S H A D E
Jonah moved through the quiet meadow with the same steady purpose he carried into every battlefield, although here the only things that stirred were the tall grasses that brushed against the edges of his boots. Kalevala stretched out around him in a broad sweep of green and clear blue, a world that should have belonged to poets instead of fugitives, but Jonah had never been one to question a blessing when it fell into his reach. If Liin needed refuge, then she would have it somewhere that reminded her life did not have to be an endless sprint from one hunter to the next. Somewhere that felt like a promise he intended to keep this time.
The Kom'rk behind him powered down with a final low growl, a sound that faded quickly into the gentle murmur of the lake below the cottage. Jonah stepped toward the door, his steps steady, the obsidian plates of his armor catching the light in muted glints. The hood of his cloak shadowed most of his face, although the set of his jaw gave away his mood in full. Focused. Centered. Carrying something that ran deeper than duty.
He had been many things in his life, but reliable had not always been one of them. There were names he had failed, debts he had dropped when the ground shifted beneath him, and Liin Terallo’s name sat heavier than most. He remembered the rise of the old cell, the way the Haxion Brood had clawed its way from forgotten criminal footnote to something violent and sharp. He remembered when his crew had started moving like wolves instead of strays, when the credits finally flowed and opportunity arrived wearing Liin’s colors. And he remembered how the entire thing collapsed when the two women he trusted most vanished without a trace. The Brood crumbled in their absence. New Cov was left exposed. Liin was left exposed.
He had carried that failure like a scar that refused to fade.
Now, years later, the galaxy had thrown them into the same fire again. She hunted across the stars. He rising through the ranks of a new home forged in iron and purpose. He had offered protection on Daro because it was the only honest way to answer the ghosts that shadowed him, and he had meant every word of it. Even though he knew this choice would eventually bring him before the Mand'alor. Aether would look at him with those calm, knowing eyes and ask why he had moved warriors to shield a woman who was not clan, not empire, not sworn. Jonah had already accepted that reckoning.
He murmured quietly to himself, not a prayer, not even a reflection, just the truth as only he could voice it. “If she calls for help, I answer. Always. So when he asks why, I’ll stand there and say it plain.”
He reached the door of the cottage and lifted his gauntleted fist. Three firm knocks, polite but unmistakably Jonah in their clarity, rang through the wood. He did not force his presence. He did not push the lock or announce himself as Warmaster. He simply waited, helm angled slightly as he breathed in the calm air that rolled down from the lake.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried that familiar low rumble that always felt as if it came from deep within his chest, slow and controlled, the edge of blade-born intensity beneath each word.
“Liin. I’m here.”
Not a command. Not a warning.
A promise, returned at last.
