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If Oliver knew Dominic, he had already been working on whatever presentation he was giving. For hours longer than he needed to be, obsessing over minutiae and wasting time on likely irrelevant details.
But his brother nodded anyway. “You’re right. There are a couple of changes I want to make.” Dominic turned on his heel and left the room without waiting for a response, which was good because their father wouldn’t give him one.
Alistair Turner had turned his attention back to his next steps and his favorite son.
A twist of pride tangled around Oliver’s chest as he watched Dominic stalk away. It had taken him years of disgrace and months of effort and planning to get back to this coveted position. The culmination of all his efforts and all his focus, and he was back at his father’s side, basking in his approval, charting out the future of a galaxy.
Oliver swallowed as he turned back to explain the current dossier on the screen to his father.
Everything he wanted and all he could think about was that flag slowly rising over the smoking capital building and the way Mal’ik had looked at him just before he left.
* * *
Mal’ik stepped out of the general’s office, stopped in the hall, and stared at the wall across from him.
He had been a teenager when he’d received his first orders, and they had felt like a gift. Someone had given him an opportunity: a job and a belief in his ability to do it. And for all the years afterward, he had received orders and clarity, purpose, and fulfillment with them.
Sometimes they were difficult. Sometimes they seemed impossible, maybe confusing, maybe frustrating, maybe vague and open-ended. But he had a direction, and he had taken it.
He had never received orders and felt the way he did now.
He turned and walked slowly down the hall, debating his next move. When he got to the next intersection, he took a right instead of the left that would have taken him back to his rooms.
His rooms that still smelled like sunshine and molasses. Mal’ik pushed the thought away before his mind could follow the thread any farther. That was over.
He knocked on a door a few halls later, and Lar’a opened it.
She opened her mouth when she saw him, then closed it, and inhaled deeply through her nose. She frowned then stepped aside. “Get in here.”
Mal’ik stepped into the foyer of a small apartment, almost identical to the rooms Oliver had been put up in. The only person he could see was Lar’a, but the door to the study was closed, and the bedroom door was only slightly ajar.
Lar’a grabbed his arm and dragged him to the couch. The couch was set in the same location as the couch in Oliver’s quarters: the one he and Oliver had sat on while they ate dinner together. Mal’ik sat on the same side and glanced at where Oliver had been when he’d asked for Mal’ik’s advice and told him that his opinions mattered and that his thoughts were valuable, then asked Mal’ik to fuck him, desperate and earnest.
Lar’a sat on the coffee table in front of him, elbows on her knees. “Why do you smell like that?”
“What do I smell like?”
“Don’t be coy, Mal’ik,” Lar’a growled. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing to do with Serihk or Bryant.”
“I didn’t think it was.” Lar’a narrowed her eyes at him. “They’re not the only two people in the galaxy I care about, you know. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
Gratitude rushed through Mal’ik’s chest at hearing words he hadn’t known he needed. He nodded and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees to match Lar’a’s position. “You saw the satellite video?”
“Yeah.” Lar’a’s upper lip curled, and she bared a fang. “Got a good look at that new Resistance leader we’ve all been talking about. Fucking scum.”
Mal’ik understood her expression. The image of that man and his piercing eyes were seared into Mal’ik’s brain, along with an intense hatred of a magnitude he hadn’t harbored in a long time. “The general is sending me back.”
“To Southern Tava?”
Mal’ik nodded. “He wants me to lead our forces there. To crush the insurrection.”
“Good.” Lar’a gave that threatening grin Mal’ik had gotten so used to back during the occupation. He hadn’t seen it in a while, and it nearly gave him chills now. “Bring the full force of the Klah’Eel army down on their traitorous heads.”
“No.” The word was out before Mal’ik even thought about it, snapping out of him hard and firm. He stood and paced to the other side of the room, then turned and paced back again. “Not like this. The men they’re sending me with, the weapons, the orders I’ve been given. It’s a death sentence for the entire city and every town along the way.”
“And so what?” Lar’a shot to her feet as well. “You think those bastards took all of Ralscoln by force? The people there are harboring these traitors. They’re helping them. They’re just as bad!”
