Kael sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. The mattress sighed beneath him. The hum of the shower became a steady metronome, each beat pulling his thoughts inward.
Setup.
The word tasted dry.
L.T.I. invitations didn't usually come without layers. Andrew Lonek was many things, but careless wasn't one of them. And yet the message had felt… indirect. Sanitized. Like it had passed through too many hands, or not enough. Kael replayed the details. The timing. The way Tatooine had been framed as incidental, almost quaint.
Too neat.
His mind wandered the long, crooked halls of his past. Names surfaced like ghosts refusing to stay buried. Syndicates he'd crossed. Deals that ended with smiles and knives. A slicer on Taris who never forgave betrayal. A merc outfit that lost a leader because Kael had walked away at the wrong moment. People who understood patience as a weapon.
Someone could be nudging him. Using Lonek's name as a mask. Or worse, Lonek himself might be trimming the truth, trusting Kael to survive whatever details were deemed… inconvenient.
Kael exhaled slowly, rubbing a thumb along the scar at his wrist. He didn't mind danger. He minded not knowing whose danger it was.