Akiko drifted alongside Lila, boots tapping gently against the hull as she kept herself steady. Between them, the mining laser floated awkwardly, tethered by magnetic clamps, bulkier than she'd ever pictured.

Not sleek. Not pretty. But almost ready.

The past two days had blurred into one long stretch of exhaustion. Testing. Retesting. Fighting every quirk the micro-fusion core could throw at them. But now, they were here. Final assembly.

She could feel it, exhilaration curling beneath the fatigue like a second heartbeat.

Lila gave the rig a push toward the Driftknight's cargo hatch. "This better be worth it, fox. If it explodes after all those sleepless nights, I'm going to haunt you."

Akiko smirked, though her eyes burned from too many hours without rest. "I'd prefer you yell at me while still alive. Less dramatic."

Inside, the two of them maneuvered the rig into position near the main fabricator.

Akiko locked her boots to the floor and began disconnecting the test harness. Her movements were automatic now, muscle memory after so many iterations, but her thoughts wandered ahead.

To what came next.

The armor.

Her gaze flicked to the bin where the dragonling scales waited. Neatly packed, humming faintly. The laser had taken everything, but the armor... that would be simpler. Feed it into the fabricator. Let it weave.

A little extra protection for the chaos she hadn't outrun yet, and wouldn't.

"Hey, Lila," Akiko said, glancing over. "When this thing works, and it will, you think Kara will let us keep it onboard?"

Lila snorted. "Maybe. If you don't give her a reason to regret it. Which, knowing you, might be the harder part."

Akiko made a show of looking offended. "I've been very responsible lately. Not a single reckless explosion."

Lila raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.

"Let's finish before Kara starts breathing down our necks again," she said. "She's twitchy with those Haven scouts out there."

"Yeah," Akiko murmured. The grin faded. "I know."

She turned back to the rig, floating beside it in the quiet hum of the workshop.

Ugly. Heavy. Glorious.

Tanya appeared a moment later, drifting over with a tangle of tools and a grin sharp as ever. "So this is it, huh?" she said, tightening a set of couplings. "Beautiful mess is still beautiful."

She gave Akiko a look. "Though if we keep bolting crap onto your body, you're gonna be more mech than fox."

Akiko rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "If it keeps me alive, I'll take the trade."

With a soft hiss, she slid her arm into the laser's socket.

Mana surged, recognition immediate. The core thrummed through her bones, its energy strange but steady. The frame adjusted, clamps locking to her arm.

Then the new components engaged. Exo-braces unfolded from the rig, snaking up and over her shoulders. They latched into her suit with soft clicks, distributing the weapon's weight. Suddenly, it wasn't just a cannon. It was part of her.

Akiko twisted her torso experimentally. The system moved with her. Clunky, but responsive. Not perfect, but close enough.

Tanya floated back for a better view. "Not bad for something we cobbled together from dragon spit and salvage."

Akiko ran a claw along one stabilizer. "Barely holding together," she said. "If I fire this thing at full power, I'm probably flying into the next moon."

Tanya smirked. "Just means you'd better hit on the first shot."

Lila gave the rig one last pass with her scanner. "Operational," she declared. "Not pretty, but it'll do."

Akiko flexed her arm. The laser tracked with her like an extension of thought.

"Pretty wasn't on the wishlist," she said. "Just needed to work."

They all stared at it for a moment, this mismatched monster of parts and effort and purpose.

She exhaled. "Let's hope I don't have to use it."

Tanya laughed. "Oh, you're gonna use it. Let's just hope it doesn't explode."

Akiko's ears twitched. "Appreciate the confidence."

"Anytime."

Akiko disengaged the mining laser from her arm. The exo-rig hissed as it disengaged, support arms folding back into their housing like a creature curling into rest.

She gave it a gentle push to the far corner of the workshop and latched onto the stabilizer clamp with a soft clunk. Without the weight, she felt lighter, but not relaxed. Not yet.

She turned to the container beside Tanya, where the dragonling scales lay stacked in layered gleam. Purified. Dense with power. Their surface caught the overhead lights in a muted shimmer, like heat rising off black glass.

Akiko tapped the edge of the container. "Let's get these into the fabricator before Haven decides to redecorate the sky with missiles."

Tanya smirked. "With these on you? You might be able to tank one."

Akiko raised an eyebrow, ears flicking back. "I'm not looking to test that theory."

They worked without ceremony, feeding the scales into the fabricator one by one. Each piece still held the memory of what it had once been, edges sharp, weight deceptive.

As Akiko handled them, she felt the faint tug of mana beneath her gloves… and something else. A flicker of instinct. Not hers. Not anymore.

They resonated not just with her suit, but with the echo of something she had once absorbed.

Like they remembered her. Like they recognized what she had taken.

