint mix to keep it from gumming seals. Dack didn't hover. He just stood close enough that nobody got clever with his machine.
When the stencil went on, the wolf's jaw and moon curved clean along the Dire Wolf's chest plating. Red accents edged the lines like blood in a cut.
Jinx whistled. "Dire Wolf with a dire wolf on it. It's poetic."
Taila muttered, "It's intimidating."
Morrigan scoffed. "It's childish."
Jinx smiled sweetly at her. "You're childish."
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "I'm not—"
Dack's eyes flicked toward her once.
Morrigan snapped her mouth shut and glared harder, as if silence itself was a humiliation.
They painted the Highlander next—Moonjaw sigil on the left shoulder plate, red striping along the leg armor. Jinx insisted on a small red jaw-mark on the cockpit rim like lipstick. Lyra argued. Jinx pouted. Lyra compromised with a single tasteful stripe and looked like she regretted her own mercy immediately.
Taila chose the Griffin placement herself—sigil on the right torso, red accents down the arm plating. She watched the stencil go on like she was watching a name being written into history.
Then came the uniforms.
Jinx had been planning this like a campaign.
Black and red, tight and functional, with harness straps that looked good and still made sense. Cropped jackets. High boots. Gloves that didn't ruin grip. The result was combat-ready in the same way a knife was pretty—designed to be used.
Taila tried hers on first and immediately looked embarrassed by how well it fit. Jinx walked a slow circle around her like she was appraising merchandise.
"Perfect," Jinx declared.
Taila folded her arms. "It's… revealing."
Jinx grinned. "It's morale."
Lyra, standing nearby with her tablet, didn't look up fast enough to hide that she'd been staring.
Taila noticed and her cheeks warmed.
Lyra's cheeks warmed too, but she kept her voice steady. "As long as it doesn't impede movement, I don't care."
Jinx leaned in close to Lyra. "You care."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "I care about performance."
Jinx's grin turned wicked. "And your performance is great."
Lyra's ears went pink. "Jinx—"
Jinx didn't wait. She stepped in and licked Lyra's cheek—quick, blatant—like she was claiming a victory.
Lyra froze mid-breath, then wiped her cheek slowly with the back of her hand, eyes bright with embarrassment and something else.
Taila choked on a laugh.
Morrigan made a disgusted noise. "Animals."
Jinx shot her a grin. "Correct."
Lyra steadied herself, voice controlled. "Do not do that when we're dealing with contractors."
Jinx's smile softened. "Okay."
Then, just to be cruel, she added, "But your cheeks taste like you."
Lyra's face turned red all over again.
Dack didn't comment. He just checked a crate manifest and said, "Contract came in."
That snapped everyone back to work.
---
The job was supposed to be easy.
Escort and perimeter defense for a mining convoy moving equipment from Rook's Fall to a remote processing town out in the basalt badlands—three days' travel by heavy transport. Raiders had been hitting convoys, stripping parts, vanishing into canyon cuts. The pay was higher than it should've been for "just raiders."
Dack didn't like that.
Lyra didn't like it either. She pulled up the contract details, cross-referenced the client's credentials, and found too many gaps that could've been laziness—or deliberate obscuring.
Jinx liked the pay. Taila liked the idea of being useful. Morrigan liked nothing.
They dropped planet-side at dawn.
Lyra brought the Leopard in clean, staying high enough to avoid shoulder-fired AA that might be out there, but low enough to provide sensor coverage. The basalt badlands stretched beneath them like cooled lava—black rock, red dust, broken ridges, and long canyon scars that cut the earth into ambush lanes.
The convoy was waiting at a staging yard outside the mining town: heavy haulers, fuel trucks, flatbeds carrying machinery, and a few rented security vehicles that looked nervous.
Dack's Dire Wolf hit the ground first—heavy feet crushing basalt into crackling fragments. Jinx's Highlander landed next, steadier than the machine had any right to be. Taila's Griffin came down last, a half-second hesitant before it settled into stance.
