Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates-Chapter 21 -

"Thanks, Vera," Syn said, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips as the screen went dark, Pako's voice abruptly silenced. He glanced around the bustling control room, his shoulders tensing under the weight of dozens of eyes—pirates at their stations, their glares sharp and unsettling, boring into him like he was an intruder rather than a guest.

The air thrummed with the hum of machinery and muted chatter, but those stares made his skin prickle, a creeping unease settling in his gut. "I owe you one," he added, his voice low, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he turned back to her, grateful for the reprieve from Pako's wild tangent.

Vera's lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes held an odd glint, steady and unreadable. "Don't get me wrong," she said, her tone dipping into a seriousness that caught him off guard, "it's just that I'd rather be the one licking vanilla cream off you." Her face remained composed, almost too straight, as if she'd delivered a tactical order rather than a flirtatious quip.

Syn barked a short laugh, the sound rough and reflexive, a shield against the uncertainty her words stirred. He waved it off as a joke, his chuckle echoing faintly in the control room's din, but a flicker of doubt lingered—was she kidding, or was that deadpan delivery hiding something more? Vera's chuckle followed, a soft ripple that danced with his, her purple hair swaying as she tilted her head, a playful spark breaking through her earlier tension.

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She turned back to the console, her fingers brushing the controls as she activated another call. "Mia," she said, her voice crisp, summoning the unseen presence. A new screen flared to life, the pirates' logo—a jagged skull crossed with blasters—emblazoned across it, and a sweet, oddly familiar voice answered, "Yes, Vera?" The sound was melodic, almost delicate, a stranger's tone that tugged at Syn's curiosity, stirring no recognition in his memory.

"Splash some cold water on Pako," Vera instructed, her tone firm yet laced with amusement, "and tell her to focus on the job. Keep a sharp eye on the radar, too—report anything odd immediately." Her words carried the weight of command, a captain's clarity cutting through the chaos.

"Understood," the voice replied, efficient and clipped, and the screen blinked out, leaving the logo's afterimage burned into Syn's vision.

He frowned, turning to Vera as the call ended, his curiosity sharpening. "Who was that?" he asked, his voice tinged with a quiet urgency, his brow creasing as he searched her face for clues.

Vera pivoted to face him, her eyes widening in genuine surprise, her purple strands swaying with the motion. "You don't recognize her voice?" she asked, blinking as if his question had thrown her off balance, a rare crack in her usual poise.

"Uh... no," Syn said, shaking his head, his confusion deepening. "I don't. Was that Mia?"

"Yes," Vera replied, her surprise melting into a knowing smile, "so you do know her." She leaned closer, her tone teasing now, as if she'd caught him in a game he didn't realize he was playing. Before he could protest, she turned away, her attention shifting to a crewman below. "Ping the commander again," she called down, her voice snapping back to its authoritative edge, the brief levity gone as swiftly as it had come.

Syn's frown deepened, his mind racing. Mia—a name Aster had dropped, now echoed by Vera, but it rang no bells. No face, no voice, no memory tethered to it, yet they spoke of her like she was a fixture he should know. "Who is Mia?" he pressed, stepping closer to Vera, his voice low but insistent, demanding an answer she'd sidestepped.

But before Vera could respond, the central screen flared to life, cutting off his question with a jolt of static. The Kingdom's flag dissolved, replaced by the stern visage of the commander—a man in his late forties, his face chiseled and weathered, lines of experience etched deep around his eyes and mouth. His dark uniform gleamed with insignia, marking him as the military head, second only to the royal bloodline, his authority palpable even through the screen.

"The King has rejected," he said, his voice a granite slab, unyielding and heavy. "No hostages will be exchanged." A flicker of something—regret, perhaps—shadowed his stern features as he added, "If you can, tell my people 'the commander' says sorry." His eyes dipped briefly, a rare crack in his iron facade, betraying the weight of his words.

Vera's hands clenched on the console, her knuckles whitening as anger flared in her eyes. "Rejected?" she snapped, her voice rising, sharp and incredulous. "We've got the princess—Elara—and the deal's two-to-one in your favor. You're turning down a trade that lopsided?" Her tone cut like a blade, her posture stiffening as she leaned forward, her purple hair spilling over her shoulders like a storm cloud.

Syn's gaze flicked to the screen, studying the commander's face—a man he'd seen in briefings, barked at in drills, but who stared back now with no hint of recognition. Years in the Kingdom's ranks, blood and sweat spilled for their cause, and still a stranger to those at the top. The irony twisted in his chest, bitter and familiar, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the exchange.

"Yes," the commander said, his voice low and final, his jaw set. "The King's orders are absolute." His eyes remained downcast, a subtle bow to a will beyond his own, his sternness masking a flicker of unease.

Before Vera could retort, a second screen burst to life beside the first, Pako's drenched face filling the frame, her black bob plastered to her forehead, water dripping from her chin. Panic widened her eyes, her breath quick and shallow as she clutched the console in her own control room. "Vera!" she yelped, her voice cracking through the speakers, "there's a fleet of fighter ships heading our way—fast! We've fired up the engines; we're hightailing it back to base!"

Vera's head whipped to the commander's screen, her eyes blazing with fury. "What is this, Commander?" she demanded, her voice a whip-crack of accusation as she pointed at Pako's image, then back at him. "You want your people dead? Is that it?"

The commander's face remained a mask, stern and unyielding, but his lowered gaze betrayed a flicker of conflict. "The King's orders are final," he repeated, his tone a quiet echo, his shoulders stiff as if braced for the fallout.

"Wait!" Syn cut in, his voice ringing out, sharp and sudden, slicing through the rising storm. He stepped forward, his exhaustion eclipsed by a surge of clarity as the pieces clicked into place. He'd caught the subtle tells—the commander's regret, Pako's panic, Vera's gambit. The King's refusal wasn't just stubbornness; there was something deeper at play. Vera had outsmarted him back on the ship, taking all of Princess Elara's crew hostage, not just a portion, leveraging them against the Kingdom. But Syn knew the King—his hatred for pirates ran bone-deep, a venom fueled by their threat to his reign, and Elara, ninth in line, was no prize worth bending for in a lineage teeming with heirs.

"Thebe," Syn said, his voice steady as he fixed the commander with a piercing stare, stepping past Vera to claim the bridge's center. "That's where your princess Elara was coming from, right?" His words carried a quiet weight, a suspicion honed by years of watching the Kingdom's moves, his smirk faint but edged with certainty.

Vera turned to him, her anger pausing as she registered the shift—Syn taking charge, his posture straightening despite the shadows under his eyes. She trusted him, knew the sharpness of his mind when it cut through the chaos. She stepped back slightly, her gaze flicking between him and the screen, letting him lead.

The commander's head tilted, his stern facade cracking with a flicker of confusion. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice gruff, eyes narrowing as he studied Syn, searching for a spark of recognition that didn't come.

Syn's smirk widened, a bitter edge curling it as he ignored the question. He'd given his all to the Kingdom—years of loyalty, scars earned in their name—and yet here he stood, a ghost to its commanders. Instead of answering, he pressed on, his tone sharpening with suspicion. "But Thebe's an off-limits planetary moon—no one's set foot there in years. So why was she there?"