A low hum of activity filled the desert air as the first guests arrived, stepping off electric carts that buzzed softly as they pulled up to the covered walkway. The carts performed neat U-turns after dropping off their passengers, disappearing back toward the road to retrieve the next group. The timing between arrivals varied; some guests had arrived early, likely enticed by rumors of the chocolate fountain, while others were taking their time.

Tyrok males, their scaled cloaks glinting in the harsh sunlight, lumbered up the walkway alongside elaborately feathered females. Their ceremonial attire shimmered with dyed hues of red, gold, and green, the traditional colors for Tyrok joining ceremonies. Feet crunched against the gravel path, accompanied by an undercurrent of nonrhythmic percussion music from hidden speakers—hollow, resonant beats that made the air feel alive.

Near the entrance to the reception tent, a wide basin of shimmering water—the Purity Basin—gleamed under bioluminescent light. As each guest approached and ceremoniously dipped their claws into the iridescent liquid, they muttered blessings or hissed softly, their exhalations caught between reverence and habit. The faint, metallic tang of the water mixed with the heavier scents of overripe tropical fruit and melted chocolate wafting from the fondue table.

Aliki hovered nearby, adjusting her ceremonial robe for what felt like the hundredth time. She offered polite smiles to the guests and murmured greetings, careful not to reveal her unease.

Her sharp eyes caught the ICE agents blending into the growing crowd. One disguised as a waiter fussed with a tray of drink glasses, his movements a little too precise. Another, pretending to be one of the decorators maintaining the floral arrangements, had chosen a spot with a clear line of sight to the basin. Aliki forced herself to focus on her duties rather than the agents, though she couldn’t shake the tension creeping along her spine.

“Nice costume,” came KC’s familiar voice from behind her. She turned to see him casually standing next to her.

“It’s not a costume,” Aliki shot back, wishing she could crawl under the nearest table and disappear. She could only imagine how ridiculous she looked, standing next to KC. His sleek black outfit fit him perfectly, his hair artfully tousled in that maddeningly effortless way that made him look like he belonged on a holo-drama poster.

“It’s traditional Tyrok attire,” she added, her tone a mix of defensiveness and embarrassment. “If you’re going to stand there like a red carpet critic, at least try not to offend anyone.”

KC grinned. “Oh, I’ll behave. But you should know, green’s your color.”

Before she could respond, a commotion drew her attention. Near the fondue table, a wiry Tyrok male was stuffing something into his mouth. Aliki sighed and strode over. The tattoos on his upper arms indicated he was a mid-ranking Black Claws member, but he was gnawing on an ornamental flower centerpiece like a child without any manners, oblivious to the sticky residue smeared across his scaled snout.

“Those are for decoration,” she said firmly, stepping into his line of sight.

The Tyrok paused mid-chew and shrugged, muttering something about edible plants in his home sector. Aliki gestured for one of the caterers to remove the offensive plant and pushed a bowl of mango chunks into its place.

“This is why you don’t put out the chocolate too early,” she muttered to KC as she rejoined him.

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting this whole event already,” KC said, his voice laced with teasing concern.

“I was regretting it before the first guest arrived,” Aliki quipped, scanning the crowd. The Tyrok guests were loosening up, the subtle signs of chocolate intoxication—wider stances, overzealous laughter, and glinting eyes—becoming apparent. A few had already started swaying to the strange music, their movements unnervingly fluid.

As more guests filtered toward the tent, the Purity Basin grew speckled with faint flecks of red and green from dyed claws. The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting an intense brilliance over the gathering. The heat intensified, and Aliki realized she’d forgotten to check on the extra fans, though they may not have done any good. While beads of sweat prickled at her temples and her robe stuck unpleasantly to her back, the Tyroks seemed unfazed. Aliki recalled reading that their native environment was considerably warmer than Earth’s, and she envied them for it as she used a hand to uselessly fan herself.

She glanced in the distance at more approaching electric carts, her instincts prickling with unease.

“Relax. You’re on edge,” KC observed, his voice low.

“Am I?” she replied, trying to sound breezy. “I thought I was doing an excellent impression of a gracious hostess.”

“Hmm. Maybe to someone who doesn’t know you,” he said, his grin fading into something more serious. “Keep your eyes open. This crowd’s only going to get rowdier.”

Aliki nodded, watching as the final guests arrived, their presence heavy with an unspoken tension that mirrored her own. The two Tyroks, one adorned with Black Claws tattoos and the other bearing Silver Fangs insignia, glared at each other as they stepped off the cart. Their hushed argument quickly escalated into a series of sharp hisses and growls that drew the attention of the nearby guests.