Taila didn't speak for a moment after landing.
Then, quietly: "I'm good."
Dack didn't reassure her with words. He just keyed the lance channel. "Positions. Keep spacing. No hero moves."
Jinx laughed. "You're no fun."
Taila said, "Copy."
Lyra's voice came over comms from above. "Convoy is rolling. I have intermittent heat blooms on the canyon ridges four kilometers ahead—could be rocks cooling, could be mechs cold-starting. I'll keep eyes on it."
Dack's gaze stayed on the terrain. "They want canyon."
"Of course they do," Jinx said. "Everyone wants canyon."
The convoy rolled out.
The first hour was quiet. The second hour stayed too quiet.
By the third hour, Dack could feel the ambush like pressure behind the eyes.
The canyon cut appeared ahead—a long, shallow trench through basalt, with broken shelves and overhangs that could hide anything. The convoy slowed instinctively, drivers tightening up as if fear alone could stop missiles.
Dack didn't let them bunch.
He moved the Dire Wolf to the canyon mouth and paused, forcing the convoy to hold while he scanned.
Jinx's Highlander took a higher shelf on the right side, using elevation to widen sightlines without showing too much skyline.
Taila's Griffin held left, lower shelf, posture controlled.
Lyra's voice sharpened. "Contacts. Multiple. Cold-start just lit. I'm seeing a Jenner, a Locust, a Cicada—fast. There's a heavier heat signature deeper. Possibly a Hunchback."
Dack exhaled once. "Raiders."
Jinx sounded delighted. "Finally."
They hit like a knife.
The Locust appeared first—darting out of a side cut, sprinting toward the convoy's fuel truck like it wanted to make a bonfire. The Jenner followed, faster and meaner, angling for the lead hauler to stop the whole line. The Cicada moved wide, trying to flank toward the rear trucks.
Dack didn't wait.
The Dire Wolf's LRMs went out in a tight volley toward the Jenner's path—enough to force it to juke, scatter, lose momentum. He followed with a gauss shot that ripped a chunk of armor off the Cicada's torso as it tried to sprint past a rock spine.
Jinx's Highlander fired her gauss once from the ridge—clean, brutal—slamming the Locust mid-stride and sending it tumbling into basalt dust.
Taila's Griffin hesitated—just a fraction.
Dack caught it immediately. "Taila. Cicada. Left flank."
Taila's voice steadied. "Copy."
The Griffin's PPC flashed once, bright and harsh in the canyon shadow, catching the Cicada's leg and shaving armor away. Taila followed with a controlled missile burst—enough to keep pressure without locking herself into a panic cycle.
The Cicada tried to keep running anyway.
It limped.
Good.
The Jenner recovered from its juke and jumped—hard and aggressive—trying to land behind the lead hauler and cut it off. Dack shifted the Dire Wolf's bulk to deny the angle, stepping into the open just enough to become the bigger target.
A mine detonated under his left foot.
Not enough to cripple him. Enough to rattle the cockpit and spit warnings across his panel.
Dack didn't swear. He didn't flinch. He just adjusted, weight shifting, actuators compensating.
"Minefield," he said flatly. "They want us planted."
Lyra's voice came tight. "There's a second wave—deeper in the cut. I'm reading a Phoenix Hawk and yes—Hunchback confirmed. They're waiting for you to commit into the canyon."
Jinx laughed, sharp. "They're hunting the Dire Wolf."
Dack didn't deny it. "Stay out of the bowl."
The Phoenix Hawk jumped onto the left shelf, trying to pressure Taila and force her back. It fired as it landed, trying to rattle her confidence.
Taila's Griffin stepped back one pace—controlled, not panicked.
Then she fired again, PPC hitting the Phoenix Hawk's torso and forcing it to turn away.
Jinx made a pleased sound. "That's it."
