Chains glinting, venom needles pressed against pale fur. Luma’s glow dim, her body trembling as patrons jeered. Devices strapped to her, forcing movements, pulling sounds from her throat that made the crowd howl.

She wept openly now, hands trembling in her lap.

In Silk Trigger’s comm room, Prism’s grin faltered. She leaned in, jaw twitching, eyes wide.
“Oh… shit. They were doing that to the bat?”

Amaya’s gaze snapped to her, sharp as steel.
“Prism. Not now.”

But Prism couldn’t stop. Her shark-smile split wide, tongue flicking against her teeth as she canted her head.
“But look at the vids—” She licked her lips, stepping closer to the screen. “Hell, I’m trying not to get off just watching these angles.”

The room went ridgid. The console flickered.

Rue’s silence pressed so hard it felt like gravity.

Prism’s grin only stretched wider, hungry.
“Ohhhh look—chains digging in. They’re making her bleed.”

Rue stepped forward, just once. Breath sharp. Violet eyes burning so bright the holo quaked.

“Commander!” Amaya’s voice cut sharp, steady. She moved between her commander and the holo, hand raised, aura solid as steel.
“Breathe. Hold.”

But Rue’s lips parted, her voice breaking against her teeth.

“Moonlight…”

A whisper, a prayer, inevitability cracking.

The holo flickered, Spice’s den vanishing into static before Swan’s talons cut the feed. The suite’s velvet warmth returned, but the echoes of chains still clung to Luma’s ears.

Tears streaked her fur. Her glow sputtered, weak, trembling.

In the comm room, Prism had dropped into her chair again, jaw twitching, popcorn forgotten. Her eyes danced between the holo and the Commander, wide with dawning realization.

“Ohhh shit,” she muttered, grin sharp despite the weight in her voice. “So that’s it. That’s why you’re wound tight as hell, Boss. That bat—” she jabbed a claw toward the holo, “—she’s the one from back then. The rafters. The garden. The whole goddamn orphanage.”

The air went rigid. The holo shivered, static crawling its edges.

Prism leaned back, teeth flashing. “Spice caged her. Broke her. And now bird-boy’s trying to paper-chain her with a contract. Damn.” She canted her head, grin wicked. “Guess I figured out your type.”

Amaya rose sharply, voice cutting clean through the weight.
“Prism.”

Prism blinked, still grinning. “What? I’m not wrong.”

The console quaked. Violet light bled against the holo, the Commander’s gaze locked unblinking on the trembling bat. Her chest rose sharp, breath breaking against her teeth.

Amaya’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist, aura steel against storm.
“Commander. Hold.”

Her lips parted. Not a growl. A word, torn low, reverent.

“Moonlight…”

The table splintered under her hand.

On the holo, Swan’s velvet lies dripped on. The parchment glowed faint between him and the trembling bat, Luma’s glow stuttering, tears streaking her fur, hands shaking as she hovered over the quill.

The Commander’s silence pressed hotter, harder, until the lights in the comm room flickered. Her entire frame trembled on the edge of breaking.

Amaya’s grip held fast, her voice steady as a blade.
“Commander—”

Swan stepped closer, parchment in hand, his smile dripping velvet.
“Sign,” he whispered, voice low and honey-thick. “No more fear. No more hunger. No more betrayal. With this contract, little bat, you will never be lost again.”

He set the quill before her, black ink pulsing alive.
“Let me make you safe. Forever.”

Luma stared at the parchment, hands trembling in her lap. She could hardly breathe.

And then it struck her.

The scent. The gleam of his eyes. The way he looked at her now.

Her stomach turned.
She remembered it from the beginning — from that last nights in the Den, when he had smiled at her as though he already knew her.

Her lips parted, voice breaking into a whisper.
“I’ve seen you before…”

Swan’s smirk sharpened, feathers catching the lamplight.
“Of course you have.”

But then Rue tore her gaze off the holo for the first time, locking on Prism.

The air sharpened. Her teeth bared, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

Prism threw her hands up fast, slit jaw twitching nervously.
“Whoa, whoa, Commander—relax! Don’t bite the messenger, yeah? Look—I’m just saying, we had to go through intensive training before we got assigned to you. You think I don’t read the fine print? The Agency wants that bat—”

The words died in her throat.

The Commander’s entire frame went still. Absolute.

Her voice came low, guttural, dangerous.
“…What did you just say?”

Prism’s grin faltered, the color draining from her eyes. For the first time in years, the shark looked like prey.

“…Oh fuck.”

The silence cracked. The console rattled. Every panel hummed with pressure as violet light burned across the Commander’s frame. Her wings unfurled in one violent sweep, the air dropping cold as her resonance surged.