Tanya kept the pace steady. "Any idea how this is supposed to work?"

Akiko tilted her head. "If it's like the necklace… the suit will reshape around them. Mana does the rest."

"Very reassuring," Tanya muttered. "I love when our armor relies on vibes."

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The fabricator hummed to life, beginning its slow, meticulous pass. Akiko leaned against the bulkhead and watched the first refined scale emerge, its raw edges now smoothed, its inner shimmer focused into a dense glow. She picked it up carefully.

It was warm. The scale pulsed once against her glove, and her suit responded, panels shifting, adjusting, forming a shallow recess over her chest. She slotted the scale into place.

It clicked. A breathless kind of harmony.

Her HUD spiked briefly, then settled. Suit integrity climbed. Mana flow adjusted.

Akiko exhaled. "Okay," she murmured. "That's promising."

One by one, they added more. The armor built itself like a story being told in overlapping segments, each scale fitting with quiet precision, layering strength without weight.

It was still her suit. Still hers. But now it had teeth.

"This is better than I imagined," Akiko said, twisting her arm to watch the scales shift with her motion.

Tanya let out a low whistle. "Now you really look like someone about to fight a dragon."

The process continued, methodical and focused. With each new scale, the suit grew more alive. Shaped by intention and by instinct long since caged.

She could still feel its echo threading beneath the surface. Whispering reminders of movement. Of flight. Of claw and pressure and the pull of gravity bent like breath.

Dark plates swept across her torso and limbs, subtle ridges forming down her back. Her shoulders gained heavier, curved scales—organic pauldrons that refracted the dim light like ripples on water.

Her silhouette changed. Stronger. Sleeker. Stranger. By the time the container was empty, she looked like something stepped out of a myth, equal parts warrior and foxfire shadow.

Tanya stepped back and crossed her arms. "You sure you're not about to go claim your own hoard?"

Akiko smirked, fingers brushing the scales along her forearm. "Maybe. But I've already stolen what I needed from the last one."

Her voice was light. Her eyes were not.

"Now I just need to live long enough to use it."

The fabricator powered down behind them, the room dimming.

Akiko stood still a moment longer, letting the silence settle over her.

She made her way to the Driftknight's bridge, boots light on the deck. Her dragon-scale armor shifted with every step, plates flexing, catching the low lighting in brief glints of motion.

The sensation was still strange. The weight, the responsiveness, the quiet hum of power beneath the surface. She felt stronger. Her body was quiet. Her mind was quieter. Too quiet. Like the system was holding its breath.

But the ship didn't share her mood. The tension was thick, coiled in the air like static before a storm.

When she stepped onto the bridge, she immediately saw why.

Kara stood at the central console, arms crossed, eyes locked on the display.

The Sovereign filled one screen, scarred and crawling forward. Two new Haven frigates flanked it, red markers pulsing in quiet warning.

Kara didn't look rattled. Kara never did.

"Good timing, fox," she said, voice brisk.

Her eyes flicked over Akiko's armor, brow lifting slightly in approval, before snapping back to the display.

"Because it's time to leave. And hope we don't need to see if your new toys actually work."

Akiko crossed to her auxiliary chair, settling in with a familiar hiss of straps locking down. She caught Quinn's eye as he brought up the nav display.

"The Sovereign's drive is limping," Kara said, "but those frigates didn't show up just to babysit. They're running patrols, tight ones. If they get even a hint of us, we're boxed in."

Quinn tapped through the flight path. "RCS-only gets us a soft exit, but we'll crawl. They tighten the grid much more, and we'll have to light the main engine just to clear the belt."

Akiko's eyes scanned the display. Blue lines marked Haven's expanding search paths. Red arcs showed estimated detection cones. Their ship was a ghost now, but ghosts didn't last long in sensor nets like this.

"Guess this is what I get for finishing a weapon just in time not to use it," she muttered, mostly to herself.

Quinn let out a soft chuckle.

Kara didn't. Her voice cut through the room. "Once we're out of the belt, we'll have maneuvering room. Until then, everyone stays sharp. I don't want surprises."

Akiko leaned back in her seat, fingers brushing the ridged scales on her forearm.

They were outgunned, and stealth only worked if no one was looking in the right direction.

Still. Watching Kara run the room, it was hard not to believe they'd pull it off.

Maybe this time, Akiko thought. Maybe we actually get out clean.

The bridge hummed with a low murmur of datafeeds. The soft clack of fingers across a console. Light from the display panels painted the crew in shifting blues and reds. No alarms. No proximity alerts.

Akiko exhaled slowly. Her hand found the ridged scales on her forearm, thumb tracing one of the newer seams in her armor. Just a little longer.

The silence stretched.

Then came the voice. Crisp, clipped, cutting straight through the tension like a blade.