The Hunchback finally revealed itself, stepping out of the deeper shadow—shoulder cannon aimed down the convoy line like it was choosing which civilian to erase.
Dack answered first.
LRMs streaked into the canyon, impacting around the Hunchback's cover, forcing it to shift. Jinx followed with a missile volley that chewed the rock edge away, exposing the Hunchback's shoulder mount.
The Hunchback fired anyway.
The shot punched into a hauler's trailer, shredding cargo and scattering mining equipment across the canyon floor in a spray of metal.
The driver screamed on open band.
Dack's voice cut in, hard and simple. "Keep moving."
The convoy drivers obeyed—terrified but moving. The line didn't stop. That mattered.
The Phoenix Hawk tried to take Taila again, closing distance with a jump that put it into her face.
Taila's breathing spiked on comms.
Then steadied.
She didn't freeze.
She pivoted, kept spacing, fired her LRMs to disrupt, then used the Griffin's mobility to slide along the shelf instead of backing into the bowl.
Dack saw it and approved without words.
Jinx saw it and approved loudly. "Yes! Run smart, not scared!"
Taila snapped, "I'm not scared."
Jinx laughed. "Sure."
The Jenner, damaged but still nasty, tried to dive at the rear trucks. Dack swung the Dire Wolf's torso, fired a gauss round that punched through the Jenner's right side plating, then followed with his autocannon—enough to force the Jenner to break off in a shower of sparks and dust.
The raiders started to realize this wasn't an easy convoy.
This was Moonjaw.
The Cicada, limping, tried to flee into a side cut.
Taila tracked it, jaw tight, then made a choice—she didn't chase deep. She fired one more controlled shot to finish the leg, dropping the Cicada to the ground.
The pilot ejected.
Taila stared at the smoking machine for a second too long.
Dack's voice cut in. "Eyes up. Phoenix Hawk still moving."
Taila snapped back. "Copy."
The Hunchback took another shot at the convoy.
Jinx jumped to a better angle, landed on a ridge shelf, and fired her gauss into the Hunchback's shoulder mount. The cannon twisted, half-destroyed.
Dack followed immediately—LRMs then autocannon—punching into the Hunchback's torso.
The Hunchback staggered.
Tried to backpedal.
Then collapsed into the canyon floor in a grinding, ugly heap.
The remaining raiders broke.
The Phoenix Hawk jumped away, trailing smoke. The Jenner limped into the dust. The Locust was already down. The canyon fell quiet except for the convoy engines and the crackle of cooling metal.
Lyra's voice came through, sharp and suspicious. "They didn't try to finish you. They tried to… measure you."
Dack looked at the dead Hunchback, then at the Phoenix Hawk's escape route. "Yeah."
Jinx sounded satisfied anyway. "Let them measure."
Taila's voice was smaller. "Why would they pay more for this contract if it was just raiders."
Dack didn't answer immediately.
Because the answer was obvious and it was bad.
They escorted the convoy the rest of the way without another attack, but the feeling didn't leave. Someone had paid to send those raiders into a canyon with a Dire Wolf.
Someone wanted eyes on Moonjaw.
They arrived at the processing town by late afternoon. The miners looked exhausted and grateful and afraid. They offered too much food and too many shaky thanks.
Dack didn't linger.
He walked the battlefield edge where the ejected Cicada pilot had bailed and found something that wasn't supposed to be there: a compact comms tag, scorched but readable, hidden in the Cicada's wreck near the cockpit frame.
Lyra analyzed it remotely, voice tight. "That's not pirate-standard. That's a tracking handshake. Whoever hired them wanted telemetry."
Jinx's laugh was colder. "Someone's shopping."
Taila's stomach tightened. "Shopping for what."
Dack stared at the tag. "For us."
---
They returned to Rook's Fall the next morning.
The spaceport looked the same—busy, ugly, armed. But now Dack felt eyes on them in a new way. Not curiosity. Interest.
