Once the initial thrill faded, Cora forced herself to think.

  The mission text on that stone slab hadn’t been poetic. It was blunt, practical, and annoyingly specific:

  Repair the heavily damaged mech Wildfire and restore it to Tier One combat capability.

  Completion: 0/100

  Note: Devouring mechs can accelerate Wildfire’s repair.

  No free lunches.

  Everyone on Nina Station knew the phrase, even if no one could agree on who’d first brought it here. Cora didn’t care about the origin. She cared that it was true.

  If she wanted to enjoy anything, she’d have to pay for it.

  Which raised an urgent set of questions.

  What exactly did “devouring a mech” mean?

  And what exactly did 0/100 mean?

  Was Wildfire supposed to literally eat other mechs?

  Fine—ignore the “how” for a second. Even the math was ridiculous. If one mech equaled one point of progress, where was she supposed to find a hundred mechs to feed it?

  A hundred machines lined up neatly in front of Wildfire like produce at a market, waiting their turn to be swallowed?

  The mental image made her shiver.

  Mechs weren’t vegetables. And even if they were, wouldn’t it choke?

  Still, thinking didn’t solve anything. Experimenting might.

  Cora exited the system space. Back in her bedroom, she pressed a control at the bedside. The ceiling split open in silence, panels sliding apart to reveal the night.

  Cool air spilled in, brushing her cheeks.

  Above, the seven moons formed a ring—glittering, jewel-bright, like gemstones set into a king’s crown. She stared for a long moment, then let out a soft breath.

  “If those worlds are the heart of the Alliance,” she murmured, “then mechs won’t be in short supply there.”

  But she wasn’t suicidal.

  Even with ten times her courage, she wasn’t about to run wild on the capital worlds. She wouldn’t even get the chance to let Wildfire “devour” anything—she’d be blasted to dust first.

  And she had no intention of betting on rebirth a second time.

  A thin panel unfolded from the wall by her bed—an in-room terminal screen. Cora tapped quickly, pulling up public distribution data on mech deployments across Nina Station.

  The station only had fifty mechs total.

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  Twenty of them were stationed in the capital city, scattered between local forces and government facilities.

  She skipped all of those.

  Her eyes locked onto one place instead:

  The Agriculture Base.

  It wasn’t just a facility. On Nina Station, it was wealth made physical—real food, real flavor, real status. A symbol of privilege. The kind of place people bragged about getting access to.

  Which meant it was guarded.

  A full battalion on long-term rotation.

  And two mechs.

  Two mechs.

  That was the point.

  The base itself mattered, yes—but those two guarding units were what made it her best first target.

  Cora leaned closer to the screen, tapping her fingertips idly as if the decision had already been made.

  “What’s yours is mine,” she said to no one in particular. “And what’s mine is still mine. You’ve got plenty. You won’t mind if I take a little, right?”

  She’d already assessed her situation.

  Her body was weak, untrained—but her mental force was usable. Piloting Wildfire wouldn’t be a problem. And the mechs guarding an Agriculture Base on a third-tier station were low-level units, with average operators at best.

  As for a battalion of troops—even with robot infantry mixed in—against a mech they might as well be paper.

  Only certain offworld species, born with unnatural abilities and bodies built like weapons, could stand toe-to-toe with mechs without armor.

  That wasn’t the case here.

  Decision made, Cora shut down the terminal.

  She threw off the blanket and sprang up in one clean motion. Her feet hit the wall, found purchase—one step, two—and she used the momentum to launch herself through the open ceiling.

  Right then, a bell began to ring.

  Deep, slow, and heavy.

  It rolled across the capital city’s night sky and didn’t fade for a long time.

  The Quill estate was built like an old-world fortress—domed roof, high white walls, manicured gardens. It had an expensive kind of elegance, the kind that tried to look tasteful while still announcing wealth.

  Rose vines climbed the exterior, thick and green, blooming into red flowers the color of fresh blood.

  Cora caught hold of the vines the moment she dropped outside her window and climbed down with practiced speed.

  Hidden surveillance lenses snapped toward her all at once.

  Lethal defense beams flared—thin, precise lines that could burn through flesh in an instant.

  Cora didn’t even flinch.

  She raised two fingers toward the nearest camera, tilted her head, and gave it a sweet, childish smile.

  The beams halted beside her.

  Then vanished, as if they’d never existed.

  A voice drifted out of the darkness, warm and amused.

  “And where is Miss Cora going at this hour?”

  Walter stepped into view, smiling like a harmless old man.

  Cora rolled her eyes. “If I’m sneaking out, Walter, do you really think I’m going to tell you?”

  “And what could possibly be so important,” Walter asked, leaning closer with the same gentle curiosity, “that you need to climb the wall in the middle of the night?”

  Cora exhaled, already tired. “Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see me?”

  Walter sighed too, as if she’d asked the impossible. “But I did see you. So what now? Do you climb back up… or do I go wake your grandfather and let him decide?”

  Cora stared at him in silence.

  The old man’s face was kind. His voice was mild. But Cora wasn’t fooled.

  Walter was dangerous.

  Half a month ago, she’d seen him bare-handed against five top-grade combat robots. In less than a minute, he’d turned them into twisted scrap.

  A sweet smile didn’t change the truth.

  This man could fold her into the floor if he felt like it.

  She swallowed her irritation, muttering curses in her head, and climbed back up the vines. By the time she hauled herself through the opening and back into her room, she was sweaty and annoyed.

  If it had only been the house’s automated systems watching the estate, her identity would’ve let her pass without interference. The guard robots outside would’ve politely “failed” to notice her.

  But Walter wasn’t a machine.

  And he’d caught her.

  So her plan—to go find a mech and test Wildfire’s “appetite”—died before it even took its first breath.

  Cora flopped onto the bed, fuming quietly at the ceiling.

  It didn’t change the larger plan.

  The Agriculture Base was still hers to take—its real vegetables, its cultured meat, and most of all, its two mechs.

  She’d find another chance.

  But failing on the very first night she tried to move still left a bitter knot in her chest.

  Wildfire, she thought, eyes narrowing as sleep crept back in—

  Your upgrade path is going to be a long one.