“You walk a fine line between bravery and recklessness, yin’ka. Admirable. Stupid,” Irnot hummed, amusement curling in his throat as he watched you sulk back from your pathetic attempt at brokering leverage you never had. He had offered to help, as he always did, and as always you refused. Perhaps it was that stubborn righteousness of yours that kept you from leaning too heavily on a criminal. He’d heard the word enough times from your mouth to almost take it as a strange form of gratitude whenever you muttered it under your breath. A Federation human fumbling through Vor’s teeth—it was a kind of humor the planet didn’t usually provide.

Rumors had been circling for months now of the Federation trying to draw Vor’s factions into the same orbit. A fool’s errand, one so many groups had picked up and dropped over the years. Vor’s spine had always been built on crime, rebellion, and the sort of freedom that didn’t come from overlords. To unite under a single banner—especially one flown by a species that hadn’t even seen its first millennium among the stars—was like expecting a kit to stop stealing just because you asked it to.

And yet the Federation had a way of turning impossibility into inevitability. Even the Kaykro had bent the knee, and Irnot would’ve sworn to his last breath that they never would. He should have known then it was only a matter of time before the Federation’s colors bled across Vor’s streets, standing out like a lumifly in a sky that hadn’t known a moon in ages.

Still—there was something about it that gnawed at him. Maybe it was the way your optimism clung to you like stitching on your uniform, or the way you carried that naive belief as though it could hold the weight of Vor. He had the connections, the sway, enough scars from running under the names that still haunted the planet’s upper rungs to guide you through the places where questions got people killed. But he couldn’t decide what unsettled him more: the answers you were chasing, or the questions you weren’t yet asking. What would your Federation strip away, or build over, or claim as their own? For all its ruin, this world was his. And as much as he found you endearing, if it came to it, he knew where the line would fall between you.

Until then, he would amuse himself by trailing you like a shadow.

“I’ll give you credit. He only glared at you half the time,” Irnot said, reaching over to tug your cloak tighter. That uniform—it needled him, too crisp and too loud for Vor. “You sound too polished. Like you’ve never rolled in mud before. That is something they do on your Earth, isn’t it?”

If you hadn’t looked on the verge of tears or murder, he might have pushed the joke further. Instead, he let it settle, smirking faintly. Maybe he was softening. “You know, it would be far less painful—for both of us—if you allowed me to do more than stand at your shoulder and look menacing. I didn’t earn my place on Vor’s streets by giving scenic tours, yin’ka.” His tone was mocking, but the hand that lingered on your shoulder was comforting.

“There are doors I can open, words I can twist, debts I can call in—things your Federation charm will never touch. Yet here I am, watching you grind your teeth through every conversation while pretending I’m nothing more than a shadow at your back.” His eyes flicked over you, irritation tempered by something warmer. “Tell me, is that really what you dragged me along for?”