How she’d wound up on the tarmac, Brenya didn’t know. She had no clue what part of Central she was in, how far the palace might be… but staring at the massive ship waiting there, she found she could not bring herself to care.

It was beautiful, sun glinting off the silver solar collection panels just as it would have off Bernard Dome’s siding. The sight was so familiar and so alien all at once.

Without hesitation, her hand reached out, fingertips tracing over the lines of the hull. The metal was warm. Warm enough to take the chill from her bones. Warm enough to distract a lost woman from her troubles.

With a sniff, she paced around the monstrosity, knowing what it must be: Ambassador Jules Havel’s ship.

As far as Brenya knew, there were no aerial craft in Bernard Dome. Or, if there were, she’d never been exposed to them. And this one was an original from the Reformation Wars. There were scars in the hull and marks where turrets must have once been attached.

This was a treasure, a living piece of history… and she was touching it.

When she rounded the back and found the gangplank down and hatch open, mindlessly she abandoned her guard and let her explorations take her inside.

The cargo ship could hold a great deal but was practically empty, little more than a few chairs bolted into the floor. There were no comforts, no niceties, a solitary cot set up in the corner and a room near the flight deck rigged for human waste disposal.

It was perfect. Completely perfect.

The nearest metal sheeting access panel was easy to remove, opening up a fascinating view of the guts of the craft. The upper part of her body bent into the crevice, Brenya spoke to the wiring, the pipes, the generator coils, listing what they were as if she had built the machine herself. “Vandigrath magnetic couplings. Coolant housing. Electrical flight circuitry.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Ambassador Havel had not been there when she’d arrived, or if he had, he’d hidden out of sight. Gone was his cold tone, the one he’d used to interrupt her explorations bearing the hiss of acid chewing through metal instead.

It might have been because there was nothing left to lose, but the Beta’s open aggression did nothing to her. Brenya continued her explorations even as she replied, “Your ship is… remarkable. I have studied old schematics, but I’ve never seen one intact.”

Jules’ tone dropped lower. “Remove yourself from there immediately, or I will remove you.”

“Why?” Her hand had been fingering a mismatching link of tubing. Closing her fist about a crusted red hose, she yanked hard enough to rip it from its nest.

He’d moved faster than her eyes could track, slamming her body against the wall, his forearm across her throat.

Total shock was on her face, in her scent, expediting the rise and fall of her chest.

Showing his teeth, Jules was much more animated than she’d ever witnessed. “What did you damage?”

The sound of sand falling on the floor increased when she held up the spoiled tubing and met those chilling eyes. “This is a size seven cycle regulator hose. Had you tried to take flight with the accumulating crystals blocking the tubing, your energy converter would have redlined and your ship would have crashed in minutes. Whoever replaced this should never have used a plastics lined connector. It must be silicone. The subsequent chemical reaction destroyed the internal structure. I’m amazed you even made it all the way here.”

Narrowing his lids, the man’s bright blue eyes darted down to see what she held in her grip and the subsequent mess it was making on the floor. “How would you know that?”

She knew it because she was once the best engineering grunt under the Dome. Growing angry at the injustice of it all, tired of being pushed around by males, Brenya growled—she growled in the exact manner Jacques had told her not to. “If you tried to take off without repairing this mistake, you would die. Rerouting existing tubing would take me less than three minutes. Do you want me to fix it, or do you want to dispose of me?”

“Dispose?” Her word choice seemed to upend the Beta, who backed away while looking her over. Like all the others, his eyes found the scar. “Far be it from me to harm those with good intentions.”

If it was supposed to be a joke, she didn’t get it. Dropping the damaged tube, she turned her back on the threat and went to work. As she said, it took three minutes to rig a bypass with original parts. “Your thrust will be decreased, but at least you won’t fall out of the sky.”

By the time she had finished threading the tubing into place, there was engine grease smeared on her hands and her clothing. The smell was familiar and comforting, the slippery feeling between her fingers pleasant.

Her sleeves were made all the worse when she rolled them up so they would not catch as she dived forward to test the connections.

The ship was powered down, but she could cycle the fluids by flipping a series of switches, intuitively knowing what to manipulate and exactly how much force to use.

When it was done, she straightened, creeping back to face the looming Beta. “Repairs are complete.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he scowled at her. First it was her hands, then the mottled bruises on her forearms, those blue eyes lingering over the worst ones at her wrist. He gave her the luxury of skipping over her chest and going right back to the puckered scar on her face.

Turning her head so he might only see her good cheek, she scanned for more access panels, eager to open them up and see what she might find. “I would like to—”

Ignoring her half-formed request, Jules asked, “Did the Commodore cut your face?”

Brenya kept her head turned and eyes anywhere but on him. “No. While making repairs to a damaged solar collector, my rigging failed. I fell down the side of the Dome. During the accident my helmet’s visor shattered,” she whispered, adding the worst part of her secret, “I breathed outside air.”

The male hardly blinked an eye. “I see.”

Dirty fingers untucked the hair from behind her ear, drawing the locks forward as if to cover her face. “I am aware the disfigurement is off-putting. Omegas are supposed to be beautiful.”

“Omegas are supposed to be people.”

There had been no inflection behind his phrasing. It was just a blunt statement, but something about hearing so simple a declaration made Brenya shyly turn her head to face him, horribly scarred cheek and all.

She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know why those words seemed important, she just wanted to look in his eyes and see if he was lying.

It was hard to tell.

“May I explore your ship further? I can catalogue any required repairs your diagnostic programs may have missed.”

Steps sounded on the gangplank, a familiar aggressive scent preceding the massive body of the last person Brenya wanted to see.

“I have been looking for you, mon chou.” Narrowing his eyes, Jacques looked over her messy clothing, glancing next to the nearby Beta before announcing in a voice that was not one bit pleased. “How strange to find you here.”

Her heart sank. It would have been nice to spend a few hours enjoying the craft before he took her away and ended her life. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she cast her eyes to the floor. “Hello, Jacques.”

Jules’ open disdain was cruel, the Beta mocking her before the Alpha. “Your Omega has taken it upon herself to pull my ship apart.”

An ironic chuckle, then a hint of darkness layered the statement as Jacques purred the words, “It seems she’s had quite the adventure today.”

Her earlier bravery was gone. Swallowing, she pleaded, “I’m not ready yet…”

She was not ready to die. Not yet.

“Then, by all means, play to your heart’s content.” Taking the nearest jump seat, Jacques crossed an ankle over his knee and motioned for her to continue. “The Ambassador’s ship isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

She must have misheard him, Brenya glancing back and forth between the two males staring one another down. Taking a cautious step toward a floor panel she assumed covered the hover mechanics, no one stopped her. When she reached down to pry it open, not a word was said.

Ancient machinery was at her fingertips, the extremely complicated mechanics making her fingertips twitch in anticipation of all she could learn. She dove in, willing to seize the distraction for as long as it was offered.

In a matter of minutes, a collection of parts had been organized around the floor, Brenya working to see what type of energy coupler the old ship employed. She found something much more interesting. There was an insignia on the hull hidden under decades of murk.

It read Thólos.

Cocking her head, she wiped it clean, certain her eyes must be wrong.

Thólos, clear as day.

The Ambassador’s ship had not come from Greth Dome.

Glancing up, she locked eyes with Jacques.

He asked her point blank, “Did you find anything interesting?”

Yes, she had. “Everything about this ship is interesting.”