Day 56 since his father died.
Dack scratched the line beneath the Dire Wolf's HUD lip—thin, clean, precise. Same place. Same ritual. Not prayer. Not grief. Just time, counted like ammo.
Outside the cockpit, Rook's Fall kept pretending it was civilized.
Inside their little slice of it, Moonjaw got sharper.
The Union-class DropShip sat in the yard under tarps and lights, big enough to be a future and expensive enough to be a target. The Leopard stayed close, a loyal knife of a ship that could lift fast if the port decided to get stupid.
And inside the Leopard's bay, the Dire Wolf, Highlander, Griffin, and Centurion stood in various states of open panels and fresh scars—metal guts exposed, armor plates tagged, wiring bundles hanging like veins. The new Moonjaw sigils—black wolf, red accents, moon in its jaws—looked too clean against patched plating.
Too new.
Too loud.
Lyra moved through the Union's interior with a screwdriver, a scanner, and an expression like she was building a wall around the people she'd chosen. Tablet tucked under one arm, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up—she looked more dangerous than half the mercs outside just by being competent.
Jinx followed like a predator with a grin. Taila followed like a student who refused to be left behind. Morrigan followed because Dack said so—then lingered because she didn't have anywhere else to put herself.
They started with the ship's veins.
Lyra popped an access panel in the Union's mid-corridor and ran the scanner along the power bus. "If someone sticks a transmitter anywhere, it needs power or it needs a battery. If it needs a battery, it needs range. Either way, we can catch it."
Jinx leaned in close behind her, voice sweet. "You're so hot when you're paranoid."
Lyra didn't look back. "I'm not paranoid."
Jinx smiled wider. "You're prepared."
Taila tried not to laugh. Failed. Her cheeks warmed and she covered it by reaching for a tool. "Where do you want the motion sensors?"
Lyra glanced at her, and her expression softened—brief, real. "Chokepoints. Junctions. Cargo hold entries. Anywhere someone would pass if they tried to move inside without permission."
Taila nodded, serious. "Okay."
Morrigan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, gothic dress absurd in a steel corridor. She watched Lyra scan the seams, then muttered, almost against her will, "Check the galley bulkhead bracket."
Lyra paused. "Why."
Morrigan's jaw tightened. "Old pirate trick. Hide pucks behind brackets. He—" She stopped herself, then forced the rest out like it tasted bitter. "My father did it."
Lyra didn't comment on the father part. She just nodded once and moved.
The puck was there.
A dead one—old battery, dusty adhesive.
Taila's stomach tightened. "How many."
Lyra's voice stayed calm, clipped. "Enough that we sweep everything, mark everything, and assume every crate is poisoned until proven otherwise."
Jinx grinned. "Music to my ears."
Morrigan scoffed. "You're all insane."
Jinx shot her a smile. "You're still here."
Morrigan's glare sharpened. "Not because I want to be."
Dack's voice came from behind them, steady. "Keep sweeping."
Morrigan snapped her mouth shut again. But she didn't leave.
That was new.
---
They spent three days doing it properly.
Lyra turned the Union from "big stolen ship" into "ship that bites back" in clean, practical steps:
Compartment locks on bay doors and sensitive lockers
Tamper seals on access panels and vents
Passive RF sniffers tied into the ship's bus to alert the moment a transmitter woke up
Motion sensors in corridor junctions and cargo entries
A silent alarm loop tied to the Leopard's net until the Union's internal system was fully rebuilt
Taila helped where she could and watched when she couldn't. She learned the difference between "pretty" and "functional" the way pilots learned everything—by watching consequences.
Jinx "helped" by making the corridors feel smaller on purpose. She'd brush Taila's hip as she passed. Tug at Taila's harness strap and grin when Taila flushed. Lean into Lyra's space and enjoy the way Lyra's composure tightened.
Morrigan started pointing things out before anyone asked.
"False panel there," she'd mutter, pointing at a seam.
"Vent leads to a crawl space."
"That light fixture's been replaced—check behind it."
Each time she did, she acted like it was annoying that she knew. Like knowledge was a burden she wanted to throw away.
But she kept sharing it.
Taila caught her once in the Union's crew quarters bay, staring at an empty bunk frame with a rigid stillness.
"You can pick," Taila said quietly.
Morrigan didn't look at her. "It doesn't matter."
"It does," Taila replied. "If you're sleeping here, it matters."
Morrigan's jaw clenched. "I'm not staying."
Taila didn't push. She just stood there, steady. "Pick anyway."
Morrigan's eyes flicked to her—sharp, defensive—then away. "Top bunk."
Taila nodded. "Okay."
Morrigan's voice came grudging. "Black sheets."
Taila's mouth twitched. "Jinx will love that."
Morrigan snapped, "Don't tell her."
Taila smiled despite herself. "No promises."