Prism shrank back, hands raised, her grin a nervous twitch.
“Commander—hey—come on, I didn’t mean it like—”

But the Commander didn’t wait.

She moved. One breath, one explosion of force.

The ship’s hull shuddered as she launched from the deck, ripping through the outer hatch. Violet burned in her wake, a storm leaving orbit in silence.

By the time Prism blinked, she was gone. Out. Into the endless dark.

The holo feed still flickered, Swan’s velvet voice dripping as he slid the parchment closer to the trembling bat. Luma’s tears caught the light, her glow sputtering.

Amaya muted the feed with a sharp flick, her patience snapping. She turned on Prism, eyes cold as knives.

“Don’t say another word to the Commander,” she hissed, voice low and razor-edged. “You fucking shark.”

Prism swallowed, slit jaw twitching nervously. She raised two fingers in a shaky salute, grin too wide to be safe.
“Y-yeah, sure. Maybe I should, uh… get her something? You know… like an apology gift? A fruit basket? Wine? …new blades?”

Amaya’s stare could’ve cut through stone. She didn’t answer. Just turned back to the console, fingers flying as she pulled up tracking data.

On the screen, the Commander’s signal burned like a comet streaking past the planet’s edge. Higher. Further. Breaking atmosphere.

Amaya exhaled slow, muttering to herself as the line arced into open orbit.
“Where the hell are you going, Commander…”

The holo still glowed, Swan circling Luma with parchment in hand. His voice dripped velvet, every word sliding closer to her throat.

Luma’s chest heaved, glow sputtering. Why does he feel familiar? That smile… his eyes… I’ve seen them before. I don’t know where, but I know it. I know it.

Prism leaned forward, crunching loud into her popcorn. “Look at him,” she snorted. “Circling her like she’s on the block. He’s got the smile of a man who thinks he invented chains.”

Amaya didn’t answer. Her gaze stayed sharp on the feed, one hand flicking data across a side panel. Rue’s signal burned high above the planet, altitude climbing, steady acceleration.

“She’s still going up,” Amaya muttered, voice low as steel.

Prism waved a claw toward the holo. “Yeah, well, down here bird-boy’s about to talk her into scribbling her glow away. Bet he makes her sign in blood. Or worse—perfume ink.” She popped another kernel, sharp grin splitting. “This is one hell of a show.”

Luma’s fingers curled tight in her lap. Why does he want me bound like this? Why me?

Amaya’s voice cut cold. “The Agency will use this. Every second of it. Against him. Against her. Against the Commander.”

Prism arched a brow, smirking sideways. “Agency, spice-lords, bird-boy—tell me who isn’t pulling strings at this point.” She leaned back, licking salt from her claws. “That bat’s about to break if someone doesn’t cut the feed.”

Amaya’s eyes didn’t move from the trembling glow on the holo.
“She won’t break,” she said, each word a blade. “Not yet.”

Luma shut her eyes, tears streaking warm down her fur. But I already have.

The holo flickered faint, Swan’s voice still velvet as he slid the parchment closer.
“Sign, little bat. No more hunger. No more cold nights. No more being forgotten.”

Luma’s breath hitched. Her hands trembled in her lap, glow sputtering faint as ash. He was there. I’ve seen those eyes before. 

That smile...

From the Den...

 From the dance floor balcony....

Tears streaked faster, and she couldn’t stop shaking.

Prism shifted uneasily, popcorn bowl forgotten at her side. “Ohhh this is bad,” she muttered, voice a little too sharp to be playful. “That bat’s not breaking, she’s shattering.”

Amaya didn’t answer. Her fingers flew across the console, pulling Rue’s data onto a second screen. The signal streaked higher, further, until it looked less like a ship’s trace and more like a comet.
“She’s leaving atmosphere,” Amaya said flat.

Prism blinked, jaw twitching. “…the hell for?”

Amaya’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t look away from the rising arc.

Out in the void, Rue’s wings cut through silence.

No wind. No sound. Only violet trailing like fire across the stars.

Her chest heaved, breath ragged inside her helm. Swan’s words echoed: Sign. Forever.

She shut her eyes, but the images burned anyway—
the orphanage collapsing in flame,
Spice’s den glittering with chains,
Luma trembling under Swan’s smile...

Her lips parted. A whisper escaped, rough as a wound and soft as a prayer.

“I....Moonlight…”

The broken phrase bled out into the endless dark.

And still she climbed.

On the holo, Luma’s hands trembled over the quill. Her glow sputtered faint, breaths shallow, tears catching the lamplight.

“I… I need more time,” she whispered, voice breaking.

The parchment gleamed between them, ink pulsing alive. Swan tilted his head, feathers catching the lamplight as his smile spread.