“Well, this should be fun,” KC murmured, already moving toward the commotion.
Aliki stayed back, scanning the crowd for any further signs of trouble. Her gaze caught a faint glimmer in the air near the reception tent—a surveillance drone, its sleek body almost invisible against the bright sky. She’d noticed the drones earlier, zipping about as they followed the electric carts and kept watch on the entrances to the dealership building.

Now, one broke off from its outside patrol and began sweeping the area under the tent. It hovered momentarily, then focused directly on Sam, who was pretending to tidy up near the fondue table. The quiet hum of its movements seemed to amplify the tension as it hung there, an unspoken signal of trouble ahead.

Moments later, two large Tyroks moved without hesitation toward Sam, who watched their approach with wide eyes. Aliki’s pulse quickened. She glanced toward KC, but he was deftly handling the argument. The Silver Fang guest tromped toward the Purity Basin with exaggerated self-importance, his claws clicking loudly against the ceramic as he dipped them ceremoniously into the shimmering water. The Black Claw, meanwhile, lingered at the cart with KC, feigning interest in the event setup like a critic too important to follow protocol.

She watched KC step toward the Black Claw, saying something Aliki couldn’t catch. Whatever it was, it made the Tyrok laugh, a low, throaty sound that rumbled briefly before he turned and walked into the tent, deliberately bypassing the basin.

KC returned to Aliki’s side, his expression casual. “Did I miss anything?”

Aliki gestured subtly toward Sam, who was being escorted away by Zoron’s lackeys. “That,” she replied, her voice low but edged with concern.

KC’s playful demeanor shifted, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the scene. Without hesitation, he moved to intercept the lackeys, his stride confident and unhurried, his communicator in hand. “Zoron sent me to help,” he said, pointing to the OmniComm like he’d just received a message.

The Tyroks glanced at him, shrugged, and allowed him to join them as they left the tent.

Before Aliki could process her next move, another Tyrok male stepped forward, clapping his scaled hands together to draw the attention of the gathered guests. His voice boomed with authority as he introduced himself.

“Good afternoon, and welcome! Today, we honor the joining of Zoron and Tira, a momentous occasion for all gathered here. I am Fress-Kol, second to Torvak-Nul, Zoron’s esteemed first-leader. But we don’t fault Zoron for leaving the Silver Fangs, as we see for ourselves today the beautiful Black Claw who stole his heart!”

Polite stomping ensued as the crowd gathered around Fress. When the noise died down, he continued. “As tradition dictates, this celebration begins with the Vak’rel, the ceremonial test of strength and respect. In the absence of Tira’s father, Torvak-Nul has graciously consented to take the role of Vak’kath the Protector, whom Zoron must duel to demonstrate his worthiness of Tira’s affection and his place amongst us. This is not merely a contest of strength, but a reaffirmation of the values that bind us: honor, respect, and unity. Please, follow me to the prepared grounds, where the duel will commence shortly.”

Aliki’s attention shifted as Zoron and Torvak-Nul embraced warmly, their actions a stark contrast to the tension bubbling beneath the surface. The crowd began to move, following Fress’s direction to the space behind the greenery wall where the duel would unfold.

Aliki lingered near the edge of the crowd as they funneled toward the event. From her vantage point, she could only see the swaying potted palms and tall bamboo arranged in a rough circle. The males disappeared one by one into the enclosed area, their murmured voices growing quieter as they stepped inside. The females, meanwhile, seemed entirely uninterested, their laughter and chatter growing louder as they congregated near the chocolate fountain.

A sleek drone zipped overhead and hovered briefly before slipping through the greenery.

Before she could follow it, Emmett appeared, his steps uncharacteristically heavy. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, intercepting her path. “It’s not for you to see.”

“What’s going on?” Aliki asked, stepping aside to let another pair of Tyroks pass. “I didn’t read anything about a duel as part of the joining ceremony.”

Emmett crossed his arms, his face solemn. “It’s tradition in certain Tyrok societies. The father of the bride—or in this case, Torvak-Nul as the stand-in—fights the groom. It’s called the Vak’rel. Sufsa would’ve looked forward to this. He’d have tried his best to make Zoron fail, even injure him. Tyroks believe pain proves strength. The more you can endure, the more worthy you are.”

Aliki blinked. “And Torvak agreed to this?”

“It’s an honor,” Emmett said. “He wouldn’t have refused.” He gestured toward the greenery. “On Marth, they’d hold this in a sacred place where the ancestors are said to watch and judge. Here on Earth, this wall of greenery has to do.”

Aliki glanced toward the wall, her unease deepening. “And what happens if Zoron loses?”

“He won’t,” Emmett replied quietly. “But if he should lose, the joining wouldn’t proceed. Tira would be free to choose another to bond with.”

