The outer hatch opened with a sigh like an old beast waking, and recycled station air greeted them... warm, dry, thick with engine grease and the ghost of too many conversations held in too-tight hallways. Lights flickered in the steel ribs of the ceiling, throwing long amber stripes over stacked cargo pallets and the quiet bustle of dockhands trying their best not to look curious. They waited till the ramp extended all the way before descending.

  ADIRA... no, Cassidy... stepped forward first.

  Her gait was unhurried, her shoulders relaxed, yet there was a weight to her presence that drew glances the way gravity draws comets. The shift in her demeanor was subtle to anyone who didn’t know her, but Alden felt it like you would a change in pressure. Companion had dissolved; mistress had taken her place... cool, composed, calculating in a way that was neither cruel nor careless, simply capable.

  The flamboyant coat hung from her frame, tailored lines tracing curves with just enough exaggeration to suggest swagger without descending into parody. Titanium buckles and matte-black piping made it look like something once formal that had been reclaimed and repurposed by someone who gave orders, not received them. At her hips, the purposely left empty holsters caught the overhead lights, reflecting a cold glimmer like a promise... ‘Yeah, that’s right... I’m unarmed in a place like this... So, either I’m bat-shit crazy... or... I have nothing to fear.’ Secretly she wished for both.

  She tried the name, in her head, once more... Cassidy Butcher... and felt her spine lengthen as though the syllables themselves were a posture.

  Then came Shar.

  He moved soundlessly despite his size, his armored silhouette swallowing the light. Carapace plating flowed along his frame like fossilized waves, bone-white with darker marbling along the undersides. Razor thin channels tracked between plates... vestiges of human joints now reinforced into something far beyond flesh. The faceplate hid everything recognizable, sculpted into angular geometry that suggested an emotionless sentinel, but somewhere behind that mask, Alden breathed, slow and steady... watching everything.

  Someone in a dockworker’s vest caught sight of Shar and instinctively stepped aside, muttering something under their breath about “marauder stock” and “not worth dying over.” Other people would scamper away, some tried to hide from his gaze... others’... well... some folks had seen enough shit in their lives that one more monster didn’t move the needle... and yet, even those shifted nervously on their seats.

  Shar did not react, and the lack of reaction said more than any threat ever could. ‘Seems our little sideshow had the desired effect.’

  Cassidy paused just beyond the ramp, allowing the moment to settle like dust in still air. She sensed eyes taking inventory... coat, attitude, posture... then shifting quickly to Shar’s armored bulk, recalculating the risk.

  She leaned slightly toward him... not much, not enough to betray reliance, just enough to signal familiarity, to anyone watching.

  “Remember,” she murmured, voice low enough that only he caught it, “you are the wall I choose to stand behind… the storm I choose to unleash... but more so, you are the man I choose to sleep next to...okay. Don’t forget that part... Operator.”

  Shar gave no nod, no gesture, but she felt the subtle flex of his presence behind her like a shield settling into place.

  He understood.

  As if on command, the extension ramp behind them started retracting to its original position... as a station official drifted toward them with practiced confidence, hands clasped behind their back, insignia glinting on their collar. Their eyes lingered on Shar for a moment too long before flicking to Cassidy.

  “Name and business for station registry.”

  Cassidy’s expression didn’t move... not a smile, not a frown, just intent in humanoid form.

  ‘And... showtime.’... she thought to herself. “Cassidy Butcher, captain of the Sundancer. We’re new in these parts. Looking for... work.”

  Her voice held just enough irony in the pause before work to imply she wasn’t talking about honest freight hauling.

  The official’s throat bobbed in a swallow that might have been nerves or anticipation... it was hard to tell in this place.

  “And… your companion?”

  Cassidy let the question hang for two beats... knew those beats mattered... then answered with a tone that brooked no challenge.

  “Shar.”

  Nothing more, underscored by an ever so slight little smile that said... ‘Anything else?’

  The official nodded quickly, tapping notes into their wrist console. Cassidy’s eyes followed the motion... a habit she had never quite shaken, though Shar’s mask hid the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes.

  “How... uh... how long were you planning on gracing us with your presence... ma’am?”

  Her countenance dropped, eyes darkening with intent... the tiny smile disappeared... “Did you just call me... ma’am?”

  “Captain... I meant... uh... Captain.”