Morrigan glared, but it wasn't as sharp as it used to be.
---
On the third evening, when the Union sweep was finally clean enough to breathe, Lyra pulled Dack aside in the Leopard corridor outside the cockpit hatch.
The corridor hum was loud. The bulkheads were thin. Lyra chose the spot anyway, like she'd decided she was done hiding behind walls.
She stood close, tablet tucked under her arm like she didn't need it but still wanted something in her hands.
"I talked to them," Lyra said.
Dack's eyes narrowed slightly. "Who."
Lyra's cheeks warmed. "Taila. Jinx."
Dack waited.
Lyra took a breath, steadying herself. "I told them… I wanted my first time with you to be alone. Not because I'm ashamed. Because I wanted it to be ours, without an audience. They approved."
Silence hung for a beat.
Then Dack nodded once. Simple. Accepting. No questions that felt like pressure.
Lyra's shoulders loosened. "I didn't want you thinking I was trying to… take something from them."
Dack's voice was low. "You're not."
Lyra's eyes held his. "They said I should ask you directly."
Dack didn't smile. But something in his face softened—just enough. "You are."
Lyra exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for days. Then, carefully, she touched his wrist—brief, steady. Permission given and taken in the smallest possible way.
Dack's hand closed around her fingers for a second.
Then he led her into his compartment without ceremony.
No show. No performance.
Just a small room, a narrow bunk, the ship's hum, and Lyra setting down her tablet like she was setting down the last piece of distance between them.
They kissed slow at first—Lyra's hands on his chest, Dack's hands on her waist, steady enough to anchor her. When Lyra's breath hitched, Dack paused. When she leaned back in, he matched her pace.
The night stayed private.
Warmth. Skin. Quiet sounds swallowed by the ship.
And when it was over, Lyra lay against him with her cheek on his shoulder and her fingers tracing the edge of the Moonjaw patch like she was memorizing that she belonged.
Her voice came soft, honest. "Thank you."
Dack's hand rested on her back. "Sleep."
Lyra smiled into his skin—small, satisfied, safe.
---
Day 57 came with grease under nails and a new kind of energy in the galley.
Jinx was already there, lounging like she owned the ship, black-and-red Moonjaw suit hugging her curves, red jacket half-zipped. Taila sat across from her in her own tight kit—halter top under the jacket, red-striped leggings—trying to look calm and failing.
Lyra walked in, hair slightly damp, face composed… but there was a faint glow to her cheeks that didn't come from the galley lights.
Jinx's eyes locked on her immediately.
"Oh," Jinx purred, smiling like a cat. "Good morning."
Lyra froze for half a second, then kept walking like she didn't understand subtext. "Good morning."
Jinx leaned forward. "You look… rested."
Lyra's ears went pink. "I slept."
Taila, to Lyra's surprise, didn't look away.
Taila leaned her chin on her hand and said, almost shy but still teasing, "You're smiling."
Lyra blinked. "I'm not."
Taila's mouth twitched. "You are."
Jinx grinned wider. "She is."
Lyra's face heated. "You two—"
Jinx cut her off by standing and casually licking Lyra's cheek—quick, bold—then stepping back with satisfaction like she'd signed a document.
Lyra's eyes widened. "Jinx!"
Jinx shrugged. "Verification."
Taila covered her mouth to hide her laugh. It didn't work.
Lyra wiped her cheek, mortified and glowing. "Not in the galley."
Jinx's grin turned wicked. "So… later."
Lyra opened her mouth to threaten latrine duty, then closed it when she realized she was still blushing too hard to sound threatening.
Taila stood and, very carefully, stepped into Lyra's space and kissed her cheek once—gentler than Jinx, more sincere.
"Welcome," Taila murmured.
Lyra's breath caught.
Jinx's eyebrows rose. "Ohhhh. Taila's brave."
Taila's face went red. "Shut up."
Jinx laughed, delighted.
Dack stepped into the galley then, expression neutral, like he hadn't just changed the shape of the crew's gravity the night before.
He looked at the three women, then said, "We cut the tag chain tonight."
Jinx snapped back into work mode instantly. Taila straightened. Lyra's expression sharpened like a blade sliding into place.
Morrigan, in the doorway behind them, glared at all of it—then looked away too fast when Taila caught her watching.
---
Lyra and Morrigan traced the tracker's origin the clean way: maker's stamp, adhesive supplier, shipping lane, falsified registry. Morrigan's reluctant knowledge filled in gaps that paperwork couldn't.
"That glue," Morrigan said, tapping a photo on Lyra's tablet, "comes through Dockside Krail. East pad. Old civilian storage lane. He sells to crews who don't ask questions."
Lyra's fingers moved fast, building a map. "He's a distributor. Not the brain."
Morrigan's mouth tightened. "No. He's a mouth. Someone feeds him."
