⚠️ This chapter contains suggestive dialogue and themes of power dynamics. No explicit content.

The corridor was dim in the night cycle as Ravik made his way to his cabin. His steps were measured, but his mind churned with the weight of the evening—the mission, Zarion’s cryptic words, the strange undercurrent of the team’s dynamics.

He rounded a corner and nearly collided with Sarin, who was leaning casually against the bulkhead, his silver eyes catching the faint light.

“Leaving so soon, Captain?” Sarin drawled. 

Ravik stopped, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want, Sarin?”

Sarin straightened, stepping closer, his posture loose but his gaze intent. “What do I want?” He tilted his head, his grin softening into something more intimate. “Something warm. Something cocky. Something in my bed.”

The words hung in the air between them. Ravik didn’t speak. Instead, he stepped forward. Sarin’s back hit the wall, and Ravik’s hand pressed firmly against his chest, pinning him in place.

Sarin let out a sharp breath, his grin widening as his silver eyes met Ravik’s with unrestrained delight. “There he is,” he murmured, thrilled.

“Keep going,” Ravik hissed. His other hand tightened into a fist. “I’m not afraid of getting written up.”

“Relax,” Sarin said, voice low. “This is a blind spot between Deck 3 corridor cameras. You could totally kiss me and get away with it.”

“You waited for this.”

Sarin smirked. “If you’re asking—yes.”

Ravik leaned in, his body towering over Sarin, his violet eyes sharp and unyielding. “You think you can provoke me like this, and I’ll fall in line?”

Sarin’s grin didn’t falter. “Maybe,” he replied, his voice a hushed rasp. “Or maybe I wanted to see if you’d take what you want.”

Ravik’s jaw tightened, his hand pressing harder against Sarin’s chest. He felt the heat through Sarin’s uniform, the subtle rise of his chest under pressure. Sarin didn’t blink.

And then, just as quickly as the moment had escalated, Ravik froze. The words echoed in his mind, unbidden but impossible to ignore: Who are you, and what do you want?

His grip on Sarin loosened, his chest tightening as the weight of the question settled over him. Who was he in this moment? The Vanguard’s youngest captain, trying to maintain his edge? Or something else—someone he wasn’t ready to admit to being?

He stepped back. Sarin remained against the wall, untouched now. Ravik’s posture reset, the moment buried.

“You want me?” Ravik said finally, his voice steady but cold. “Prove it.”

Sarin tilted his head, his grin softening. “Prove it, huh?” he repeated, his tone amused but curious. “What exactly are you asking for, Captain?”

“I’m asking for more than empty words,” Ravik shot back, his gaze locking onto Sarin’s. “You want my attention? You think you’re worth it? Show me you deserve it.”

Sarin blinked. The grin faded, replaced by something sharper.

“Worth it,” Sarin murmured, a faint chuckle escaping him as he straightened, smoothing his uniform. “Well, Captain, I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Ravik didn’t respond, his posture stiff as he turned and walked away, his steps echoing down the corridor.

Sarin watched him go, the grin returning to his face, sharper now, more deliberate. “Oh, Ravik,” he murmured. “This is going to be fun.”

Ravik stepped into his cabin, the door sliding shut behind him with a faint hiss. He stood still as tension from Sarin coiled in his chest.

He exhaled sharply, pulling at the fastenings of his uniform with quick, practiced motions. The fabric peeled away, piece by piece, revealing the taut lines of his body beneath. His reflection caught him, violet eyes burning.

He wanted to ignore it, to push past the flood of emotions clawing at his thoughts, but as he undressed further, his mind betrayed him.

Sarin.

Sarin’s silver eyes flashed in his mind, confident and unflinching. He’d been close—close enough to take. And Sarin would’ve welcomed it, invited it, even begged for it if Ravik had pushed just a little further.

His hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted it. He wanted it, that rush of power, the feeling of being in complete command. Just like with Lyrik.

Ravik closed his eyes, his breath catching as the memories came unbidden. Lyrik’s voice, smooth and teasing, the way he’d begged Ravik at every turn until Ravik had taken him, leaving no doubt who was in control. The memory of Lyrik’s body beneath his hands, yielding. The way his surrender felt like a storm made flesh, unstoppable, undeniable.

He shook his head, but darker thoughts seeped through.

Korel.

The name hit like a punch to the gut, and with it came the vivid, haunting image of Korel’s sculpted form. Ravik’s chest tightened as he pictured the tattoos marking Korel’s body, the intricate lines and patterns that Ravik had told himself he hated. He did hate them—their permanence, their meaning—but he couldn’t stop seeing them. He couldn’t stop looking at that unmarked spot over Korel’s heart, the one place left untouched.

And with that thought came the darker, shameful one. The one he buried deep. The desire to feel Korel pinning him down, taking what Ravik had never given anyone else. 

Ravik’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as he glared at his reflection.

“No,” he growled. “That’s not me.”

The disgust roiled in his stomach, threatening to consume him. Submission wasn’t who he was. It couldn’t be. He was Ravik—arrogant, brilliant, in control. Always in control.

He clenched his jaw, his hands trembling slightly as he stripped off the last of his uniform and slid into bed. The sheets were cool against his skin, but they offered no comfort. He lay there, staring up at the faintly glowing ceiling, the echoes of his thoughts pounding in his mind.

I don’t need this, he told himself firmly. I don’t need Sarin, or Korel, or anyone else. I need to focus.

His fists clenched in the sheets. If I don’t, I’m dusted.

The thought brought a grim clarity, a sobering reminder of what was at stake. Ravik let out a slow breath, forcing his body to relax even as his mind refused to quiet.

He closed his eyes, willing the images, the memories, the desires to fade into the dark. They didn’t leave him, not completely, but he shoved them into the deepest corners of his mind where they couldn’t touch him.

Focus. Or be stardust.