"Civilian vessel Driftknight, this is Haven Gunship Vanguard. Power down your engines and prepare for inspection. Any attempt to evade will be considered hostile action."

Akiko's breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled into a loose fist, held close against her chest.

Across the bridge, Kara didn't flinch. Her jaw set, eyes locked on the tactical display. Quinn was already working the helm, fingertips dancing silent commands. He didn't need orders yet, he was waiting for them.

Akiko could feel it, the moment before a fall. The Driftknight wasn't built for combat. The fight with the dragonlings had shown that. And Haven didn't knock before it kicked down a door.

Kara's voice broke the silence. Measured, steady, the kind of calm that only came from people used to making bad choices and living through them.

"Quinn. Keep us drifting on RCS. Don't be obvious. Plot a soft curve toward the debris field. If we run, it'll be through there."

Quinn nodded. "Already on it."

Akiko exhaled.

The debris field wasn't much, but it was cover. Barely. If they could make it close enough without tipping Haven's hand…

Kara turned toward her.

That sharp gaze pinned Akiko like a scalpel. "Get ready. If this goes loud, I want that toy of yours charged."

Akiko gave a wry, thin smile. "No pressure."

Kara didn't smile back. "None at all."

She hit the comm. Her voice shifted instantly, replacing command steel with the dull polish of professionalism.

"Haven Gunship Vanguard, this is civilian salvage vessel Driftknight. Operating under contract from the Yard. No contraband on board. Requesting clarification on cause for inspection."

The reply came back too fast. Too flat.

"Routine inspection. Power down and prepare to receive our boarding team."

Kara muted the channel. "Right," she muttered. "That's not happening."

She turned to the crew, voice low. "We stall. Every second buys us distance. Eyes open."

Akiko leaned forward in her seat, scanning the display. They were creeping forward with slow, deliberate burns from the RCS thrusters. On the screen, the field of broken ships loomed closer. Not close enough.

Her tail flicked once.

If it came to a fight, she'd have to move fast. The laser wasn't exactly subtle, and neither was what it could do.

"Gunship's adjusting course," Quinn said, tension bleeding through. "Looks like their patience is thinning."

Akiko's ears twitched.

The comms snapped open again. This time, there was no attempt at diplomacy.

"Driftknight, power down your engines immediately and prepare for inspection."

No wiggle room. No second chances.

Akiko's eyes flicked to Kara. The captain's expression didn't change, but her hand was tapping lightly on the armrest. Rhythm small. Calculating.

"Quinn," Kara said, voice low. "Status on the others?"

"Frigates burning hot. Closing fast. Second gunship is flanking. Might swing in if we twitch."

Akiko swallowed hard.

The Driftknight was still too far from the thicker wreckage. Too exposed. No line of retreat, no place to hide.

"Suggestions?" Kara asked, her voice level. More to the room than to anyone in particular.

Akiko almost answered, but stopped. She wasn't on the bridge for her tactical acumen. That was Kara's job. Quinn and Tanya exchanged a look. It was Tanya who finally spoke.

"We could transmit false compliance," she said. "Stall while we inch closer."

Akiko frowned. Even with her limited piloting knowledge, that smelled like a bad gamble.

Quinn didn't bother sugarcoating it. "They'll scan us. We won't fool them for long."

Kara's fingers stilled on the console. Her eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Akiko recognized the look. She could almost hear the gears turning behind Kara's mask.

Then Kara's gaze slid toward her.

Akiko felt it in her stomach first. A twist of premonition.

"We can't afford a fight," Kara said, her voice like drawn wire. "Not here. Not now. Our reputation's already fraying." Her eyes didn't leave Akiko's. "But we can buy time. Just enough to reach cover."

Akiko straightened slowly in her seat, tail stilled. "You want me to…?"

"I want you to delay them," Kara said. "Nothing obvious. Just… distract them. Anything that keeps their trigger fingers off the button."

Akiko glanced at the tactical display. The gunship's signature pulsed in red. Weapon systems glowing yellow. Almost armed. Almost ready.

The window was seconds wide.

She let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "Alright. But this better work."

"It will," Kara said quietly. "It has to. You're the key to this."

Akiko didn't know if that was trust or desperation. Didn't matter. She was already moving. She rose. Her magboots disengaged with a soft hiss.

She pushed off toward the bridge exit, limbs light with inertia and tension.

Behind her, the comms crackled, Haven voice cold and counting down.

Kara's voice followed, calm but tight around the edges. "And Akiko... Keep it clean. No heroics."

Akiko didn't look back. Just smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"When have I ever been heroic?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Didn't need one.

The knot in her stomach had already started to twist tighter, dragging her focus inward.

This was going to be tricky. But tricky was better than dead.

And better than war.

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