12
Dorian
“What are we doing here, if we’re not flying the freighter? It’s our ship.” The Prillon pilot seated next to me in the freighter’s launch bay looked as unhappy as I felt. His name was Izak, and we’d been flying together for two years. He was a damn good pilot, perhaps even better than me. But he wanted answers I didn’t have.
“I don’t know. But we’ve got the I.C. on board, so the gods only know what kind of bullshit we’re about to get tangled up in.”
Izak groaned and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Can you hear that?”
I stilled and listened, really listened. Nothing. “No.”
“They gave me this damn armor, and now I can hear them.” He rubbed his temples before sitting up and leaning his head back against the wall.
“Who’s they? Who gave it to you
