DAY 97 — 09:36 (LOCAL)
The sun over Harrow's Wake was a tired thing—thin light filtered through refinery haze, turning everything into a smear of gold over gray. The kind of morning that made you feel like the planet didn't believe in clean beginnings.
Moonjaw came back from Slag Cut Delta in pieces that still moved.
The Dire Wolf stomped up the Union's ramp first, armor scabbed with fresh impacts, heat stains dark along the right torso plating. Behind it, Jinx's Highlander clanged in, proud and loud, the gauss housing still smoking faintly as coolant cycled. Quill's Awesome followed like a walking tower, PPC capacitors ticking down. Taila's Marauder came in measured and careful, its left side scored where the Adder had tried to punish her. Morrigan's Orion limped last, braced and battered, but upright—refusing the idea of defeat with the same stubbornness Morrigan wore like perfume.
The bay doors sealed.
The outside world became a muffled roar behind steel.
The crew exhaled in little ways they didn't admit. Mina's shoulders dropped the moment the internal pressure equalized. Elowen sat at her station and realized she'd been holding her breath since the Clan DropShip had touched down. Sera did a quiet weapons check even though no one was firing. Rina's hands trembled as she unclipped her helmet, and she didn't know if it was fear or adrenaline or the memory of a throat erupting under her rifle sight.
Lyra didn't let anyone drift.
"Payment confirmed," she said, voice steady over internal comms. "Full contract plus hazard bonus. Employer wants a statement for the depot's news feed. Something brief. Something that doesn't name us as thieves with a JumpShip."
Jinx's voice popped in immediately. "Say 'Moonjaw doesn't lose.'"
Morrigan muttered, "God, you're unbearable."
Lyra ignored both. She looked at Dack when he climbed down from the Dire Wolf, black pilot suit clinging with sweat, hair damp, face composed like nothing had happened.
"Dack," she said, "we need to talk about salvage and repairs before Harrow's Wake tries to bleed us for docking fees."
Dack nodded once. "After."
Lyra's eyes narrowed slightly. "After what."
Dack didn't look away. "Helena."
That name changed the room.
Not loudly. Just… a tightening. Taila's posture shifted. Jinx's grin thinned. Quill's gaze went flat and watchful. Morrigan's mouth curled like she wanted to spit.
Lyra held Dack's eyes for a beat, then nodded. "I'll prep the room."
He didn't ask for permission. He didn't dramatize it. He just walked out of the mech bay with the same steady pace he'd used walking toward the Summoner's guns.
Jinx fell into step beside him like a shadow with blond hair and bad ideas.
"You want us there?" she asked.
"No," Dack said.
Jinx pouted. "Rude."
He didn't soften. "You'll make it worse."
Jinx's pout turned into a grin. "That's fair."
Taila trailed a few steps behind, quiet but present. She didn't ask. She just followed far enough to know where he went, close enough to feel like she could pull him back if he started walking into another fire.
Dack didn't tell her to stop.
He didn't tell her to come closer either.
He reached the secured compartment Lyra had converted into a controlled briefing space—plain table, two chairs, a camera in the corner, and a door with a lock that clicked like a gun being cocked.
Lyra was already there, slate in hand.
"Cameras live," she said. "Audio live. If she lies, we'll have it."
Dack answered, "Good."
Lyra hesitated. "You want Quill present?"
Dack shook his head. "No."
"And the others?"
"No."
Lyra nodded once, then stepped to the door control and keyed it open.
Helena Varrik walked in like she'd decided she was tired of being a prisoner and didn't care whether the universe agreed.
Simple clothes. Hair pulled back. Face composed. No jewelry, no finery, none of the pageantry she'd worn like armor when she'd been "Mother Lark."
Just a woman with sharp eyes and a controlled mouth, stepping into a room where the man she'd tried to destroy sat waiting.
Dack didn't offer her a chair.
Helena didn't wait for an invitation.
She sat anyway.
Dack sat opposite her.
Lyra stayed by the door, not looming, not friendly—just present, slate angled, camera watching.
The lock clicked shut behind them.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
The silence wasn't awkward.
It was loaded.
Dack broke it.
"Start," he said.
Helena's gaze didn't flinch away. "You beat Jade Shadow."
Dack didn't react. "Start."
Helena's mouth twitched faintly—half amusement, half resignation. "Fine."
She took a slow breath.
Then she began, and her voice shifted into something that sounded like a confession without the softness people expected from confessions.
"I grew up with a sister who was everything I wasn't allowed to be," Helena said. "Selena was… light. Easy. People looked at her and saw something they wanted to protect."
Dack's jaw tightened at the name, but he didn't interrupt.
Helena continued. "I was the other one. The one who learned early that being overlooked could be useful. That being underestimated made you dangerous."
