Vera paced the command deck of the pirate base, her curvaceous frame a storm of restless energy, her long purple hair catching the dim glow of the consoles, her purple eyes burning with barely contained rage.
Her navy captain's coat swished with each sharp turn, the spade-shaped tattoo on her palm stark as she clenched her fists, the metal deck ringing under her boots.
Syn's public execution played on a loop in her mind—his body exposed to a torturous blade device, the crowd's roar, the red blood pooling, not a hint of shapeshifter blue.
Mia's claim that it was a shapeshifter, not Syn, gnawed at her, the contradiction maddening.
Ila, the First Princess, mistaking Syn's identity? Orchestrating a fake execution?
The thought pushed Vera to the edge, her composed aura edged with menace, her rage a primal scream to rally her pirate army and tear Ila apart, limb by limb, for daring to touch him.
Was Mia lying?
Had they lost Syn forever?