Jinx smiled. "Then we remove the mouth."
Taila swallowed. "Quiet."
Dack nodded. "Quiet."
They took the Leopard for overwatch—fast lift, fast extraction. Lyra stayed in the air where she could see angles and pull strings. On the ground it was three hulls:
Dire Wolf (Dack)
Highlander (Jinx)
Griffin (Taila)
Taila's Centurion stayed back in the bay—ready, but not needed for a surgical hit.
Lyra's voice came through comms as the Leopard circled the east pad. "Warehouse line ahead. Two structures. Scrap-wall maze. Heat signatures inside. Light 'Mechs on standby—Flea and Jenner. Vehicles with portable launchers."
Jinx's laugh was low. "Perfect."
Dack's reply was simple. "Go."
They moved across container graves and broken tarmac under harsh floodlights. No hero rush. No splitting.
The Flea darted out first—fast, twitchy—trying to tag and run. Jinx answered with a gauss shot that folded it into scrap in one ugly moment.
The Jenner angled toward Taila immediately, aggressive, trying to test the new pilot.
Taila's breathing spiked on comms—then steadied.
The Griffin's PPC flashed once, forcing the Jenner to juke. Taila followed with a controlled LRM burst—enough to keep pressure without dumping her whole load.
"Don't let it sit in your pocket," Jinx called.
Taila snapped, "I know."
The Jenner tried anyway, using the scrap wall for cover.
Dack shifted the Dire Wolf to cut the lane, fired his autocannon into the scrap wall itself, collapsing a section and forcing the Jenner into open ground.
Taila seized the opening—another clean shot, then missiles—catching the Jenner's leg.
It buckled.
The machine went down hard.
The pilot ejected in a burst of flame and fear.
Lyra's voice stayed clipped and focused. "Patrol swing in four minutes."
Dack didn't linger. "Inside."
They punched through the warehouse doors with brute force and found exactly what they'd expected: racks of adhesive pucks, false panel kits, comms boards logging pings, and a tow rig staged behind a curtain wall—built for snatch work.
A foreman tried to run.
Dack stopped him by stepping into his path like a wall.
Jinx climbed down from her Highlander ladder and grabbed the man by the collar, eyes bright and cold. "Who paid you."
The foreman stammered, shaking. "I—listen—this is just business—"
Dack's voice cut in. "Name."
The foreman swallowed hard. "A handler. Calls himself Vanta. I never see him. He pays through dead accounts. Wants telemetry—what units can do, what they carry, how they respond."
Lyra's voice came sharp over comms. "Vanta is a network node, not a person. But it's a lead."
Taila's stomach tightened. "Who buys the data."
The foreman licked his lips. "Pirate syndicates. Minor houses. Anyone who wants to know what they're up against before they commit."
Dack's eyes narrowed. "You tagged our Union."
The foreman shook. "I didn't know it was yours. It was just a fresh Union, new merc logo, rumors—"
Jinx smiled like a knife. "Rumors travel fast."
Dack leaned slightly closer. "Where do we find the relay."
The foreman's eyes darted. "Old civilian comm tower. East ridge. The pings go there first. If you pull the logs—"
Lyra cut in immediately. "I can pull logs if we can access the tower hardware."
Dack nodded once. "We will."
They stripped what mattered—sample trackers, comm hardware, account IDs, anything Lyra could use—then destroyed the rest. Controlled. Thorough. No trophies.
They left before patrol rolled through.
By the time port security arrived, all they found was a burned-out warehouse and a new message on the wind:
Moonjaw bites back.
---
Back in the Leopard's bay, everything felt tighter—not in a bad way. In a real way.
Taila climbed down from the Griffin and stood a little taller. Jinx was buzzing with adrenaline, eyes bright. Lyra went straight to her tablet, already building a trace map off the warehouse data.
Morrigan stood near the bay door, arms crossed as usual, gothic dress like a black flag.
But when Lyra glanced up and said, "You gave us the right direction," Morrigan didn't scoff.
She hesitated… then muttered, "He would've done worse if he got the ship."
Taila blinked. That wasn't a denial. That was… concern.
Jinx sauntered past Lyra and, instead of licking her, kissed her cheek once—hot, quick, approving. "Good work, pilot."
Lyra flushed anyway. "Jinx."
Jinx grinned. "What? I'm behaving."
Taila, emboldened by earlier, stepped in and kissed Lyra's other cheek—gentle, shy. "You did really good."
Lyra's eyes softened. "Thank you."
Morrigan watched the exchange, expression unreadable—then looked away like she'd been caught staring at something she didn't understand.
Dack climbed back into the Dire Wolf cockpit before sleep and scratched another line under the HUD.
Day 58.
Time kept moving.
Moonjaw had cut one leash.
And now they had a name—Vanta—and a place—an old comm tower—where the next thread could be pulled.