  “Butcher”

  “Captain Butcher... Captain Butcher!”

  She takes a step closer and gently taps representative against the chin... “That... is... better. Anything... else?” she repeats... punctuated by a low growl from Shar’s direction.

  “No, no... no... Captain. Only the small matter of docking fees.” He swallows hard. “Just so that you are fully aware. Depending on the length of your stay, fees will be processed before departure. As for... work opportunities... well... That should be easy enough depending on the depth of your moral fortitude.” the official said finally. “Sector control recommends discretion and as such we add a tiny retainer to all our... shall we say... clients of an entrepreneurially inclined nature. In short... we don’t look and you need not inform us.” His eyes darted between the two until Cassidy nodded in acknowledgement. “Excellent... in that case.” He looked almost giddy with excitement. “Rumors say the market’s… shifting. Folks with the right skills might find opportunity.” Their eyes flicked again to Shar as though evaluating him a second time. “However, here at the Tangled Palace... well, how do I put this. You’re only as successful as your reputation allows you to be... and seeing as you are newcomers... impressive as you might well be, I don’t think you’ll be invited up to the ‘Cobalt Haze’... just yet.”

  “The Cobalt Haze?”

  “Snazzy establishment... Caters to the who’s who around here. High ranking officials, dignitaries... you know... high rollers. There are always contracts floating around up there. You could make some serious bank if you managed to get a foot into that door. But... fair warning... security is a pair of tight assed Klaxians. You don’t want to mess with those guys. Not if you intend to do business around here.”

  “Klaxxians... noted... so where do we go?”

  He turns slightly and scoots over, as if to make the moment more personal. “Might I suggest... ‘The Crooked Halo’.... I have a feeling it would be right up your alley.”

  “This some kind of trap?” Cassidy lifts a hand and Shar takes a step closer. ‘Good... let everybody see what I’m actually packing.’

  “Trap? Captain... I’m insulted. I frequent the establishment myself. I mean it’s not for the feint of heart, but for those of us with shallow pockets... well... the doors are always open.” As emphasis he gives his most endearing smile... it doesn’t work.

  “Open doors sound mighty good right about now. Wouldn’t you agree Shar?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Alright...” She leans in and reads the nametag on the official’s jacket. “...Jasperson. I think we’ve got our heading. Keep a watchful eye on our girl here. Don’t want her flying off on her own... okay.”

  “Sure, thing Captain Butcher...”

  She started walking. “Oh... and Jasperson... about those station fees. Don’t worry about it. We always pay our debts...” She forced her eyes the glow brighter... cold...icy blue... “...always.” Then she merely turned and walked away, followed by Shar.

  Cassidy’s lips curved... not to a smile, but something older, more dangerous. She takes mental notes as Jasperson gives directions to the Crooked halo and shortly after they leave the poor fellow with much to think about.

  “You are liking this way too much.” Alden’s voice sounded boisterous as they turned towards the docking bay exit. “Keep it up and you’ll have them all eating out of your hand my dear.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Major.”

  -o.0-

  They passed through the checkpoint arch and into the flow of foot traffic, and immediately the atmosphere changed... as though the air itself stiffened around them, a collective gasp which would have seemed almost comical before, returning to normal when it was clear these newcomers weren’t here to start trouble from the get-go. Like a wave it hit them... noise first.

  Not sound... noise.

  A thousand overlapping lives colliding in echoing corridors of alloy and neon haze. Vendors barked in dialects that bent the ear. Engines throbbed through bulkheads like a distant heartbeat. Somewhere above, a freight rail screamed as it locked into a berth, the vibration rippling through the soles of Cassidy Butcher’s boots. She paused just long enough to let the rhythm of the place sink in. Then she lifted her chin and stepped forward.

  This sector’s promenade was a living artery of the station: booths wedged shoulder-to-shoulder beneath hanging holo-signs, neon gutters dripping light onto durasteel flooring, crowds moving with the press of a thousand different hungers.

  Tall reptilian traders wrapped in shimmering thermal cloaks argued over shipment weights.

  A cluster of silicon-skinned beings clicked their jointed limbs in heated negotiation, gemstone eyes refracting light like prisms.

  Three tiny avian folk zipped overhead, their wing beats producing a musical trill that faded into the low hum of crowd chatter.