“Of course,” he crooned, velvet dripping with false mercy. He tapped the quill once against the parchment, then slid it aside.
“You have forty-eight hours. At dawn’s turn, I expect your mark. Until then…” His wings spread slightly as he turned, voice ringing with calculated grace.
“You will not perform. You will not be paraded. You will explore the Aviary’s wonders. Breathe its luxury. See what you are meant to inherit.”

He lifted a talon toward the door.
“Wait outside for a moment, little bat. I need a word with your escort.”

Luma froze, ears twitching faint, but she obeyed. The doors closed behind her, soft as a sigh.

Nyra bowed low, crimson wings trembling faintly in the lamplight. “You called for me, my lord?”

Swan stepped closer, talons grazing her chin, tilting her face upward. His smile was velvet, practiced.
“You’ll be her shadow for the next forty-eight hours. Show her the Aviary. Its best chambers. Its sweetest luxuries. Convince her this is where she belongs.”

His feathered hand drifted lower, brushing over the swell of her chest, caressing first, coaxing her breath to hitch.
“Open for me,” he whispered.

His other hand waved lazily toward a lacquered cabinet. The drawer slid open, revealing three slim vials of venom, dark liquid gleaming under the lamps.
“Do this well, little moth, and these are yours.”

Nyra’s wings shivered. For weeks, she’d lived on scraps of his approval. His touches, his tests, his venom dangled as reward. The thought whispered through her — this is how he shows I’ve done well.

She gasped softly when his fingers slid lower, coaxing her thighs apart, pressing in with deceptive gentleness. His feathers moved slow, deliberate, stroking her until her hips betrayed her, rocking faint into his hand.

Her thoughts spiraled, wetness gathering under his coaxing touch. He’s rewarding me. He’s pleased. I’ve earned this.

A moan slipped unbidden from her lips as his fingers worked deeper, sliding in and out with practiced rhythm. Her body softened against his desk, breath catching.

And then, just as she adjusted to the rhythm, just as her body almost believed the lie—

His entire hand thrust in, feathers spreading cruel and wide.

Nyra cried out, wings shuddering as pain lanced hot through her hips. Swan’s breath ghosted her ear, voice velvet over knives.
“You know what happens when I am disappointed.”

He pressed harder, spreading until her thighs trembled under the strain. Then, as if nothing had shifted, he withdrew slow, smoothing her robe into place with mock tenderness.

“Now go,” he murmured, smile gleaming. “Show me your worth.”

Nyra lowered her eyes, biting back the shake in her breath. She turned and walked to the door, wings trembling but her face schooled to composure.

Outside, Luma waited — her ears had caught more than Swan guessed. She looked down quickly, robe clutched tighter, as Nyra whispered evenly:
“This way.”

The doors closed soft behind them, leaving Swan alone with parchment, quill, and smile.

In the comm room, Prism nearly dropped her popcorn.
“Holy fuck,” she barked, eyes wide. “Bird-boy’s running bribery, groping, and a full fist on holo like it’s amateur hour. And he thinks the bat didn’t hear? Those ears? She caught every note.”

She shook her head, laughing sharp and bitter. “That’s not an escort. That’s a setup with a countdown.”

Amaya’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, but she said nothing. Her gaze flicked once to Rue’s signal arcing further into orbit. Her hand slid low, discreet, brushing the private comm line.

“Commander…” she murmured, voice a blade. “You need to hear this.”

Prism was still buzzing, tapping claws against the console. “You know what, I’m pulling her file. I want to see what game this bird is playing, pairing a bat with a moth. That’s not random. That’s design.”

Data flared across the holo. Prism leaned in, jaw twitching as she scrolled. “Scarlet moth, eastern terraces, performer credentials… hmm. Cute. But what’s the catch?”

Amaya’s eyes scanned faster, her focus knife-sharp. She stopped on a flagged line and read it twice before speaking.
“He paired her with an amplifier.”

Prism blinked. “Amplifier? Like, a stage mic? A louder echo? What, she’s supposed to boost the bat’s glow?” She cackled, tossing another kernel into her mouth. “O.o If what? You know I like a good conspiracy.”

Amaya’s gaze flicked once, deliberately, to Rue’s comet signal still burning high above the planet. Her voice was low, clipped.
“If resonance amplifies the wrong pair… it doesn’t just echo. It changes the parameters. The Agency will notice. Everyone will notice.”

Prism’s grin sharpened, sharp enough to show teeth. “Ohhh. Messy. I love it.”

Amaya ignored her, pressing the private comm line open with one steady hand. A faint ping blinked out into the void.
“—Commander. Feed running. Nyra flagged as amplifier. Luma pending. Holding for orders.—”

The line clicked shut, leaving only Swan’s velvet voice on the holo and the violet tail of a comet arcing further into orbit.