The air in Lenard’s workshop, thick with the smell of ozone and old metal, seemed to grow heavier. Vernon stood rigid, the weight of his dead name and his dead world pressing on his shoulders. He watched Lenard’s fingers fly over a holoscreen, pulling up lists of local registry data.

“The problem,” Lenard said, not looking up, “is connection. If you two are traveling as a pair, a random pairing draws eyes. A mercenary and a stray youth? That gets reported. A mercenary and his nephew, or his cousin… that’s a story people accept without a second thought.” He tapped the screen. “I have a few viable blanks here. But they need a logical, familial link to him.” He jerked a thumb toward Marius.

Marius, who had been staring at a dusty shelf of components, slowly turned. His face was grim. “He’s right. And the hunt isn’t some general sweep. The Laurien agents on Artanis weren’t just cleansing the planet. They had protocols to find your father. If they had those, then they have a target profile for the heir, too.” He fixed his eyes on Vernon. “Your face is a liability.”

Vernon felt a chill. “What do you mean?”

“You are your mother’s son,” Marius said, his voice low. “Those cheekbones, that slight build. That… ambiguity. In the coreworlds, among the noble houses, it’s a known signature. The son of Duke Arturus Freides and a Sylvan Reach noblewoman? Intelligence bulletins will have that description. A young man with girlish features matching it will be flagged at every port. You can’t remain a man and stay hidden. Not as you are.”

The logic was a cage, its bars closing in. Vernon’s skin prickled with a cold sweat. “So what are you suggesting?” he whispered.

Marius didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the plastisteel crate where Lenard kept the bioscan bracelets. A memory surfaced, tightening his jaw. “Lenard. The bracelets I gave you for safekeeping. After my last tour. From my sister’s family. Do you still have them?”

Lenard paused, then bent down to the crate. He sifted through the foam-lined compartments. “I never wiped them. Sentimental fool.” He pulled one out, its surface slightly duller. “Kerigan. Lauren Kerigan.”

Marius took the bracelet as if it were made of glass. His thumb brushed the etched name. “My niece. She was lost when the Scythe Raiders hit my homeworld. Years …