  Humans in dust-coats and cybernetic augmentations mingled with furred, tentacled, plated, feathered life... every species strolling as though this cacophony was the most natural thing in the universe.

  And yet…

  The moment Cassidy stepped into view, something subtle, rippled through the crowd, like a shiver passing through the hull of a ship.

  Eyes followed her.

  Not because she was beautiful... this station had seen beautiful.

  Not because she was augmented... it had seen monsters of chrome and flesh. Robots, androids, even cyborgs...

  But because she was other in a way no one could name.

  She didn’t glow, didn’t spark, didn’t carry any overt marks of divinity or royalty... but her elegance had edges. With a face that possessed the kind of symmetry that made even hardened spacers instinctively straighten their posture; her eyes tracked movement with predatory precision softened by warmth; her new body was crafted to pass, but the illusion faltered under scrutiny.

  But Cassidy... with her, people felt the difference before they saw it. That otherness... and beyond that... life. She gave them reason to pause... to stare.

  A vendor mid-sale faltered, voice trailing off as she passed.

  A drunk miner nudged his companion, whispering something that made both go silent and stare.

  A cargo loader... two meters tall and half brute muscle, found himself stepping backward without quite knowing why.

  Even a gelatinous creature in a floating grav-pod rippled in what looked suspiciously like discomfort as she neared.

  It wasn’t fear exactly... more the instinctive sensation animals get when something steps into their territory that doesn’t fit known taxonomy.

  Then it came.

  Moving like a boulder that had decided gravity was someone else’s problem... smooth, unstoppable, silent. Following half a pace behind. Not because she needed protection, but because Shar was meant to look like he never strayed from her shadow. The bone-plated armor didn’t scream... weapon, but it broadcast force in a way that bypassed spoken language. The contours were too organic to be industrial, too articulate to be ceremonial. Bone-white plates caught the light in jagged planes, laced with dark, bloody sinew. The eerie smoothness of the faceplate reflected the crowd back at itself: distorted, faceless, uneasy... breath billowing like vapor from tiny ducts, burrowed through the bone.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A dozen species trying to categorize him with a glance... failed... and quickly found excuses to look anywhere else.

  A passing trio of insectoid mercenaries paused, mandibles clicking in whispered alarm; one of them raised a head-mounted scanner, took a reading, then immediately muted it and shuffled in the opposite direction.

  Not worth it.

  Together, Cassidy and Shar didn’t blend in.

  They warped the space around them.

  Everywhere they entered, the crowd parted before them without realizing they were doing it.... not dramatically, not like royalty or tyrants... but the way water moves aside when something deep and unknown drifts beneath the surface.

  Cassidy let her hand brush the cuff of her coat, posture loose yet intentional. She moved through it all like she belonged. Not hurried. Not cautious. Just… certain. Her coat flowed behind her, its cut unmistakably corsair-class... the kind worn by captains who didn’t ask for permission and never stayed long enough to be questioned.

  No one knew their names yet... but already station-side whispers began stitching stories together:

  “Too pretty to be real... and... she breathes.”

  “That one with her... what is it? Wouldn’t want to get in its way... that’s for sure.”

  “They’re not just passing through. Better keep low before something bad happens.”

  “No one walks like that unless they’ve survived something... or know how to kill.”

  “A friend at the docks told me... their...mercs.”

  “Mercs... of course. I mean just look at them...”

  “Don’t stare too long. They’ll notice... AH CRAP... she looked at me!”

  The crowd swallowed them but did not let their impressions fade... just two mysterious shapes carved from something both alluring and unsettling.

  Their cover story said mercenaries. Their presence whispered something else entirely. And somewhere above, unseen through the ceiling’s haze of lights and steel, the station’s cameras tracked their passage... as though bracing for a new headache it didn’t know was already on its way.

  -o.0-

  The rancor of the main concourse started dying down as they followed Jasperson’s directions towards the seedier section of the station.

  They passed their first vendor barely fifty meters in.

  A squat, six-armed molluscoid hunched over a hover-tray of glowing seedpods. Its eyestalks swiveled, locking onto Cassidy.

  “Fresh-cut lumens, mistress. Guaranteed legal. Mostly.”

  Cassidy didn’t slow. “Mostly isn’t my brand.”

  Alden felt the faintest vibration in his jaw as he suppressed a smile.

  The vendor watched them go, then leaned toward the next customer and muttered something in a language that sounded like gravel in a grinder.