Moonjaw's sigil was fresh on three hulls and it drew attention like blood in water.
Lyra brought the Leopard down clean, guided them into their bay, then immediately started checking inventories and logs. She didn't smile much, but her hands moved faster—like she was building safety out of lists.
Jinx climbed down from her Highlander, stretched, and immediately walked over to Lyra.
Lyra looked up warily. "What."
Jinx leaned in and licked Lyra's cheek again—slow, deliberate, claiming. "Welcome home."
Lyra's face turned bright red. "Jinx—!"
Taila laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth like she hadn't meant to.
Morrigan stood at the ramp in her lace and glare, watching all of it like she wanted to set the ship on fire.
Then she spoke, reluctantly. "My contact can deliver the interior parts today."
Lyra's expression sharpened instantly. "Names."
Morrigan hesitated, then rattled off two: a surplus broker, a furniture salvager, and a mechanic who did "quiet" refits for people who didn't want questions.
Lyra didn't trust it. She didn't trust Morrigan. But she also understood the value of cheap parts.
"We vet," Lyra said. "We inspect every piece."
Morrigan snapped, "Fine."
Jinx smirked. "Look at you being useful."
Morrigan glared. "Not because I want to."
Dack watched Morrigan carefully. "You don't meet anyone alone."
Morrigan's jaw clenched. "I'm not—"
Dack held her eyes.
Morrigan looked away first. "Fine."
They went to the Union yard after lunch.
The Union sat under its tarp like a sleeping animal, hull scarred, keel straight. Lyra looked at it like she was seeing a future she'd never allowed herself to want.
Jinx leaned close to Taila and whispered, "She wants to live in it."
Taila whispered back, "We all do."
Morrigan walked stiffly beside them, boots clicking, lace skirt brushing dust. Her glare was aimed at the Union, but her eyes flicked around like she was scanning for ghosts.
The "furniture" arrived in a cargo van with too-clean windows and a driver who didn't speak unless spoken to. Crates were unloaded—bulkhead panels, lighting strips, fold-down bunks, a galley module that smelled like bleach, and a sealed electronics box that was supposedly "filter controls."
Lyra insisted on opening everything.
The driver didn't like that.
Lyra didn't care.
She cracked the electronics box first.
Inside was a compact transmitter—small, flat, adhesive-backed. A tracker. The kind that pinged quietly to a relay until someone came close enough to follow.
Lyra went still.
Jinx's smile died.
Taila's stomach dropped.
Morrigan's face went pale under her makeup.
Dack's eyes narrowed. "Who."
Morrigan's voice came sharp and defensive, but there was real fear under it. "Not me."
Lyra didn't accuse. She didn't comfort. She just said, "Your channel is compromised."
Morrigan's hands clenched into fists. "I didn't know."
Jinx took a step toward her, expression hard. "Convenient."
Morrigan snapped, furious and terrified. "I said I didn't know!"
Dack cut through it. "Later."
He looked at Lyra. "How long."
Lyra's voice was tight. "Hard to say. Could've been pinging since it left their shop."
Dack turned his gaze outward, scanning the spaceport yard.
"Then they're close," he said.
And right on cue, the yard lights flickered.
A sharp crack sounded near the Union's landing strut—someone cutting power or trying to jam comms.
Lyra's voice snapped. "Multiple heat signatures. Fast. Coming from the storage lane."
Jinx's head turned, eyes narrowing. "They're here."
Taila's breath caught. "Now?"
Dack didn't waste time. "To cockpits."
They moved.
Not as civilians running.
As a unit.
Dack reached the Dire Wolf first. Jinx hit her Highlander ladder without breaking stride. Taila hesitated for half a second between Griffin and Centurion—
Dack's voice cut in. "Griffin."
Taila obeyed.
Lyra didn't climb into a mech. She sprinted for cover behind a cargo container, tablet in hand, shouting into comms as she rerouted sensors from the Leopard and piggybacked onto the spaceport's radar net.
