The red dust of Fresia settled on Marc's jacket like fine powder. He kept a firm hand on Lira's shoulder, holding her low behind the jagged rocks. Below, the two guards shoved the silver-haired man—Midas—forward. He stumbled, his face a mask of quiet despair.

"Stay here. Don't move, don't make a sound," Marc whispered, his voice barely a breath. "No matter what you see."

Lira's eyes were wide, fixed on her uncle, but she gave a sharp, nervous nod.

Marc didn't need a plan. He was the plan. He took one last look at the scene, calculating angles and distances in a single, fluid thought. Then he moved.

He didn't run. He simply stood up and stepped off the outcrop.

To the guards below, it must have looked like a man had materialized out of the thin air, falling upon them like a rockslide. Marc hit the ground between them and Midas, the impact kicking up a cloud of rust-colored dust.

The guard on the right was quick, his stun rod snapping up. Marc caught the weapon's shaft one-handed, the crackle of energy dying against his palm. He didn't twist it away. He just pulled, yanking the man off balance and into the path of his partner's wild swing. The second guard's stun baton connected with his comrade's back with a sickening sizzle. The first man crumpled.

The second guard had a half-second to register his mistake before Marc's open palm connected with his chest. It wasn't a punch. It was a shove, but it carried the force of a speeding cargo hauler. The man flew backward, a silent, sprawling arc that ended when he slammed into the hull of the transport with a dull, metallic thud. He slid to the ground and didn't move.

The pilot, seeing this through the cockpit canopy, scrambled for the ship's comms. Marc didn't even look his way. He just pointed a finger in the pilot's general direction. A shimmering wave of distorted air, like heat rising from asphalt, shot from his fingertip. It passed harmlessly through the transparisteel canopy and hit the console. The panel erupted in a shower of sparks, and the pilot jerked back, swearing.

From the top of the ramp, a fourth guard Marc had guessed at appeared, rifle raised. "Freeze!" he yelled, his voice tinny through his helmet's speaker.

Marc sighed, a sound of profound boredom. He flicked his wrist.

An invisible force grabbed the guard, plucking him off his feet. He floated there, kicking helplessly, for a moment before Marc made a gentle tossing motion towards the canyon wall. The man sailed through the air, not fast enough to kill him, but with enough force to make the impact memorable. He hit the purple rock with a grunt and slid down into a limp heap.

The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds.

The silence that returned was deeper than before, broken only by the faint whine of the ship's dying systems and the moan of the wind through the canyon.

Marc turned to Midas. The man was staring, his mouth agape, his body braced for a blow that never came.

"You Midas?" Marc asked, his voice back to its normal, low rumble.

"Y-yes," the man stammered, his eyes darting from the unconscious guards back to Marc. "Who are you?"

"A friend of your niece's." Marc gestured up towards the rocks. "Lira! Coast is clear."

Lira scrambled down the slope, sending little avalanches of red gravel ahead of her. She didn't even look at the defeated guards. She ran straight for her uncle, throwing her arms around his waist. "Uncle Midas!"

The man's tough facade shattered. He dropped to his knees, clutching her tightly, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "Lira... stars, Lira, they said you were in trouble. They said if I came with them, they could protect you."

"It was a lie," she whispered into his shoulder. "They were going to use you to get to me. To get the data."

Midas pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, his face etched with a new kind of fear. "The data? Lira, what have you gotten involved in?"

"The truth," Marc said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He looked around at the disabled ship and its crew. "This little reunion is gonna draw attention. We need to move."

He walked over to the transport, reached into the sparking cockpit, and hauled the dazed pilot out by his collar. He dumped him unceremoniously next to his companions.

Midas stood up, holding Lira's hand tightly. He looked at Marc with a mixture of awe and terror. "You... what are you? How did you do that?"

"Later," Marc said, brushing dust off his sleeves. "Right now, we're leaving."

He placed a hand on Midas's shoulder and the other on Lira's. The farmer flinched at the contact.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Shortcut," Marc said. "Might feel a little weird."

The air around the three of them began to warp, the world softening at the edges like a watercolor painting left in the rain. The red dust, the purple canyon, the grey ship—it all bled together into a blur of color.

There was a sensation of being pulled through a tight, silent tunnel, a momentary weightlessness that stole the breath from Midas's lungs.

Then it was over.

They were standing in the common room of the Drifting Leaf. The soft, pulsing glow of the living walls was a stark, calming contrast to the harsh light of Fresia.

The rest of the crew was exactly where they'd left them, staring. Silas's jaw was on the floor. Evelyn let out a gasp of relief. Lucian just pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. Reia's analytical gaze swept over them, taking in the lack of injuries, the new arrival, and the total absence of pursuit.

Marc gave them all a lazy grin. "Told you I'd bring him back."

Midas stumbled, his legs unsteady. Lira held him up, beaming. "See? I told you he was a friend!"

Reia took a step forward, her eyes not on Midas, but on Marc. "Efficiency noted," she said, her voice devoid of its earlier criticism. Then she looked at Lira. "The vision was one hundred percent accurate. Your reliability as a sensor is confirmed."

Silas finally found his voice. "Whoa. So you just... popped over there, smashed some guys, and popped back? That's your whole thing?"

"Something like that," Marc said, heading towards the small kitchen area. "I'm gonna see if this place has any decent coffee. Rescues make me thirsty."

As Marc busied himself, the room erupted into a quiet chaos of questions and relieved greetings. But Reia remained still, watching him. Her calculations had just been completely rewritten. He wasn't just reckless. He was a force of nature. And for the first time, she wondered if his way—the messy, emotional, direct way—might just be the most sustainable strategy after all.

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