  They took a side corridor where the lights dimmed and the walls grew closer. Holo-ads flickered overhead: mercenary contracts, body mods, neural thrills, things that promised pleasure and delivered... debt.

  Cassidy stopped at a station-map... a cracked projection hovering from a rusty kiosk.

  A trio of maintenance workers loitered nearby, all grease and scars and too many eyes.

  One of them cleared his throat. “You lookin’ for something, pretty lady?”

  Cassidy turned slowly. Just enough to let them see her eyes.

  “We’re looking for work.” she said.

  “Oh, I have lots of work available right here in my...” The vagrant glanced at Shar... then back at her. His bravado leaked out through his boots. “Pardon me miss...” and then he left without a second glance.

  Another, more sensible of his mates piped up. “Plenty of work in this hole. Depends on what you’re willin’ to bleed for.”

  Cassidy’s smile was thin and polite. “That depends. What’s the cost of blood these days?”

  The dockhand laughed... a short, nervous bark. “You’ll want the lower tiers then. Bars down there pay in trouble.”

  “The Crooked Halo?”

  “HAH... well look at you. More than just a pretty face... Captain.”

  Shar took a step forward. Cassidy’s head turned ever so slightly as she glanced at him over her shoulder... stopping him in his tracks. She snapped her eyes back at the man, whose face had started draining of color... giving him a look that suggested... ‘You don’t know how lucky you just were.’

  The fellow swallowed nervously. “The... the Halo... Yeah. It’s uh... down that way.” He pointed in a direction that matched the description they had.

  “Perfect,” she said, and turned away.

  They waited until the corner swallowed the dockhands before Shar’s voice whispered in her mind.

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “Can you blame me?” she murmured back. “It’s refreshing to lie without guilt.”

  A low rumble emanated from his burly chest and she took the sound as his attempt at laughter.

  ‘Good... keep hold of your humanity Alden... for me... please.’

  -o.0-

  They descended into the station’s gut.

  The architecture changed as they went... clean alloys giving way to layered patchwork: old hull plates welded to newer frameworks, power conduits exposed like veins. The air thickened with spice-smoke and recycled breath.

  Cassidy stopped again at a stall selling weapon charms... teeth, claws, fragments of unknown bone strung on wire.

  The vendor, a thin avian creature with oil-slick feathers, cocked its head.

  “Protection talisman?” it croaked. “Good for curses. Bad for refunds.”

  Cassidy picked up a small charm... a shard of dark crystal wrapped in copper.

  “What’s it do?”

  “Nothing,” the vendor said cheerfully. “But people feel safer holding onto lies, than staring at the ugly truth.”

  Cassidy set it back down. “Then I’ll pass. I already carry one.”

  The vendor cocked her head in surprise as they walked on.

  Neither noticed the station’s security drone perched high above the corridor entrance, its optic lens tracking their heat signatures.

  Neither saw the two figures in the upper mezzanine pause their conversation as Cassidy passed beneath them.

  Neither heard the soft click of a comm bead activating in a shadowed alcove.

  They were being observed, long before they knew to be more prudent.

  -o.0-

  At last, the corridor opened into a wide junction... and there it was. A bar stitched into the station’s bones like a bad habit. Its sign flickered in tired neon: THE CROOKED HALO. Below it, in smaller script: Drinks. Deals. Disappearances... and Dancing.

  Cassidy stopped beneath the sign and looked up at it.

  Shar stood beside her, silent as ever, his presence drawing wary glances from the patrons drifting in and out. A pair of patrons paused mid-argument to watch them. A courier slowed her pace. Somewhere inside, laughter cuts off too abruptly.

  Cassidy rolled her shoulders once... a captain settling into her skin.

  “This is it,” she said.

  Shar inclined his head.

  They stepped toward the door together. Behind them, in the layered noise of the station, a voice murmured into a private channel: “Targets confirmed. Corsair female. Juggernaut escort. No registry match.”

  A pause.

  “Let them go in. We’ll see who comes out with them.”

  And just like that... Cassidy Butcher and Shar disappeared into the light and smoke of the Crooked Halo, unaware that their first steps into this sector had already written the opening line of a very dangerous story.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Years from now people would ask me how I first crossed paths with the pair known as Cassidy Butcher and her companion... Shar. Of course, there was way more to that story than mere names and intimidating demeanors. A story that I would become intimately involved with, but the day I first laid eyes on that pair, well... it was at the very least... entertaining.

