Page 39 of Enslak

The words hit me like a blaster bolt to the chest.

"You're going to kill him."

Not a question. A statement. Flat. Disbelieving.

"We're going to release him from suffering," Serna said, though her voice carried no conviction. "The Enslak I knew wouldn't want to live like this. Trapped in his own mind, unable to recognize his family, existing only in sedation or rage."

"The ceremony will be tomorrow at dawn." Her voice was heavy with grief. "You're welcome to attend if you wish. You brought him home. You deserve to say goodbye."

She moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "Thank you, Detective Nguyen. For everything you did. For bringing my son home, even if only for a little while."

Then she was gone.

My legs gave out. I sank into the chair, hands shaking, vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall.

They were going to kill him. Tomorrow. At dawn.

The isolation room sat at the end of a long corridor, separated by multiple security checkpoints. The final door slid open.

Every crew member I passed looked away.

A Vaktaire warrior turned his head as I approached, suddenly fascinated by the wall panel beside him. Two females in engineering uniforms stopped their conversation mid-sentence, their ears flattening as they studied the floor. A young male—barely more than a cub—met my eyes for half a heartbeat before his gaze skittered away, shame coloring his features.

They knew.

They all knew where I was going. What tomorrow would bring.

The silence followed me like a funeral shroud. No one spoke. No one acknowledged me. They simply... moved aside. Created space. Let me pass as though I were already a ghost, already mourning, already saying goodbye.

The final door slid open.

Serna, Charick, and Kavak were already inside. The healer, George, stood at the medical console, his large eyes somber as he monitored the equipment. In the center, on a bed that looked too small for his frame, lay Enslak.

My breath caught.

The Garoot Healer had done extraordinary work. The patches of scales that had covered his skin were gone. The grafted tissue from other species, the hybrid modifications that had made him look like something stitched together from nightmares, had been removed. His pelt was uniform now, deep cream that caught the light in soft waves. Pure Vaktaire.

But he was still massive. Considerably larger than his brothers, his frame taking up nearly the entire medical bed. His claws were long and prominent, curved and sharp in a way that standard Vaktaire claws weren't. His fangs, visible through slightly parted lips, were longer than typical for his kind. These weren't remnants of the Ulkommenian's experiments. They were simply part of who he was now, woven into his healed body at a cellular level. Part of his natural form.

He looked Vaktaire. He looked beautiful.

But he also looked broken.

His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and steady. Sedated, I realized. His massive frame was relaxed, but something about the stillness felt wrong. Like the calm before violence. Too empty. Too ready to snap.

Like looking at a body without a soul.

"The Garoot Healer did remarkable work," Serna said quietly beside me. "The technology reversed nearly all the physical modifications. His body is whole again."

"But his mind isn't," I said.

"No." The single word carried the weight of worlds. "His mind is fractured. Shattered. George believes the torture and experimentation damaged him beyond what physical healing can repair."

I moved closer to the bed. My hand reached out before I could stop myself, my fingers brushing Enslak's arm—warm pelt, solid and real.

Alive.

He was alive.