Episode 5

Chapter 5: Yara Comes

Helena Ashford and Kael Grandmont returned to Dustmere Colony on a Tuesday morning shuttle, tanned from a resort planet and carrying gifts.

For Yara, they'd brought a Moon Hound -- Gold-tier, silver-furred, luminous eyes, bred from championship stock. It cost more than a fringe-district apartment building and came with a pedigree document the size of a small novel.

Yara squealed when she saw it. She threw her arms around Helena's neck, kissed Kael on both cheeks, and cradled the Moon Hound like it was the most precious thing in the world. The perfect daughter receiving the perfect gift from the perfect parents.

Helena beamed. "You've earned it, sweetheart. Top marks in every evaluation."

The evaluations Sera should have taken, had Yara not sabotaged her registration. But nobody in this room knew that. Nobody except Yara, whose smile didn't flicker even once.

Kael stood to the side, hands in his pockets, watching his daughter -- his adopted daughter -- hold the hound. His face had been pale since the night Sera left. He said nothing, and Helena didn't notice, and the moment passed in silence the way it always did with Kael Grandmont.

Two hours after the presentation, behind the closed door of her bedroom, Yara set the Moon Hound on the floor and looked at it the way a collector looks at a specimen.

The hound whimpered.

The sound was very quiet. Nobody heard it.

---

Yara's investigator was worth the five million.

The dossier arrived on her personal terminal at noon -- comprehensive, clinical, and infuriating. Subject: Sera Ashford, formerly of the Ashford family (severance processed and filed). Current location: fringe district, Dustmere Colony. Current occupation: proprietor of an unlicensed establishment referred to as "Star Beast Station." Services offered: star beast healing and evolution. Known clients: Lucian Blackwell.

Yara read the name three times. Her jaw tightened a little more each time.

She checked her reflection. Applied concealer over the fading marks where Sera's headbutt had connected -- almost gone now, but not quite. Then she took the family hovercar and drove to the fringe district.

---

I was reorganizing the evolution pod's calibration sequence when the system pinged.

*"Incoming individual detected. Eighty meters and closing. No star beast signature. Threat assessment: low. Note: bioscan matches a previously recorded hostile profile."*

Previously recorded hostile profile. The system had a way with understatement.

I looked up through the glass front and my stomach dropped.

A sleek hovercar -- Ashford family plates -- settled in the dust outside my station. The door opened. Black boots hit the ground. Then legs, then body, then face.

Yara.

She'd dressed for the occasion. Tailored coat, hair pinned up, makeup camera-ready. She looked like she was arriving at a charity gala, not a condemned building in the worst district of the colony. That was Yara's superpower -- she could walk into a garbage fire and make it look like the garbage fire was underdressed.

She pushed through my door without knocking. Her eyes swept the station, taking in the pods, the counter, the clean floors, the ambient lighting. Surprise, confusion, fury -- they crossed her face in about a second and a half before hardening into contempt.

"So this is it." She stopped in the middle of the floor, one hand on her hip, head tilted at that angle she used when she wanted you to feel small. "The stray dog's little kennel."

I didn't move from behind the counter. My heart was hammering -- I'd be lying if I said it wasn't -- but my hands were steady and my voice came out flat and cold.

"Can I help you with something? We offer healing and evolution services. Payment up front."

"Healing and evolution." Yara laughed. Bright, musical, sharp enough to cut. "You? The girl who couldn't pass a basic contractor exam? The girl whose star-energy rating was so low they wouldn't even let her register at the academy?" She stepped closer. "You're running a star beast clinic. That's adorable."

"Is there a point coming, or are you just here to practice your monologue?"

The contempt cracked. Just for a second -- a flash of the real Yara underneath, the one who couldn't stand being talked back to, the one who needed to be the smartest, the prettiest, the most important person in every room she entered.

"I saw the photo," she said. Her voice dropped. "You and Lucian Blackwell. Walking out of the academy together. Like you're somebody."

Ah. There it was. The real reason.

"I am somebody," I said. "Just not anybody you get to control anymore."

Yara's nostrils flared. "Lucian Blackwell is mine. I've been--"

"Yours?" I couldn't help it -- I laughed. "He's not a handbag, Yara. You can't pre-order a person."

She moved fast. I'll give her that -- two years of watching me take hits had apparently convinced her that I'd keep taking them. She lunged across the counter and grabbed for my collar.

Her hand stopped six inches from my throat.

Not because she changed her mind. Because she couldn't move it further. Inside the station, the system's defense protocol was absolute -- and Yara's attacking hand met resistance like she'd shoved it into a wall of compressed air.

She staggered back, eyes wide. "What--"

I came around the counter.

Two years of slaps and kicks and stolen applications. Every single one remembered. I hadn't forgotten, and I hadn't forgiven, and now Yara was standing in my station without the family name to hide behind.