  ‘The door to The Crooked Halo hissed as it slid open. That alone was enough to draw a few glances... but, when those two stepped through...

  Yeah… that did the rest.

  I was halfway through a drink I didn’t fully trust... something amber, oily, and probably illegal in three sectors, when the shadows at the threshold stretched just a little too long. I lowered the glass, watched through the warped reflection in its surface as two silhouettes broke the neon spill.

  She came first, followed by the monster.

  They didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate either. The kind of entrance that said they weren’t here to hide... just not here to explain themselves.

  My clawed finger curled around the rim of my glass, taloned fingers tapping faintly against cheap synth-crystal, before spinning it absently on the table’s surface.

  I watched as heads turned in their direction... heads that had histories and reputations ‘a plenty. Notorious... one and all. You didn’t gain prolonged patronage at the Halo if you didn’t deserve your place here. Some of us... had been coming here for a long... long... time.

  Fresh meat, the room seemed to murmur.

  From my seat in the back corner, everything looked better... dimmer, safer. The ‘Halo’ had that effect. Light went to die here. Secrets went to get drunk.

  The woman... calling herself... Cassidy, moved like she owned the gravity around her. Not flashy. Just certain. The kind of posture you only get from captains who’ve buried crews and kept flying anyway. It was a fa?ade... of course. I could have dismissed their interruption of my solitude there and then... but something in her gait made me sit back and... wait.

  The big one… Oh, I saw through that armor the moment he crossed the threshold. It wasn’t what he was wearing that was important... it was what he was not showing. The way he instinctively clocked corners, exits... faces and the number of patrons. No, no, no... that was no mere bodyguard. He practically reeked of law enforcement... or... no... military. Of course... I would know quite a bit about that myself.

  Veterans learn the difference fast. Real monsters don’t snarl. They stand still and let the room decide how close it wants to get... and some... sit quietly in a dark corner... like a snake.

  A pair of mercs at the bar leaned together, whispering. Two Terrans... Big guy who could hold his own in a fight and a smaller one... who would jump into a fight if the former said... fetch. The big guy turned to me and I nodded in acknowledgement. I made no further signs which they would interpret as... ‘hold... and observe.’

  Off to my side, a dealer near the back shifted his seat for a better line of sight. Even the bartender paused mid-pour, one cybernetically enhanced eye tracking the newcomers as the drink overflowed onto the counter.

  I lifted my glass again.

  Took a sip.

  Regretting it immediately, as the liquor burned its way down my gullet.

  They had stopped just inside, letting the noise wash over them. That’s when I... knew.

  They weren’t tourists.

  Nor were they smugglers looking for easy work.

  Not even mercs chasing contracts.

  They were ‘running from something.

  And anyone who runs that hard... always ends up making noise in places like this. Cassidy and Shar... yeah, they did not disappoint. I leaned back, chair creaking under my weight, tail flicking once against the grimy floor.

  “Well,” I muttered into the rim of my glass, “this should be educational.”

  Across the room, Cassidy turned her head slightly... just enough to survey the scene, the bar, the balconies above. Her eyes lingered for half a heartbeat longer on the shadowed corner where I sat.

  Did she see me?

  Maybe.

  Did it matter?

  Not yet.

  Because whatever story these two were dragging in behind them like a bloodstain… This place was about to add its own chapter. And I, for one, was happy to sit back, drink something that might kill me, and watch the trouble unfold.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------

  The bartender had the kind of build that made doorframes nervous.

  Shoulders like stacked bulkheads. Forearms corded with old scars and newer ink. His apron looked less like workwear and more like a surrender flag someone had tied around his waist out of politeness. Every time he leaned forward, the bar itself seemed to reconsider its life choices.

  Cassidy and Shar reached the counter just as he slammed two empty glasses down with enough force to rattle the bottles behind him, the cybernetic augmentation that covered half his face, whirring away as it scanned and processed biometrics of the two newcomers that entered his establishment.

  “What’ll it be,” he growled, “before I close my tab on patience?”

  Cassidy smiled like she’d just been invited to a party instead of challenged to a duel.

  “Something strong,” she said. “And maybe a rumor or two. We’re new to the sector.”

