"An SSS-class? Don't make me laugh. It's probably a clerical error."
Rhiannon's mocking voice followed Hadley out into the corridor. She had followed her, unable to resist getting in the last word.
Hadley ignored her, her focus entirely on the holographic screen of her terminal. The first file was open. A handsome, stern-faced man with silver hair and piercing gold eyes stared back at her.
Name: Kyler William.
Title: Grand Marshal of the Imperium Starforce.
Species: SSS-Class Wyvern Therian.
The title alone was enough to make most people in the galaxy stop breathing. A Grand Marshal was a living legend, a god of war.
Hadley had no idea who he was. The name meant nothing to her.
But it meant something to Rhiannon.
Her cousin, who had been sneering a second ago, let out a choked gasp. Her eyes widened in horrified disbelief as she stared at the screen.
"Kyler William?" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "The Dragon of the Void? That's impossible!"
A few other guests, drawn by the commotion, had drifted out of the ballroom and were now peering over Hadley's shoulder. The sight of the Grand Marshal's file caused a ripple of shocked murmurs.
"She got matched with a national hero?" someone whispered.
A heavy, stunned silence fell over the corridor. The air itself seemed to freeze. Then, Rhiannon's shock slowly curdled, and her lips twisted into a derisive smile. It grew into a laugh, louder this time, tinged with hysteria.
"Oh, you fools," she cackled, pointing a trembling finger at the screen. "Look closer! Yes, he was the Grand Marshal. But he was decommissioned years ago! His Psi-Energy collapsed! He's a broken, useless piece of trash!"
She was right. Beneath the glorious titles, a single line of text glowed a damning, clinical red.
Status: Terminal Psi-Energy Collapse.
The file provided more detail. His collapse index was at 80%. Medically, that was a death sentence. He was a ticking time bomb, a berserker who could lose control at any moment and turn into a mindless, bloodthirsty beast.
The mood in the corridor shifted instantly from jealous awe to horrified pity.
A man wearing a Federal Medical Corps armband shook his head grimly. "An 80% collapse... he won't last three months. Binding her to him is just... sending her to be his final meal."
The whispers grew louder. The system hadn't just made an error. It had gone insane. Pairing a Psi-Null, a female with zero energy to soothe a collapsing Therian, with the most powerful and unstable warrior in the Imperium's history? It was a death sentence.
Then, her terminal chimed again. And again. Four more times in rapid succession.
The other four classified files opened.
Fleet Commander Kent Tillman. SSS-Class. Terminal Collapse.
Intelligence Commander Brennon Hendrix. SSS-Class. Terminal Collapse.
Marine Corps General Hugh Hamilton. SSS-Class. Terminal Collapse.
Imperium Prince Darrel George. SP-Class. Terminal Collapse.
Five legends. Five of the most powerful warriors the galaxy had ever known. All SSS-class or the equivalent.
And all of them were dying.
A final piece of information loaded, common to all five files. A single, chilling set of coordinates for their current location.
Location: Umbra Sanitarium, Planet Tartarus-7.
A wave of outright laughter swept through the corridor. It was loud, unrestrained, and cruel.
The Umbra Sanitarium wasn't a hospital. It was a tomb. A high-security prison on a toxic, forgotten planet where the Imperium sent its failed assets to die. It was a place you whispered about in horror stories.
Rhiannon was clutching her stomach, tears of mirth streaming down her face.
"Oh, this is perfect!" she gasped between peals of laughter. "Not only are you shackled to five dying madmen, but you're being exiled to the galaxy's most notorious garbage dump! A Psi-Null with her five pieces of scrap metal. It's poetic!"
Hadley's face remained a mask of indifference. But her fingers, hidden at her side, curled slowly into a white-knuckled fist. She calmly closed the holographic files. She looked at Rhiannon, a cold, flat gaze sweeping over her cousin's triumphant expression. Her eyes lingered for a fraction of a second-a look that promised a reckoning-before she spoke.
"By the way, cousin," Hadley said, her voice as cold and flat as deep space. "Since my engagement contracts are terminated, the Prescott family's collateral claim on the downtown penthouse is now void. I believe the Federal Bank will be repossessing it. Tomorrow."
Rhiannon's laughter died in her throat. Her smile froze, then crumbled. Her own terminal buzzed violently. She glanced down at it, and the color drained from her face. An official eviction notice from the bank. Hadley was telling the truth.
Hadley's terminal chimed one last time. It was a notification. As the legal spouse of five high-ranking military officers, she had been granted residency rights. At the Umbra Sanitarium. It was a prison, but at least it came with room and board.
Then, another alert, this one far less welcome.
NOTICE: Your trust fund has been permanently seized under a debt dispute filed by the Sterling, Velez, and Prescott families. All assets are revoked. Additionally, the downtown penthouse property has been immediately repossessed by the Federal Bank. You have been flagged as a financial liability.
Of course they were. The rich don't give up their spoils easily. She was penniless and homeless in a single stroke.
Rhiannon saw the notice on Hadley's screen and her triumphant smirk returned, laced with venom. "Well, well. Looks like you won't even have money for the shuttle ticket. You'll be sleeping on the street tonight, trash."
A hotel security guard approached them, his expression stern. "Ma'am," he said, looking directly at Hadley, his eyes flicking to her cheap dress. "This area is for VIP guests only. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Hadley didn't argue. She didn't say a word. She spotted a worn, canvas suitcase tucked away in a corner-the original Hadley's only luggage. She walked over, picked it up, and turned towards the grand exit.
Her back was straight. Her head was held high. In that moment, surrounded by enemies and stripped of everything, she looked more like a queen than anyone else in the room.
She knew fighting their lawyers now would be a waste of time and energy she didn't have. Tartarus-7. A prison planet far from the reach of these powerful families. It wasn't a punishment. It was a sanctuary. The perfect place to hide, to heal, to grow strong again.
She pushed open the heavy glass doors of the hotel.
A blast of cold, wet air hit her. New York was crying, a miserable, chilling downpour.
Hadley stepped out into the night, the rain plastering her thin dress to her skin. She didn't shiver. She just lifted her gaze, her sharp eyes scanning the neon-lit sky, looking for the signs that pointed the way to the spaceport.
Her new journey had begun.