I stepped up to her. She was taller than me. Always had been. She used it, too -- the height, the poise, the way she could look down her nose at you.

I hit her anyway.

Open palm. Left cheek. The crack echoed off the station walls.

Yara's head snapped sideways. Her hand flew to her face. Nothing came out of her mouth except a strangled, breathless noise -- the most honest sound I'd ever heard her make.

I hit her again. Right cheek. Same force.

*Crack.*

Yara stumbled back, both hands pressed to her face, eyes streaming -- real tears this time, her cheeks already swelling, five-finger prints rising scarlet against her skin.

"You--" She was shaking. Rage, pain, shock -- all three at once. "You hit me. You actually hit me."

"Two years of slaps, kicks, drugged food, stolen applications, and seventy-two hours locked in a closet," I said. "You owe me a lot more than two, but I'm feeling generous."

"I'll destroy you." Her voice cracked upward, losing its polish, losing its control. The mask was off. "I'll tell Helena -- I'll tell everyone -- I'll have this place torn down and you thrown in--"

"You'll do what, exactly?" I took another step forward. She took one back. "Go ahead. Try to hit me. Try to break something. Try anything. See what happens."

She didn't try. Some animal part of her brain had registered what happened when she'd grabbed for me -- the invisible wall, the force that stopped her cold. Inside these walls, I was untouchable, and on some level below her rage, Yara knew it.

The station door opened behind her.

Caelen Ashford stood in the doorframe. Two meters tall in a rumpled field jacket, face grey, eyes bloodshot. He looked like he hadn't slept.

He took in the scene in one sweep. Yara's swollen cheeks. The handprints. My position -- standing over her, calm, unbruised.

And he didn't go to Yara.

Not immediately. For three full seconds, Caelen Ashford -- who had spent two years reflexively shielding Yara from every consequence, every accusation, every uncomfortable question -- stood in the doorway and didn't move.

Then he spoke. Not to me.

"Yara." His voice was rough. Scraped raw. "What are you doing here?"

Yara spun toward him, face crumpling into the performance -- the trembling lip, the wounded eyes, the little-girl voice. "She attacked me! Look at my face! She's insane, she--"

"Stop."

One word. Heavy and final. Yara's mouth closed.

"I watched the security footage," Caelen said. "All of it. Six months." He paused. His jaw worked. "The pendant. The water glass. The academy application. The closet."

The color drained from Yara's face.

"Caelen, I don't know what you think you saw, but--"

"I said stop."

Silence.

Yara's eyes darted between us -- calculating, recalibrating, searching for the angle. I could see her doing it. Even now, even caught, even standing in my station with handprints on her face and the truth closing in from every direction, Yara Ashford was looking for the play.

But Caelen was done.

He stepped forward, and his body did something his brain was fighting against. He moved between Yara and me, shoulders squared, weight centered -- the instinctive protective stance of a big brother standing between his sister and danger.

Except he was facing the wrong sister.

He knew it. I could see it in his rigid spine, his hands curled into fists at his sides, the way he couldn't bring himself to turn around and look at me. Two years of muscle memory versus one night of truth, and the muscle memory was winning.

I watched him. This man who'd backhanded me into a display shelf. This man who'd never once questioned the narrative, never once checked the cameras, never once looked at the evidence that was right there the entire time.

Standing between me and Yara. Still protecting her. Even now.

"Take her out of my station," I said. My voice didn't shake. "If she comes back, I won't stop at two."

Caelen flinched.

He reached back and took Yara's arm. She tried to jerk free, but his grip held -- not rough, just immovable. He steered her toward the door.

"Caelen, let go of me -- she assaulted me, she--"

"Walk."

On the threshold, I called out.

"One more thing."

They stopped. Caelen half-turned, and for the first time since he'd arrived, our eyes met.

I pulled an envelope from under the counter. I'd prepared it three days ago, counted every crystal twice, sealed it shut. I tossed it at his feet. It landed with a flat, heavy slap against the alloy floor.

"Twelve thousand credits," I said. "Five hundred a month for twenty-four months. That's every crystal the Ashford family ever gave me, down to the last one."

Caelen stared at the envelope. His jaw clenched.

"From this moment," I said, "I don't owe your family a single thing."

Yara yanked her arm free and stormed out. The hovercar door slammed. The engine whined.

Caelen bent down. Picked up the envelope. Held it in both hands like it weighed a hundred kilograms.

He didn't open it. He didn't look at me again.

He walked out. The door slid shut.

I stood alone in my station. The healing pod hummed. The evolution pod glowed amber. In the back, my star beast egg pulsed quietly in its incubation chamber, counting down hours I couldn't see.

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the counter until they stopped.

Then the system chimed.

*"Alert: station defense log updated. Hostile intrusion attempt -- neutralized. Host physical intervention recorded. No damage sustained."*

I almost laughed. No damage sustained. Sure.

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