  The bartender snorted. “Then you’ll want both in equal measure.”

  He reached for a bottle, paused, and finally looked at Shar... really looked. His grin spread slow and hungry.

  “Sounds... expensive. Like I said... we’re... new. So... payment...”

  “And I’ll tell you what else you’ll want,” he continued unabated. “A table. Like the one over there... if payment is what holds your heart in its cold clutches... well then payment comes in many forms around here. You see... I run the arm-wrestling circuit down here. Keeps the riffraff honest.”

  A murmur rippled through the Crooked Halo. A few heads turned. Someone shifted a chair closer.

  Cassidy tilted her head. “That so?”

  “Only game in this pit worth bleeding for,” the bartender said. “And blood... counts just as much as coin around here. Now... I’ve been itching to see if there’s more to your big friend here than just fancy armor.”

  Shar didn’t move.

  Cassidy did.

  She rested one elegant elbow on the counter, demure hand ready... fingers splayed. Then she leaned in just enough to be dangerous.

  “Sure,” she said lightly. “If you can get past me.”

  The room went still.

  Not quiet... still.

  Even the music faltered, the low bass thudding on like a nervous heartbeat.

  The bartender’s grin twitched.

  Then cracked.

  He swept the glasses off the bar with one violent motion... glass shattered against the deck in a chorus of delighted gasps... and slammed his elbow down onto the counter. The wood creaked under the impact.

  “Girl... You think this is where we play silly games?” he said. His indignation visible for all to see.

  Shar stepped forward.

  Cassidy lifted a single finger.

  “Hold my coat.”

  The look he gave her could have stopped a charging beast. ‘What’s next... will she demand you sit... fetch... play dead?’ She didn’t even glance back.

  Casually she turned from the counter... to face him... eyes pleading... Please... trust me. Then she slipped out of her coat and placed it into Shar’s waiting hands like she was handing over a crown.

  Then she turned back... to where the bartender extended a massive, leather-wrapped hand.

  “I’ll go easy on you, little captain.” he sneered.

  Cassidy slid her fingers into his grip... cool against heat, steel against stone.

  “Don’t.”

  Hands locked.

  To the casual eye, it looked almost ridiculous two people frozen in a polite contest of handholding. A giant of a man squaring against a spritely young lady.

  But the ones who knew?

  They... leaned in.

  Because they saw the tremor.

  Not in Cassidy.

  In him.

  The bartender’s forearm flexed, veins standing out like cables under strain. His jaw set. His shoulders rolled forward as he poured everything into the push.

  Cassidy didn’t budge.

  Not an inch.

  Her smile never faltered... soft, infuriatingly calm, eyes bright with something that wasn’t cruelty… but wasn’t mercy either.

  Whispers bloomed like rot in the corners of the bar.

  “Ten creds on the girl...”

  “You’re mad...”

  “Look at his face...”

  “He’s sweating...”

  “I’ll take that bet... double...”

  Credits changed hands in the shadows. Odds were scribbled onto sleeves and datapads. Someone climbed onto a chair for a better view.

  The bartender’s eyes widened.

  Not in anger.

  In realization.

  This wasn’t a strength contest anymore.

  It was control.

  Seconds dragged. Muscles screamed. Pride bled out... slowly.

  Finally, he nodded once.

  Cassidy nodded back.

  They released at the same time.

  The room exhaled.

  The bartender rolled his shoulder, flexed his hand like he was waking it from a bad dream. Then he laughed... loud, rough, genuine.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Didn’t even make me look bad... Captain?”

  Cassidy reclaimed her coat from Shar and slipped it back on with deliberate ease.

  “They call me Butcher... Cassidy Butcher. So,” she said pleasantly, “about those drinks. What can you get us, fine sir?”

  The bartender grinned wide now... not the predator grin from before, but the one you earn when you survive a lesson.

  “Name’s Duncan. This here’s my establishment. As for drinks... tonight is on me... you’ve earned it.” he said. “And if work is what you’re looking for…” He leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to carry weight. “There are always people looking for a captain who can walk into this place and make it hold its breath.”

  “It seems we have an understanding... Duncan.”

  Around them, the Crooked Halo slowly found its noise again. But the eyes on Cassidy Butcher and her silent juggernaut never quite looked away.

  “In that case... Welcome to The Crooked Halo.”

  As always... stay safe...

  Your friend... Sam