NOVEL NEXT Chapter 35
Syn's boots echoed faintly down the corridor as he hurried toward the medic room, the ship's hum a low pulse beneath his quickening steps.
The dream's echo—"The King really hates the pirates…"—still gnawed at him, a cold unease threading through his veins, sharpened by the shapeshifter ambush. Vera's bloodied fight, the green-skinned impostors—it all churned in his mind, a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
He reached the medic room door, its sleek panel hissing open, and stepped inside, his gaze softening as it landed on Vera, resting atop a pristine bed, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath neat bandages.
"Syn!" Pako's voice broke the quiet, a soft exclamation that jolted him as she turned from the window, her dark eyes glinting in the dim light. She kept her tone hushed, mindful of Vera's sleep, her short bob swaying as she leaned forward from her chair beside the bed.
Syn approached slowly, his steps measured, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stood beside Pako, peering down at Vera's serene face. Her features were relaxed, the fierce lines of her captain's resolve smoothed away—too relaxed, a whisper of doubt murmured in his gut. "How's she doing?" he asked, his voice low, steady, masking the unease flickering beneath.
"The medic says she'll need time to recover—lots of rest," Pako replied, her tone gentle, almost too gentle, as she folded her hands in her lap, her gaze drifting back to Vera. "She's been out since they patched her up."
"Hmm…" Syn nodded, his eyes lingering on Vera—her breathing too even, her stillness too absolute. The cuts he'd seen her take in the control room flashed in his mind—painful, yes, but not enough to knock her out like this. He shifted his weight, his fingers tightening in his pockets. "Where's the medic?"
Pako pointed a lazy finger toward a door across the room, its faint outline barely visible in the shadows. "In the bathroom—should be out soon."
"Tell her to take good care of Vera," Syn said, his voice firm but quiet, his gaze flicking back to Pako. "And if either of you need me—anyone—just call. I'll come." He paused, watching her reaction, his words a careful probe cast into the stillness.
"Uh… okay, I will," Pako replied, her nod slow, her tone oddly subdued, her eyes meeting his with a placid calm that didn't fit. She tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips—too faint, too tame.
Syn's jaw tightened, the unease solidifying into suspicion. "I'll get going then," he said, stepping back, his boots scuffing softly against the floor. "We've nabbed all the shapeshifters—or so we think. Time to power the ship back up."
"Yeah, do that," Pako agreed, nodding again, her gaze trailing his retreating figure as he moved toward the door, her expression a mask of quiet acceptance—no spark, no mischief.
The door hissed shut behind him, sealing the medic room's stillness, and Syn strode down the corridor, his pace quickening as he reached its end. The knot in his gut twisted tighter—something was wrong, a thread unraveling he couldn't ignore.
He pulled out a phone from his pocket, Vera gave it to him before she left for the medic room. Its screen casting a faint glow as he dialed Aster, the call connecting after a single ring.
"Changed your mind?" Aster's voice burst through, eager and bright, her tone leaping with hope as she picked up, the hum of the assembly hall faint in the background.
"No," Syn shot back, flat and immediate, his voice a blunt edge cutting through her optimism.
"Mvhmm…" Aster sulked, a soft whine threading through the line, her disappointment palpable even over the comms.
"Listen," Syn said, his voice dropping low, urgent, as he pressed the phone closer, his steps halting at the corridor's shadowed edge. "I need your help. Get to the medic room—now. There are shapeshifters here, posing as Pako and Vera."
"What!?" Aster's yell crackled through, loud enough to make him wince, her shock reverberating. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Syn replied, his tone steel, his eyes darting back toward the medic room door, half-expecting it to slide open.
"But—the ship was powered down," Aster stammered, her voice rising with confusion. "The medic room doors should've locked—no one gets in or out."
"They must've slipped in right after Pako took Vera there—or earlier, before the shutdown," Syn said, his mind racing, piecing it together. "Either way, they're here."
"I'm coming," Aster said, her voice snapping into focus, the clatter of her boots already audible through the line as she moved. "Don't tell anyone—keep it quiet and come alone. I'm nearby—wait for me."
"Okay…" Aster paused, her breath hitching as a sudden doubt flared. "Wait—how do I know you're the real Syn?" Her tone sharpened, suspicion threading through it, a flicker of their earlier banter twisted into something graver.
Syn smirked faintly, a dry edge to his voice. "It's a shame you can't tell by my voice alone," he said, leaning against the wall, his free hand brushing the taser still tucked in his belt—a grim reassurance.
"Ah! I'm joking—just joking," Aster backpedaled, her laugh forced, a nervous trill cutting through the tension. "I know it's you, Syn."
"Seriously, Aster?" Syn's smirk widened, his tone dipping into a playful jab. "You fell for that?"
"…" Silence crackled through the line, Aster's realization sinking in—she'd been played, her trust too quick, too eager. Syn let the moment hang, savoring the small victory, a brief spark of levity amid the storm.
"Anyway," he said, his voice sobering as he shifted gears, "to prove I'm the real Syn, I'll tell you something only I'd know." He paused, letting the suspense build, his smirk softening into something nostalgic.
"What?" Aster asked, her hesitation a quiet tremor, her breath shallow through the comms.
"One day, we were sparring—submission drills," Syn began, a storyteller's rhythm creeping in. "You were my partner."
"No—no, don't," Aster cut in, panic spiking as she tried to halt him, her voice rising. "Okay, I believe you—stop!"
"Then I pinned you down," Syn continued, undeterred, his voice dropping into a suspenseful hush, "and you wouldn't tap out. Stubborn as hell. But then you yelled—loud—and there was this sound, perfectly timed, like paper tearing—"
"Beep beep!" The line cut dead, Aster's frantic hang-up slicing through his tale. Syn let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pocketed the phone, but the mirth faded fast, snuffed out by the gravity pressing back in. This wasn't the time for games—not with shapeshifters lurking, their green-skinned deceit a blade at their throats.
He positioned himself at the corridor's end, his back to the wall, his eyes fixed on the medic room door—its sleek surface a silent sentinel. The hum of the powered-down ship was a faint murmur, the air still chilled from Aster's trap, and he waited, his hand resting near the taser, every shadow a potential threat.
He didn't need to confirm—his unease had crystallized into conviction, born from two glaring tells. First, Vera—her cuts were shallow, her fight fierce; she'd never sleep through recovery, not as captain. She'd drag herself to the bridge, bleeding or not, her duty a fire that burned brighter than pain. Second, Pako—too quiet, too tame. The real Pako would've seized his offer—"Call if you need me"—to spin a web of kinky demands, her mischief a relentless spark. These impostors lacked her fire, Vera's steel, and that stillness was their undoing—a cold thought now chilling his spine: What happened to the real ones?