Lyra's stylus moved across her slate.
Helena's eyes stayed on Dack. "You think this began when I hired Kess."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "Didn't it."
Helena shook her head once. "It began years before that. It began with Ronan."
The name hit like a dull impact.
Dack's fingers tightened on the table edge.
Helena watched the reaction like she'd earned the right to see it. "Ronan Jarn came through our region like men like him always do—big machine, bigger reputation, and the kind of smile that made stupid people feel chosen."
Morrigan would've spat at that. Jinx would've laughed. Taila would've flinched.
Dack just stared.
Helena's voice stayed even. "He didn't want Selena. Not at first. He wanted me."
Lyra's eyes flicked up.
Dack didn't move. "Explain."
Helena's gaze drifted for a heartbeat, as if she was watching a memory like a film projected on the inside of her skull.
"He came to a function," she said. "Some small noble house pretending it mattered. He was there to negotiate parts and repair access. He found me because I was the only one who spoke to him like he was a man and not a legend."
Her mouth tightened. "I thought I was special."
Dack's voice was quiet. "You weren't."
Helena didn't deny it. "No. I wasn't."
She leaned forward a fraction, as if proximity could make the next part hurt less.
"He courted me. Quietly. Not tenderly—Ronan wasn't tender—but directly. He talked about leaving this side of the Periphery behind, building something. He asked what I wanted."
Her eyes sharpened. "No one had ever asked me that."
Dack said nothing.
Helena continued. "Then Selena met him."
The words tasted bitter even when she didn't say them like poison.
"She didn't know," Helena said. "I need you to understand that. She didn't know that I loved him, we were... courting. She didn't know he'd promised me a future while he was still measuring her with his eyes."
Dack's face didn't change.
But something in his stare went colder.
Helena watched it and kept going anyway. "Ronan liked Selena because she was easy. Because she looked at him like he was safe. Because she didn't challenge him."
A beat.
"And because he could hurt me through her."
Lyra's voice was calm. "Why would he do that."
Helena's smile was humorless. "Because men like that collect power in every form. And because he saw, very quickly, that I was not the kind of woman who stayed grateful."
Dack's knuckles whitened.
Helena's voice lowered. "He left me. Without a word. Without closure. One week I was being courted. The next week I was being avoided."
She looked at Dack like she was pinning him to the chair with the next sentence.
"And then Selena was pregnant."
Dack's throat moved once. "Me."
Helena nodded. "You."
The room went quiet again, thick as oil.
Helena didn't flinch. "Selena thought he'd chosen her because she was loved. She didn't understand he'd chosen her because she was convenient."
Dack's voice was flat. "And you."
Helena's eyes sharpened. "And me."
She exhaled. "I could have killed her."
Lyra's stylus paused.
Helena lifted one hand slightly, palm open—no drama, just truth. "But I didn't. I didn't even touch her. I ignored her instead. I cut her out of my life like she wasn't my blood."
Dack's stare stayed locked on her. "Why."
Helena's lips pressed into a line. "Because if I looked at her, I'd have to admit the truth: he didn't choose the better woman. He chose the easier one."
Dack said, "So you killed him."
Helena closed her eyes for a heartbeat. When she opened them, she looked older. Not weak. Just… worn.
"Yes," she said. "I set the pieces. I didn't pull a trigger in a cockpit. But I made it happen."
Lyra's voice stayed careful. "How."
Helena's gaze flicked to the camera and back to Dack. "You already have part of it—the ledger chain you stole off HRR, the sanitize directive, the procurement stamp. Those weren't born on Harrow's Wake."
Dack didn't interrupt.
Helena spoke like she was listing parts on a manifest. "I found people who needed dirty work done without fingerprints. I gave them Ronan's routines. His travel windows. His mechanical dependencies. I gave them a weakness they could exploit."
She paused. "And I paid for it with something they actually valued."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "What."
Helena's mouth tightened. "Me."
The word landed heavy.
Dack's gaze didn't soften. "Explain."
Helena's answer was blunt. "I became an asset. A liaison. A deniable conduit between procurement people who wanted tech and enforcement people who wanted leverage. If you're useful, they don't kill you. They cage you."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Featherline."
Helena nodded. "Featherline was one face. HRR was another. The names shift. The method doesn't."
Dack leaned forward slightly. "Where does Clan Jade Shadow enter."
Helena's eyes flicked away for the first time, a micro-hesitation that told Dack more than a paragraph would.
"Later," she said.
Dack stared. "Now."
Helena's mouth pressed thin. "Jade Shadow was… an observer at first. A pressure. A reminder that power existed outside House law. They didn't own Featherline. Featherline didn't own them. But there were points where their interests overlapped."
Lyra's voice was calm. "Tech. Jump capacity. Procurement."
