The bay lay unnaturally still, the silence thick and oppressive.

  Only Gina and I remained aboard. She knelt by the concealed panel, fingers finding the hidden latch. With a soft hiss, it opened, revealing the suitcase. Her movements were calm, deliberate under the faint red glow of emergency lights.

  For the first time since the mission began, the comms crackled awake.

  “Where the hell are you?” Jerry’s voice burst through, raw with worry.

  “Just took a little detour,” I said, forcing my tone to stay level.

  “Detour?” He was teetering on panic. “Do you have any idea what just happened? The Empire’s on double red alert. Crowned Prince Arthur Jr. is dead. The Union capital is crawling with chimeras—the whole city’s burning. What the hell went down there?”

  “I’ll explain when we dock,” I replied, rubbing my throbbing temple. “It’s… long. Complicated.”

  Minutes later, the Dragonfly settled into the Revenge’s landing bay with a gentle thud. We stepped out to find Jerry waiting—face flushed, fist balled at his side.

  “You two. My office. Now.”

  We followed in silence. Inside, he slammed the door and activated the wall monitor, pulling up an Imperial news feed.

  The headline blazed: CROWNED PRINCE ARTHUR JR. ASSASSINATED.

  Grainy surveillance footage played: me pinning Arthur Jr.’s arms, Gina swinging the heavy suitcase into his face, Faye’s mini single-shot pistol flashing. Our Impostor's Masks had concealed our identities—except Faye’s. Hers had ripped away mid-fight, exposing her real face. The Emperor had declared full lockdown. Faye was now the most-wanted person on Earth. Bounty: dead or alive.

  “So where’s Faye?” Jerry demanded, voice climbing.

  “She’s dead,” I said flatly. “We went to the Union capital. She released the chimeras. They’re tearing the city apart. Joe Tassle’s gone too.”

  “What?” Jerry barked.

  Before he could demand more, the feed cut to another broadcast. James stood at an ornate podium, voice steady.

  “I have received confirmation that my brother, Arthur Jr., is dead. My father, Emperor Arthur I, has declared the position of apparent heir vacant. As second in line to the Imperial throne, I—King James of Imperial Sector 2 (SEA and Australia), Minister of Agriculture and Foodstuffs—humbly decline the heirship, passing it to the next in line.”

  We stared, stunned.

  “Can they even do that?” Gina whispered.

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  “Yes,” Jerry muttered. “Imperial decree allows heirs to pass the succession.”

  Then Ella appeared, expression grave.

  “On this tragic day, my dear brother Arthur Jr. has passed. As third in line to the Imperial throne, I—Ella Tassle, Queen of Imperial Sector 3 (Eurasia), Minister of Energy—also decline the heirship.”

  Gina’s eyes widened. “So that means…”

  “Prince Marcus becomes crowned prince,” Jerry finished, voice grim.

  The realization landed like a gut punch. Marcus. Had he orchestrated everything? Both heirs declining at the exact same moment? Faye’s actions—had he manipulated her into killing

  Arthur Jr.?

  Jerry cleared his throat. “Anyway, the new crowned prince—Marcus—has one final request for you. You’re going to the Moon.”

  “The Moon?” Gina and I said together.

  “Yes. The Moon.” He tapped an icon. “Here’s the clip he sent.”

  Marcus appeared on screen—calm, composed, almost serene.

  “Captain Jericho Sanchez and Lieutenant Regina Mendez of the Dead Men Corps—this will be the last mission in our campaign to heal the planet. With all core data now obtained, it is time to pull the final lever. Admiral Jeremiah Sanchez now holds the five core data chips. Bring them to the Moon, to the holding bay where the Mal’akhim princess is imprisoned. Inside, you will find a pod flanked by five receiving computers. Insert each core data chip into its corresponding receiver and execute the program. The machine will release the princess, unleashing the pod with a powerful psy-energy wave that will strike and heal the planet. Be strong. Good luck. Godspeed.”

  I sat frozen, the words sinking in.

  “So… how do we get to the Moon?” I finally managed.

  “Head to the landing bay,” Jerry said. “Harvey’s prepping the ship.”

  Gina and I collected the five core data chips and hurried back. There it waited: a sleek, aerodynamic craft with quad thrusters, built for vacuum and speed. Harvey hauled over a crate of spacesuits.

  “Here you go, boss… and madam,” he said with a quick grin.

  We suited up, boarded, and strapped in. The vessel tilted nose-up. Engines hummed. Steam curled from vents. The countdown began.

  “T-minus 10… 9… 8… 7… 6…”

  “Wow,” Gina breathed. “After everything, we’re finally going to the Moon.”

  “–5”

  “Yeah,” I said, voice unsteady.

  “–4”

  “Wait—are you scared?” she teased.

  “–3”

  “Kinda.”

  “–2”

  “Hahaha! Hold on, Cho!” she shouted, excitement bubbling.

  “–1. Blast off!”

  A thunderous roar—then whoosh. We rocketed upward from the Revenge’s open flight deck. G-forces crushed me into the seat, intensifying as we shattered the sound barrier. Gina whooped like it was a carnival ride.

  Thirty minutes later, the pressure finally eased. Weightlessness. Orbit.

  Gina took the controls, executed a clean burn.

  An hour on, the Moon swelled in the viewport—cratered, silent, immense.

  We located the holding bay, descended, and touched down just outside the entrance.

  In the weak gravity, we bounded slowly across the gray dust until the door hissed open. We stepped inside—and stumbled as artificial gravity snapped on.

  I glanced around, stunned. How had a man like Marcus—wheelchair-bound, calculating—built something this advanced? That would be one of the first questions I asked him when we returned.

  Gina tapped my shoulder and pointed. There: the pod containing the Mal’akhim princess. We hurried to the receiving computers and inserted each core data chip. As the last one clicked home, the pod began to glow.

  Then the bay shuddered—a violent moonquake.

  We sprinted for the exit and leaped out just as the pod launched, streaking skyward like a comet. It pierced Earth’s grey ash atmosphere in a blazing trail and struck the surface. A brilliant green flash erupted, washing over the entire planet.

  As we turned back toward our ship.

  Imperial space troopers waited—rifles leveled.

  No weapons. Low gravity. No cover.

  We stood no chance.

  I raised my hands slowly. Gina mirrored me. We knelt on the gray dust, hands laced behind our heads, staring at the lunar soil.

  After every betrayal, every death, every desperate step to heal a broken world—this was the end.

  The Empire had finally caught us.