Chapter 6 6

"Because you accomplished what so many others could not, I will allow four days. Nova will be given the supplies to complete whatever you hired her to create. And then you will take your reward money, and you will leave Isroth."

Edan gives a little smile and nods his head. He extends his hand out to Cyrillius, who doesn't look like he wants to accept, but he does shake Edan's hand.

"You," Cyrillius says, nodding toward one of the soldiers. "Take this young man to the guest quarters."

"Yes, President," the man says, giving a quick bow to Cyrillius. He steps toward Edan, extending a hand out to the door, waiting.

For just a second, Edan's eyes flash to mine and he doesn't know what to do.

The thought of being separated from each other on this terrifying planet is unfathomable.

But we have our roles to play right now.

Go, I mentally scream at him as loud as I can and I pray that he can feel it. We have no other choice right now.

And somehow he must get the message, because with a sly little smile at me, he turns, and follows the soldier out through the doors.

I watch them as they swing closed once more, leaving me here alone with the most evil man in the entire galaxy.

"Your work is remarkable, Nova."

My eyes snap back over to Cyrillius, and I immediately see it in his eyes: he's being genuine.

"I have worked with engineers and smiths and inventors my entire life," he says. He uncrosses his legs and sits forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I have worked with the best of the best. I have recruited from the galaxy's best universities."

He locks eyes with me, and I hate how much I can tell he means this.

"I have looked into your history and your background, Ms. Ainsley." He presses his fingers together, turning them white. "You have a minimal degree. Your marks were all at the top of your class, but you did not pursue higher education which would have led to higher paying positions."

His eyes narrow a little, like he's studying me, trying to understand what makes me tick.

"Your creativity has met no other equal," he says. And surprise leaks into my stomach. "Whips. Guns. Swords. Bombs. Arrows. You've come up with ideas that my best teams have never imagined. Your designs are flawless."

It starts falling into place, becoming more and more clear as Cyrillius compliments me when I thought he was going to kill me.

"I've never seen such fine work, Nova," he says. His voice is soft and low. I hear the sincerity in it, and I swear there's a hint of reverence in it. "You've done remarkable work while hiding in the shadows, working with incredibly limited resources."

Goosebumps prickle out onto my skin, because I know where this is going.

"I want you to work for me."

I huff a laugh and shake my head. "I would never, not in a thousand solars."

If he's surprised by my answer, he doesn't let on.

"Credits would not even matter to you anymore," he says, going on like I hadn't even spoken. "Nothing would be outside your reach. You may hold on to the belief that this galaxy is black and white, right and wrong, but you are only putting limitation on yourself with those beliefs."

He slides forward in his seat so that there is only one foot between us. "Imagine what you could create with the resources I could offer you, Nova."

My eyes are fixed on a spot on the wall across the room. I'm not sure when I had to look away from his gaze. Maybe when he started talking about right and wrong. Maybe when he complimented me, and for just a second, I felt pride. But I can't look at him right now.

"We could revolutionize the galaxy together," Cyrillius says, and I swear he whispers it right into my ear, reaching down into the pit of my stomach. "Why hold yourself back when you could be hailed as a modern-day genius?"

My head rips back, my eyes burning cold at him. "You may have lost your soul a long time ago, Cyrillius. But I still have mine. I won't offer it up to you."

Evenly, he looks into my eyes and I can tell, he thinks he's going to be able to sway me. He thinks I will come around.

"I hear you," he says as he stands. He walks around his chair and rests his hands on its back. "I'd like to give you some time to think about it. We have plenty of that."

He nods to Commander 12-3, who steps forward. With that rod, she jerks me to my feet, and marches me back toward the door. I steal one glance over my shoulder, back at Cyrillius.

He gives me a little smile, watching as I am hauled away.

It's a prison cell. It might not look like one because there's a massive plush bed, comfortable carpet beneath my feet, clean white curtains over the windows, and the most beautiful bathroom I've ever seen attached to it.

But the door is locked. There are bars on the windows.

I can't leave.

It's a prison cell.

Commander 12-3 dumps me in the room before leaving. I hear the lock slide into place. And then I'm alone.