Helena didn't answer directly. That was answer enough.
Dack's tone sharpened. "You set up my father's death. Then what."
Helena swallowed once. "Then I tried to erase the proof of what I'd done."
Dack didn't blink. "Me."
Helena's eyes stayed on him. "Not you at first. Ronan's property. His machine. His name."
She leaned back slightly, and her voice took on the shape of memory again.
"When Ronan died, there was chaos. Claims. Salvage rights. People circling like carrion birds. I saw the Dire Wolf on the list and I wanted it destroyed, stolen, buried—anything that made it stop being a monument to him."
Dack's voice was cold. "So you sent Kess."
Helena nodded. "Yes."
Lyra's stylus moved again.
Helena continued. "Kess wasn't supposed to learn you existed. He was supposed to walk into a trap you didn't survive."
Dack's stare didn't move. "And Taila."
Helena's jaw tightened. "Collateral. A bondsman problem created by someone else. Not mine."
Dack's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie."
Helena met his gaze. "I'm not. I didn't plan Taila. Kess did. His trap did. The universe did."
Lyra's voice stayed clinical. "Sable."
Helena's mouth curled faintly. "Sable was the cleaner. Kess was a thief. Sable was a knife."
Dack's tone stayed blunt. "He failed."
Helena's eyes flicked toward the floor. "Yes."
Then she looked back up. "And that failure started collapsing my leverage. The people I was tied to don't forgive failures. They cut them out."
Dack's voice was flat. "So you ran."
Helena shook her head. "No. I did what I always did. I adapted."
She looked at Dack as if he was the only person in the room who would understand that without needing it prettied up.
"I pivoted," she said. "I made myself valuable again. I fed them progress. I fed them routes. I fed them targets."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Your own people."
Helena's lips pressed thin. "Anyone they told me to."
The air in the room tightened.
Dack's voice came very quiet. "And Selena."
Helena's face changed again at that name. Not a performance. A real fracture.
"I didn't touch her," Helena said. "I didn't order her death. I didn't order her capture."
Dack didn't blink. "But."
Helena's breath left her slowly. "But I let the world move around her without warning her. I let her believe Ronan's death was just… war. Bad luck. Raiders. Anything but me."
Lyra's voice was colder. "Because you wanted her to keep living in the lie."
Helena nodded once. "Yes."
Dack's gaze bored into her. "Where is she."
Helena shook her head again, and this time it wasn't defiance. It was something like anger at herself.
"I don't know," she said. "Not for certain."
Dack's jaw tightened. "Not for certain."
Helena leaned forward again, the first real urgency slipping into her voice.
"I lost her," Helena said. "I ignored her until ignoring her became distance. Then distance became… absence."
Lyra's stylus paused. "Define absence."
Helena swallowed. "Selena disappeared from the channels. No messages. No requests. No sightings. No registry hits that made sense. She became… a blank space."
Dack's eyes went colder. "And you didn't search."
Helena held his gaze. "Not at first."
Dack's voice was flat. "Why."
Helena's mouth tightened. "Because if I searched, I'd find something. And if I found something, I'd have to face what I did."
Silence again.
Dack leaned back slightly in the chair, but it didn't read as easing. It read as him bracing.
Lyra broke the quiet. "The file Elowen pulled. 'SELENA.' It's tied to Featherline routing."
Helena's eyes snapped up. "Featherline has her."
Lyra didn't assert. She stayed honest. "We don't know. But her name was tagged."
Helena's face went pale for a heartbeat—just the faintest drain of color.
Then she recovered, composure returning like armor sliding back into place.
"They'll have used her," Helena said quietly. "If they found her. If they realized she was connected to Ronan and to you… they'd use her."
Dack's voice was ice. "For what."
Helena met his eyes. "Leverage."
The word didn't need explanation.
Dack's hands stayed flat on the table. His voice stayed blunt.
"You started this because Ronan hurt your pride," he said.
Helena's mouth twitched. "No."
Dack's eyes narrowed.
Helena's voice sharpened just slightly. "I started this because he made me small. He made me disposable. He made me feel like the only way to matter was to become the thing people feared."
Her gaze stayed pinned to Dack. "And then I couldn't stop. Because every step forward locked me into the next one."
Lyra asked, "And now."
Helena's eyes flicked to the camera, then to Dack again. "Now you beat Jade Shadow. Now you stole a JumpShip. Now Featherline burned a retrieval team to reach me and failed."
She leaned forward a fraction, voice low.
"Now the people who built the cage around me are going to decide whether I'm still useful," Helena said. "And if I'm not…"
Dack finished it. "They sanitize."
Helena nodded once. "Yes."
Dack sat still for a long moment.
Then he asked the question that mattered more than blame.
"What do you want."
