16.Voss - the Ghost

Voss strode down the hall, the scent of Beta hesitation fading behind him. The moment he was alone, he tapped his earpiece, voice low and sharp.

"Ross. Status on Leah."

A brief pause—then a crackle as Ross's voice came through, clipped and focused.

"She's at the docks, checking manifests. Doc finally got back to me on her sequencing."

Voss stepped into the private elevator, doors sliding shut behind him. His silver eyes flicked to the glass panels reflecting the city skyline—gold and steel, sprawling and dying all at once.

"And?"

A pause.

Then—

"It's compatible."

Voss stilled.

His fingers flexed against his palm, his breath slow and even.

He should have expected that.

But Ross wasn't finished.

"But—"

Voss's jaw ticked.

"But what?"

Ross exhaled through the comm, tone shifting. Not hesitant, not uncertain—just careful.

"It's not standard compatibility, Kael."

"Explain."

Ross's voice dropped. Quiet. Absolute.

"She's a Perfect Match."

Silence.

Voss's grip tightened.

"That's not possible."

"I ran it twice."

"Run it again."

"I did."

The elevator descended smoothly, numbers flickering past in an orderly sequence. The city below spread out like a machine, running on gears made of deals and blood.

Voss inhaled once, slow and deep.

"Perfect doesn't exist."

"It does for her."

A pause.

Then Ross's voice came through lower, edged with something rare—something close to concern.

"That means if you bond her, Kael… there's no breaking it."

Voss didn't respond immediately.

His silver eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, the dying world stretching out before him.

Perfect Matches were theoretical. A genetic myth. The kind of thing that only happened in labs, when DNA was engineered, not born.

And yet—

"Does she know?"

"No. And before you ask, I didn't tell her."

Voss exhaled through his nose.

Good.

Because Leah Kassandra Vale already had enough reasons to run.

He wouldn't give her another.

"I'll handle it."

Ross made a low, knowing noise over the comm.

"Yeah. Thought you might say that."

The elevator slowed.

The doors slid open.

Voss stepped out.

"Tell Ben to get the car ready. I want to be at the docks in five."

Ross clicked the comm once in confirmation as Voss slid into the back of the armored car. The door shutting with a soft click. The city blurred past the tinted windows, neon reflections bleeding against rain-slicked streets.

Ben drove, comms buzzing low in his earpiece. They were moving, weaving through late-night traffic toward the docks, where Leah was still unaware of just how deep it was about to get.

Voss exhaled, rolling his shoulders, already dialing his next steps in his mind—

And then he felt it.

The shift.

The scent.

Someone else was in the car.

Voss didn't move. Didn't react.

He just let his silver gaze slide slowly to the seat beside him.

A man sat there.

Relaxed. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

Black coat. Gloves. An easy slouch, one arm draped along the back of the seat. His eyes—golden brown, too sharp, too amused—watched Voss like a cat watching a snake.

And his face.

That fucking face.

Voss's jaw locked.

"You're supposed to be dead."

The man grinned.

"I was."

His voice was smooth, easy, touched with a ghost of an accent Voss hadn't heard in years.

"Good to see you too, Voss."

Voss didn't lunge.

Didn't snap the bastard's neck on instinct.

Instead, he leaned back, fingers curling loosely against his thigh.

"Brigadier Theo Marx."

The name tasted like blood.

Like the past.

Like a bullet Voss had personally put through the man's skull.

"Not anymore." The man tilted his head. "It's Zayne now. But you can call me whatever you want—I won't take it personally."

Voss's voice was low, edged, absolute.

"You should be rotting in a trench."

"And yet, here I am." Zayne spread his hands, amused. "Must be fate."

Ross's voice came through the comms, casual but alert.

"We got a problem back there, boss?"

Voss didn't look away.

"Not yet."

Zayne's grin widened.

"See? That's the kind of optimism I always liked about you."

Voss exhaled slowly.

"What do you want."

No hesitation. No pretense.

Zayne's smile sharpened.

"To keep you from making a very expensive mistake."

Voss didn't take the bait.

Zayne waited a beat, then exhaled, clicking his tongue.

"Fine. Straight to the point. You always were a little boring."

He turned his wrist, tapping something on a thin holo-device embedded in his sleeve.

A screen flickered to life between them, casting blue light over the darkened car interior.

And then—

the Ark seating manifest.

Not just any Ark.

Ark 10.

He scanned the list once—sharp, precise, practiced—

And then his gaze stilled.

Because there it was.

His name? Gone.

Ravenna Voss—listed in his place.

The blood in his veins cooled to ice.

Zayne watched him, all amusement and quiet calculation.

"Tough break."

Voss's fingers flexed.

"She took my seat."

"Not exactly." Zayne stretched, lazy. "She was given your seat. By someone who wants you off the board."

Voss's silver eyes snapped to his.

"Who."

Zayne smirked.

"Now, see—that's the question, isn't it?"

Voss inhaled, slow. Measured.

Fine. It didn't matter.

Not yet.

"If they think they can cut me out, they're more desperate than I thought."

"Oh, they're desperate, alright." Zayne's smirk didn't fade. "And smart."

A flick of his wrist—

And the screen changed.

Ark 3's manifest.

"Here's where I come in." Zayne's voice was smooth, easy. "You and me, Voss—we're both in the same boat, and that boat is currently on fire."

He tapped the screen.

"I can get us on Ark 3. Clean. No questions. No backroom deals. Just… a little magic in the system."

Voss stared at him.

Zayne grinned, waiting.

The offer was real.

The catch was the part he hadn't said yet.

And Voss had no interest in playing along.

He leaned back, exhaling.

Then—smooth, cold, absolute—

"No."

Zayne blinked once.

Then laughed.

"See, this is what I love about you, Voss. You don't even pretend to think about it."

"I don't need to."

Voss tilted his head, silver eyes flashing.

"I'm not going on Ark 3."

Zayne stretched again, casual, but the sharp edge in his smile thinned.

"Alright. I'll bite." A pause. "What's your move, then?"

Voss didn't blink.

Didn't hesitate.

Didn't give him an inch.

"I'm going on Ark 0."

The amusement in Zayne's eyes flickered.

Just for a second.

Then—low, slow, thoughtful—

"Huh."

He studied Voss, a slow smirk curving his lips.

"You really think you can win that bid?"

Voss's voice was like steel sliding into place.

"I don't think."

A slow breath.

A shift in power.

"I know."

Zayne exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, muttering something in a language Voss didn't recognize.

"Well, shit."

Then, grinning—

"I guess I better place a bet."

Voss didn't look at him again.

Didn't acknowledge the weight of ghosts in the car.

Instead, he tapped his earpiece, voice sharp, absolute.

"Ross. Step on it."

The car lurched forward, tires biting into the road, the city racing past in a blur of gold and neon.

Leah was waiting.

And Voss had a ship to win.