Morrigan froze—caught between fleeing and fury.
Dack's voice came through external speakers as the Dire Wolf powered up. "Morrigan. Down."
Morrigan's eyes flashed. She wanted to refuse on principle.
Then she saw movement—men in work coveralls, weapons under jackets, sprinting low.
She dropped behind the container without another word.
The attackers hit fast.
Two light 'Mechs came around the far stack lane—painted plain, no markings, moving like they'd rehearsed this. A Firestarter first, then a Jenner behind it, both angling toward the Union like they intended to attach tow cables or burn the landing gear until the ship couldn't lift.
A pair of technical trucks followed with infantry in the beds—portable launchers, cutting tools, and at least one jammer.
This wasn't a raid for loot.
This was a snatch.
Jinx's Highlander moved out of the bay, heavy feet pounding concrete, and fired a missile volley to bracket the trucks—enough to shred pavement and force them to scatter.
The Firestarter answered by pushing forward, trying to get close enough to use its worst tools.
Dack's Dire Wolf stepped into the open and fired his LRMs in a tight spread, catching the Firestarter in the torso and forcing it to stagger back, armor smoking.
Taila's Griffin moved to the side, trying to find an angle without stepping into a mine trap that wasn't there—because this wasn't a battlefield, it was a yard, and that made it worse in its own way. Too many civilians. Too many containers. Too many angles.
Lyra's voice came through comms, clipped. "They're trying to jam the Leopard. I'm overriding through the tower net. You have ten seconds before your sensors degrade."
Dack answered once. "Copy."
Jinx laughed like she loved it anyway. "Ten seconds is plenty."
The Jenner tried to flank toward Taila, moving fast, hoping to pressure the new pilot.
Taila's breathing spiked.
Then steadied.
The Griffin's PPC flashed once—clean—catching the Jenner's leg and forcing it to stumble.
Taila followed with LRMs, not dumping everything, just enough to keep it honest.
Jinx saw it and shouted, "Good!"
The Firestarter pushed again, trying to get under the Dire Wolf's guns.
Dack pivoted, fired his autocannon once, then followed with a gauss shot that punched through the Firestarter's shoulder and tore armor off in a shower of fragments.
The Firestarter jerked back, smoke venting.
The infantry trucks tried to sprint closer to the Union under the chaos, and one of the men fired a portable launcher toward Lyra's container.
Lyra ducked as the blast tore chunks out of the container's edge.
She didn't scream. She didn't freeze.
She kept talking. "They have a tow rig hidden behind the second truck. They want the Union. They don't care if they die."
Jinx's missiles hit the second truck's wheel assembly and flipped it into a roll, spilling men across concrete.
Dack didn't focus on the men. He focused on the machines that could kill his crew.
The Firestarter tried one more desperate push.
Dack didn't let it.
LRMs again—then a gauss round into the center mass.
The Firestarter's cockpit glass spiderwebbed.
The light mech staggered, then stopped moving.
The Jenner, seeing its partner go down, tried to run.
Taila tracked it for a heartbeat—wanted to chase, wanted to prove herself.
Dack's voice cut in. "Don't chase. Hold."
Taila swallowed the urge and held position, Griffin steady, guns tracking the retreat lane without stepping into it.
Jinx let out a pleased sound. "She's learning."
The attackers realized the snatch had failed. The remaining infantry tried to scatter into the storage lanes.
One of them threw something—another tracker, maybe, or a smoke beacon—toward the Union.
Morrigan, still behind cover, snatched it without thinking and crushed it under her boot heel.
She looked up with fury and shouted, "Get out of here!"
Nobody acknowledged her.
But Dack saw it.
He filed it away.
The last truck peeled away, limping.
Jinx started to move as if to pursue.
Dack's voice cut in. "No."
Jinx bristled. "We can catch them."
