“Well, if it isn’t the most cowardly Kaiser of them all,” she says. The alien gun on her arm whirs to life, and I swallow hard. “I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity to kill you.”

I step back, spitting a curse. Of all the people to run into, it had to be the stars-damned Titan deserter with the alien weapon built into her arm. Anyone else I could try to talk to, use either reason or a trick to prevent them from killing me right away. But this woman? Forget it. She has a fucking gun in her arm.

But I can’t run, either. My siblings need me. So I take my weapon, try to muster up some bravery, and meet her eyes.

“Look, I’m really not a fan of killing people,” I say, making an effort not to sound terrified. “But I’m gonna need you to get out of my way.”

Izra’s smile is cold and humorless. Rather than speak, she aims her weapon.

I shoot first, aiming for her shoulder to disarm her, but she doesn’t even flinch. The shot tears through the outer layer of her clothing to reveal skintight black armor underneath, which is barely scorched. I take a step back. Apparently, working for Leonis allowed them to pick up some fancy new tech. Maybe if I hadn’t pissed the president off quite so badly, we could’ve geared up more, too.

I fire another shot at Izra, mostly trying to stall. She blocks it with her weapon. Before I can think of a cleverer ploy, she returns fire, forcing me to dodge sideways. The projectile glances off my arm harmlessly. But when I look down, I find that it cleaved straight through my own body armor as if it was nothing but cloth.

“Shit,” I say, looking up at the woman with wide eyes. She grins and levels the weapon at me again.

So much for bravery. I turn tail and run.

Dodging another shot from Izra, I sprint as fast as I can down the hall and duck into the mess hall. I dive across the nearest table to avoid another shot and hide behind a chair. She stands in the doorway, looking my way with a bored expression.

“This is pointless,” she says while I creep farther away, ducking around furniture to stop her from getting a clear shot at me. “You’re outmatched. Your whole family is. You know this. What do you really think you’re going to accomplish here?”

“I just want to talk,” I call out, and immediately duck behind the shelter of a chair again when she looks my way.

“Then come out and talk.” She advances. I retreat toward a doorway that must lead to the kitchen. This room is nearly empty, but maybe I could find something useful there—if I could make it through the doorway without getting shot.