Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates-Chapter 27 -

Pako finally eased back, her lips parting from Syn's with a satisfied hum, leaving a lingering warmth that clung to him like a second skin. She rose to her feet, her movements fluid and triumphant, her toned thighs glistening with a sheen of sweat that mirrored the damp heat soaking Syn's shirt. His abdomen was a sodden mess, the fabric sticking to his skin, a testament to the fervor she'd unleashed in the cramped storeroom. "That was fun," she said, her voice a bright chirp as she extended a hand, her fingers wiggling with an eager grin. "We should do it more—lots more."

Syn took her hand, his grip shaky as she hauled him up, his legs unsteady beneath him, still reeling from her whirlwind assault. His gaze drifted, unbidden, to her plump chest—her sleeveless top taut against the curves he'd just felt, a sight that tugged at the raw edge of his frayed emotions. "Those included," Pako teased, her mischievous smirk flaring as she caught his stare fixed at her chest, her dark eyes glinting with a victor's glee.

Syn snapped his head away, heat creeping up his neck as he muttered, "I don't get it—what's so fun about kissing for hours? You girls act like it's some grand adventure, but it's just... exhausting." He dusted his hands against his pants, tugging at his sticky shirt to peel it from his skin, his tone flat, a statement of fact born from bone-deep weariness.

Pako's smile softened, a flicker of something tender—and fleetingly sad—passing through her gaze. "One day you'll see," she said, her voice dipping into a quiet promise, "when you love someone, that is." The words hung there, bright yet shadowed, a hint of longing she masked with a quick, practiced grin, her usual bravado snapping back into place like a shutter over a wound.

Syn fell silent, his throat tightening as her words sank in, stirring the guilt and confusion he'd tried to bury in the storeroom's shadows. He shifted uncomfortably, his hands flexing at his sides, and glanced toward the door. "Where are we going, anyway?" he asked, his voice rough as Pako stepped ahead, leading him out into the corridor's dim hum.

"You wanted to know who Mia is, right?" she replied, tossing him a sidelong glance as he nodded, a faint crease forming on his brow. "Vera sent me to fetch you—but, well, I got a little distracted." She twirled a strand of her black bob around her finger, her tone turning coy as she batted her lashes, a playful pout curving her lips.

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"A little?" Syn muttered under his breath, too low for her to catch, a wry edge to the words as he followed her down the hall, her steps light and purposeful. The ship's corridors stretched before them, a maze of metal and shadow, until they stopped at a door—unmarked, unassuming, one he hadn't noticed before. Pako rapped her knuckles against it, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. "This is supposed to be Mia's room."

"She's inside," she said, pointing at the door with a nod, her tone shifting to a rare seriousness. "I'll wait out here. If it goes sideways, yell—I'll be right there." Her eyes flicked to his, a flicker of protectiveness breaking through her mischief, and then the door hissed open, revealing a simple chamber bathed in soft light. A girl sat on the bed, her back to him, her long white hair cascading down her spine like a silver veil.

"That's Mia?" Syn asked, his voice hushed, a mix of curiosity and dread threading through it as he peered into the room.

"Yeah," Pako replied, her voice a gentle whisper, her hand brushing his arm. "Go easy on her, okay?" With a nudge, she pushed him forward, and the door hissed shut behind him, sealing him in with a quiet *thud*.

The room was stark—bare walls, no posters, no trinkets, a minimalist shell that felt more like a cell than a home. Syn stood frozen, his earlier anger—a blazing fire when he'd stormed from Vera's gallery—now flickering uncertainly, dimmed by the sight of the shivering figure before him. He didn't know what he'd expected—a monster, a manipulator—but this trembling girl wasn't it. He swallowed, his throat dry, and decided to start simple. "Mia?" he called, his voice low, tentative, testing the air.

She flinched, her shoulders hunching as if his voice were a physical blow, her white hair trembling with the motion. "Y... ye... yes?" she stammered, her reply a scattered whisper, fragile and faltering, her back still turned as if she couldn't bear to face him.

Syn's fists clenched, the question he'd carried since Vera's revelation burning on his tongue. "Why are you stalking me?" he demanded, his voice sharpening, direct and unyielding, cutting through the room's fragile stillness.

"I... I'm so... sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking, a nervous plea that quivered in the air. Her head dipped lower, her frame shrinking further, and Syn's anger faltered—how could he rage at this? This shivering girl, her back a wall of vulnerability, didn't match the shadow he'd built in his mind.

He glanced around, the room's simplicity stark against the chaos of his thoughts—no decorations, no hints of the life she'd stolen from him. A new question sprouted, clawing its way up. "You've been stalking me to sell my info to them, right?" he asked, his voice steadying as he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the bed. She flinched again, a sharp twitch that answered before her words.

"..." Silence stretched, thick and tense, her lack of response a weight pressing against him.

"Say something," he urged, his tone hardening, impatience flaring as he loomed over her, the quiet gnawing at his frayed nerves.

"Y... yes," she said at last, her voice a faint thread, barely audible, her admission a pebble dropped into the storm of his mind.

Relief washed through him, bitter and cold—not the answer he'd feared, another crazed pursuer like Vera or Pako, but a mercenary motive, simple greed. "Then stop," he said, his voice firm, cutting through her tremor. "From now on—no more. They won't need your pictures for a while anyway." His words were a command, a plea wrapped in steel, his hands unclenching as the tension eased, just a fraction.

"Okay..." she murmured, her reply a whisper lost in the room's stillness, her shoulders slumping further as if his words had drained her.

Syn stood there, the silence settling over them like dust, heavy and unbroken. A minute ticked by, her shivering form a quiet echo of his own turmoil, until he turned, his boots scuffing the floor as he walked out, the door hissing open to release him. Pako waited beyond, her ear pressed to the panel, her dark eyes snapping to his as he emerged.

"So—what happened? Did you see her?" she asked, straightening with a grin, her tone light as if she hadn't been eavesdropping, her hands folding casually behind her back.

"She said she'd stop," Syn replied, his voice flat, his face a blank mask as he stepped past her. "It was easy." The words felt hollow, a veneer over the storm still churning beneath—no triumph, no relief, just a dull echo of what he'd lost.

Pako tilted her head, her grin faltering as she studied him. "You didn't look at her, did you?" she asked, her voice dipping into a softer note, her arms crossing as she leaned closer.

"She kept her back to me the whole time, I think she was ashamed to look at my face?," he said, his gaze drifting to the corridor's shadowed stretch, his tone clipped, avoiding her probing stare.

"Hmm..." Pako hummed, folding her arms tighter, a flicker of something—relief, maybe—passing through her eyes. "That's probably for the best," she said, her grin returning as she grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. "Come on—let's eat!"

Her pull was insistent, her fingers warm and firm around his, dragging him down the hall with her usual fervor. But a sudden yank halted him, a sharp tug on his collar pulling him back like a leash snapped tight. Vera stood there, her purple hair wild, her grip iron as she reeled him into the room he'd just escaped. "Not so fast," she said, her voice a low, commanding murmur, her eyes glinting with a predatory spark as the door hissed open once more.

This time, the girl on the bed turned, her white hair spilling like a curtain as she faced him, her gaze shy and darting, mirroring the shock freezing Syn's breath. Her face—delicate, pale, with wide, haunted eyes—slammed into him, a jolt of recognition that rocked him back on his heels. He knew her—not as Mia, but as a ghost from his past, a flicker of longing he'd buried deep. Vera leaned in, her breath a hot whisper against his ear, her voice dripping with a teasing venom. "Oh! And did I forget to mention? You had a crush on Mia."