Helena held his gaze.
For the first time, her voice softened—not into pleading, not into romance. Into something like exhausted honesty.
"I want to live," she said. "And I want to stop running from the thing I did."
Dack didn't react.
Helena's mouth tightened. "I don't expect forgiveness. I don't expect warmth."
Her eyes flicked briefly away, then back. "But I want a chance to… become something else."
Lyra's voice was cool. "And you think Dack is your chance."
Helena's gaze stayed on Dack. "He's the only person who has beaten everyone I used."
The words were ugly.
They were also true.
Dack stared at her for a long time.
Then he said, blunt and final, "You don't get 'something else' for free."
Helena nodded once. "I know."
Dack's voice stayed flat. "You help me find Selena."
Helena's eyes sharpened. "If I can—"
"If you can't," Dack said, cutting through, "then you still tell me everything you know about how Featherline works. Names. routes. habits. You give me a map of the cage."
Helena swallowed once. "Yes."
Lyra tapped her slate, bringing up a set of files—fragments Elowen had stabilized, route markers that weren't complete but weren't nothing.
Helena's gaze flicked to it, and Dack saw something in her eyes that looked like fear—real fear, not performance.
"That's… that's theirs," she murmured. "That's their style."
Dack's voice was flat. "So you recognize it."
Helena nodded slowly. "Yes."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Then start naming."
Helena hesitated—just long enough to prove she still had instincts for survival.
Then she started talking again, and now her words were less memory and more machinery.
"Featherline uses shells," she said. "They don't move assets directly. They move them through 'compliance transfers'—paper trails that look like debt collection or contract enforcement. They'll route through small ports, cheap stations, places with corrupt registrars."
Lyra asked, "Where."
Helena's gaze stayed on the map. "Edge worlds. Industrial slums. Places like Harrow's Wake. Places that don't ask why a woman disappears."
Dack's jaw tightened.
Helena continued, "If Selena is in their system, she won't be called Selena. She'll be called a number. Or a 'dependent.' Or a 'contract liability.'"
Lyra's stylus moved faster. "Codes."
Helena recited them. Old ones, patterns, the way they wrote their registry strings. The way they timestamped their movements. The way they encoded a handler signature into a mundane shipping tag.
It went on.
Long enough that Dack stopped feeling like he was listening to a confession and started feeling like he was listening to a blueprint.
When Helena finally paused, her throat working once, Dack spoke again.
"Why Harrow's Wake," he asked.
Helena's eyes lifted. "Because it's where they still expected me to obey. It's where they still believed the cage held."
Dack nodded once.
Lyra's eyes stayed sharp. "And Jade Shadow. Why did they care about you."
Helena's mouth tightened again. "Because I was useful. And because I knew things about procurement chains they wanted to influence."
Lyra's voice was cold. "And because you were a loose end."
Helena didn't deny it.
Dack leaned back, breathing slow.
He had what he needed for now: motive, method, and a thread that led outward.
Not closure.
A route.
He stood.
Helena stood too, instinctive, as if she didn't want to be seated when he loomed over her.
Dack looked at her, eyes flat.
"You're going back in the room," he said. "Locked. Watched. You don't get to walk my ship like you belong here yet."
Helena's jaw tightened. Then she nodded once. "Understood."
Lyra opened the door.
The lock clicked again.
As Helena stepped into the corridor, Dack spoke one more time—quiet enough that it wasn't for the camera.
"If Selena's alive," he said, "I'm bringing her home."
Helena stopped for half a beat.
Her voice came back just as quiet. "If she's alive… you'll hate me more."
Dack didn't soften. "Good."
Helena walked.
The door sealed.
Lyra locked it.
And the ship felt, for the first time in a long time, like it wasn't just running from the past.
It was turning toward it.
Dack left the briefing space and went back to the mech bay.
The Dire Wolf waited like it always did—honest, heavy, and ready.
He climbed back up into the cockpit later, alone, the way he did when his head needed somewhere to be quiet and hard.
The instruments glowed.
The smell of warmed metal settled around him.
And he let himself mark it—just once, for pacing, for the part of him that still counted.
Day ninety-seven.
Then he keyed the comm.
"Lyra," he said.
Her voice came instantly. "Yeah."
"We're leaving Harrow's Wake as soon as repairs and salvage allow," Dack said. "And we're following that Selena thread."
A pause. Not hesitation—calculation.
"Understood," Lyra said. "I'll make it real."
Dack cut the channel.
Outside the cockpit glass, the mech bay lights flickered like tired stars.
And somewhere out in the dark—behind shell companies and compliance stamps and false paper trails—his mother's name sat on a file like bait.
Now he had a direction.
Now he had a reason.
Now he had a woman who started the fire sitting in a locked room, finally telling him how it burned.