Galvaris Prime

Meanwhile, on Galvaris Prime

In the cold, towering halls of DreamCorp's headquarters, the air was thick with tension. The replacement overseer, a sharp-eyed, no-nonsense executive named Veylen Korr, stood before a massive holographic display filled with fragmented data logs, surveillance reports, and dead leads. Sol had vanished. Completely.

"How does a slum rat just disappear?" Veylen's voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration was undeniable. His fingers danced over the interface, zooming in on the last known traces of Sol—distorted footage, corrupted tracking logs, and snippets of unreliable witness accounts. Each lead ended in static or a dead end.

Beside him stood a woman draped in sleek black robes, her pale fingers absently tracing the edge of a metallic tablet. Her name was Lysara Veyne, DreamCorp's newest asset—a tracker unlike any other. She didn't need cameras or databases. All she needed was a single touch.

She hummed, tilting her head toward Veylen. "Give me something of his. Something he's touched."

Veylen's jaw tensed, but he gestured toward a nearby case. A technician, pale and uneasy, carefully retrieved an object—a damaged tool Sol had left behind during the escape. He placed it before Lysara like an offering.

Lysara picked up the tool, her fingers gliding over it with an almost reverent slowness. Her eyes fluttered closed. For a long, tense moment, silence stretched in the room.

Then, she inhaled sharply, her golden irises flashing open. "He's far. Off-world." The room fell into stunned silence. It took a moment before anyone reacted, their shock palpable.

"Off-world?" one of the technicians muttered, disbelief clear in his voice. "How the hell does a slum rat manage to get off-world in less than two days since that explosion?"

Veylen clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into a fist. This was bad. Very bad. He knew Lysara's ability had an immense range, spanning entire planets, perhaps even reaching into the orbital sectors. But even for her, looking beyond a world's boundaries was impossible. If Sol had managed to leave Galvaris Prime, then tracking him had just become exponentially more difficult.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think. "This changes things," he said, voice tight. "I need to report this immediately. If he's already off-world, then someone helped him. We need to find out who."

Veylen's jaw tensed. This wasn't possible. A boy with stolen technology, a target of this magnitude, didn't just cease to be. But if Lysara was right—and she always was—then Sol had found his way into something far more complicated than a simple escape.

Elsewhere on Galvaris Prime

In the dark corridors of the underworld, the Vultures still worked in ignorance, unaware that Sol had already slipped beyond their reach. Their enforcers combed the slums, questioning informants, shaking down smugglers, convinced that he was hiding somewhere in the lower districts. Their frustration grew with every dead-end lead, but they had no idea that they were hunting a ghost who had already fled the planet.

The Strix Marauders, however, had sources far more reliable. A whisper from a well-placed informant in DreamCorp had confirmed it—Sol was gone. Off-world.

In a dimly lit hideout, the Marauders' leader, Valka, a sharp-eyed woman with a jagged scar running down her cheek, stared at the message on her datapad. Her cybernetic fingers tapped against the metal table, the only sound breaking the tense silence. Her crew knew better than to speak first when she was in this kind of mood.

Jex, one of Valka's top trackers, stared at the report in disbelief, running a hand down his face. "The more we follow this kid's trail, the more I feel like we're just playing into his plans. How in the hell does a street rat get off-world in less than two days after that massacre he caused?"

Valka tossed the datapad onto the table, her lips twisting into a sneer. "Damn good question. Someone helped him, and whoever it was, they had serious pull. Slum rats don't just slip off-world without leaving a trail—unless someone made sure they vanished."

But that was what bothered her. Who? Her team, DreamCorp, even the Vultures had been on the kid's tail since the explosion. There had been no sign of outside help, no unusual movements in the slums, no ships flagged for suspicious departures. So how the hell did he pull this off?

Another Marauder, a wiry woman with cybernetic implants running up her spine, leaned forward. "So what now? We drop it?"

Valka let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. "Not a chance. DreamCorp wants him, and that means he's worth something. But..." Her fingers tapped against the table, her jaw tightening. "This chase is over. The kid somehow got off-world, and from everything we've seen of him so far, there's no way he left any kind of trail for us to follow."

She exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into her tone. "In this infinite universe, finding someone who doesn't want to be found is damn near impossible." Her cybernetic fingers clenched slightly before relaxing. "And yet..." Her lips pressed into a thin line. Their squad had a 100% completion rate. Every mark, every bounty, every contract—it always ended with them coming out on top. And now? Now their perfect streak was being broken by a kid.

The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth, and for the first time in a long while, Valka felt something close to personal resentment. "Tch. Damn brat."

Her fingers drummed against the table as her mind worked through the possibilities. This wasn't just an escape—it was an orchestrated disappearance. But by who? And more importantly, why?

Her eyes narrowed, but then she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. Valka finally accepted the truth—this chase was over. The kid had pulled off the impossible, and she had to give credit where it was due. "Damn brat," she muttered under her breath before letting out a low chuckle. "Let's head back to base. Iron Fangs aren't gonna be happy about this."

But even as she spoke, something gnawed at her. The more she thought about it, the more her curiosity grew. Sol wasn't just lucky. He was smart—too smart. How the hell had he managed to pull this off with every major faction breathing down his neck? And more importantly... would she ever hear his name again?

Across from her, Jex could barely hide his relief. Outwardly, he nodded along, keeping his expression neutral, but inside? He was ecstatic. He didn't give a damn about their perfect record—he was terrified of that kid. After what had happened back in the slums, after how close he had come to being blown apart, Jex knew one thing for sure: Sol wasn't just some runaway.

He was a trackers worst nightmare.