"We hold what matters," Dack said. "They want us to leave the yard. They want us split."
Jinx hesitated—then stopped.
Taila's voice came quiet. "So they get away."
Dack's reply was simple. "They didn't get the ship."
Lyra's breathing came through comms, tight. "I got a ping trace. Not precise. But I have a direction—storage lane to the east, out toward the old civilian pad."
Dack looked toward the lane, then back at the Union.
Then at his crew.
He stayed.
The choice was visible to everyone.
Jinx's grin faded into something warmer. Taila's chest loosened. Lyra—still behind cover—closed her eyes for half a second, relief sharp enough to sting.
Morrigan stared at Dack like she couldn't process it.
She'd expected punishment. Expected yelling. Expected blame.
Instead, Dack said only, "We lock down."
---
They stripped the tracker out of the crate, then stripped every crate that had arrived with it. Lyra personally inspected the Union's interior access points with a handheld scanner, checking for adhesive tags in vents, behind panels, inside galley modules.
Jinx hovered behind her like a menace.
Every few minutes she'd get close enough to make Lyra flinch, then murmur something about "big tits in a cramped corridor" just to watch Lyra turn red.
Lyra finally snapped without raising her voice. "If you keep doing that, I'm assigning you to latrine duty."
Jinx blinked. "We have a latrine?"
Lyra's eyes were cold. "We will."
Taila laughed so hard she had to lean on a bulkhead.
Morrigan glared at the whole scene and muttered, "Insane."
Jinx shot her a grin. "You're still here."
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "Not because I want to be."
Dack stayed mostly silent during the lock-down, but his presence anchored the chaos. He checked the perimeter. He spoke to the tower operator. He made it clear to the employer's security that if anyone came near the Union again without permission, they'd have a bad day.
By nightfall, the Union yard was secured with rented guards and the Leopard's sensors tied into the spaceport net.
Lyra finally set her tablet down.
She looked exhausted.
Jinx appeared behind her and, without warning, kissed the side of Lyra's neck—quick, teasing. Lyra stiffened, then exhaled like her body didn't know whether to fight or lean.
Taila watched, cheeks warm, heart beating too fast.
Dack watched too—quiet, steady.
Lyra turned her head, eyes bright with embarrassment and irritation. "Jinx."
Jinx smiled. "You did good today."
Lyra swallowed. "So did you."
Jinx's grin softened. "Yeah."
Taila stepped closer—hesitant, then braver—and kissed Lyra on the cheek, quick. "Thank you."
Lyra blinked, then her expression softened. "You're welcome."
Morrigan watched from the corridor edge, arms crossed, gothic dress like a black flag.
She looked away first.
---
Later, when the Leopard was quiet and the bay lights were dim, Dack climbed into the Dire Wolf cockpit alone for a minute.
He scratched another line beneath the HUD.
Day 54.
He stared at it.
The job had been "easy." The contract had been "just raiders." The parts had been "cheap."
Every lie had teeth.
Moonjaw had made its first public step, and the universe had already answered by trying to tag their new home and drag it away.
Dack closed the cockpit hatch, sat in the dark for a moment, then opened it again and climbed down.
In the corridor outside, Lyra was waiting like she'd been waiting on purpose.
She didn't say anything.
She just stepped close enough that their shoulders brushed.
Dack let it happen.
Down the hall, Jinx's laughter drifted—low, satisfied—followed by Taila's embarrassed protest and then a quieter sound that made Lyra's cheeks warm.
Morrigan's door slammed somewhere farther back, as if she could shut out the whole world with force.
Dack looked at Lyra and said, "Tomorrow we fix the Union."
Lyra nodded. "Tomorrow."
Then she lifted her hand and touched his wrist—brief, steady.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For staying."
Dack didn't answer with anything dramatic.
He just squeezed her fingers once and let go.
Because the next days were already coming.
And Moonjaw was officially on someone's list.