Emmett disappeared between two broad-leaf bushes. Aliki hesitated, then moved closer to the greenery, her back pressing against a potted palm. She wasn’t allowed to watch, but she could listen.

A heavy silence fell over the dueling space. Then came the sharp clang of metal against metal, followed by a deep grunt. The crowd inside murmured approvingly, their voices rising and falling like waves. Another clang rang out, and Aliki winced as a sickening thud echoed through the air.

In front of her, the females at the chocolate fountain erupted into bursts of cheerful laughter, each peel slicing through the growing tension like shards of glass. At the buffet, a warming pan clattered to the ground with a metallic crash, loud enough to turn heads but not enough to stop the duel’s muffled grunts and clangs from filtering through the greenery. Moments later, another crash—cutlery tumbling in an awkward cacophony—added to the chaotic noise. It appears, Aliki thought, that the ICE agents were also alarmed.

Her nerves buzzed with every sound. She wanted to focus on the duel, to hear every hiss and grunt, but the idea of all those Silver Fangs and Black Claws, shoulder to shoulder, silently judging the outcome of a fight–with weapons, Aliki thought–was almost unbearable.

Emmett reappeared at her side. “Zoron’s playing for real,” he muttered. “Torvak’s holding his own, but…” He trailed off as another clang, followed by a guttural roar, cut through the air.

Aliki clenched her fists. She didn’t need to see to know what was happening. The rhythm of the crowd’s reactions behind her told the story. A final, deafening clang reverberated, followed by a heavy thud and silence.

Then Zoron’s voice boomed, clear and commanding: “Today, I claim my place and honor as head of Tira’s family.”

The silence was shattered by a mix of stomps, cheers, and a few angry hisses. Aliki strained to catch snippets of conversation from the males reassembling on the other side of the greenery. Emmett darted back into the dueling arena.

The women looked up expectantly. Tira hissed when she saw Aliki standing against the greenery. Aliki could hear feet shuffling and heavy whispering behind her. Tension lay on the crowd like a heavy blanket.

Fress’s voice cut through the unrest. “Brothers! This is a joining ceremony! What has occurred is the judgment of the ancestors. They have deemed Zoron worthy, and Torvak-Nul has honored us all with his sacrifice.”

The grumbling softened, though not entirely. Fress raised his hands again. “Let us now continue to the ceremony tent to celebrate this union as our ancestors would wish.”

As the crowd dispersed, Aliki noticed several of Zoron’s lackeys discreetly escorting two guests toward the dealership showroom doors. She stayed by the greenery, her thoughts swirling as she tried to reconcile the brutal tradition she had just overheard with the supposed joy of the occasion.

The grumbling softened, though not entirely, as Fress raised his hands. His deep voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. “Let us now continue to the ceremony tent to celebrate this union as our ancestors would wish.”

As the crowd began to disperse, four imposing males strode into the duel arena, their movements deliberate and purposeful. The low hum of an electric cart buzzed faintly from behind the green wall. Her stomach twisted as the realization hit—what were they planning to do with the body? She strained to keep her expression neutral, though the question gnawed at the edges of her composure.

The males and females gradually rejoined, their separate paths converging as they moved toward the ceremony tent. Their chatter filled the air, a blend of relieved laughter and murmured conversations, as though trying to overwrite the tension that had hung over the duel.

At the center of the group, Zoron walked with an air of confidence, his satisfaction evident in the small, triumphant smile that played across his face. The shallow slash on his arm, oozing a faint streak of dark blood, seemed more like a badge of honor than a wound. One of his lackeys quickly stepped forward, offering a pristine gold napkin. Zoron took it without a word, dabbed at the cut once, and then carelessly tossed the stained napkin onto the floor. The motion was smooth, deliberate, and dripping with unconcerned confidence.

He turned to Tira and took her arm, guiding her forward with an air of dominance that Aliki couldn’t ignore. Tira’s radiant smile didn’t falter as she leaned in slightly, her gown’s feathers catching the bioluminescent light as the couple led the crowd toward the ceremony tent.

Aliki lingered near the back of the group, trying to blend in as her thoughts raced. Emmett suddenly appeared at her side.

“There you are,” he said, his voice carrying a note of urgency. “I’ve asked that Torvak be taken to the chocolate storage room,” he murmured. “It’s the coolest place in the building, and Mitch agreed it’s a good temporary solution that wouldn’t raise suspicion if anyone asked.” Emmett’s tone was calm, but his eyes flicked toward the crowd as though gauging their reactions. “Oh, and I just got an update from Xyper. He was delayed at his last pickup—something about having to clean up after a customs official who got too curious. I’ve already relayed the information to Mitch, who, by the way, is worried about you. Says he hasn’t heard anything from your communicator in a while.”

Aliki had forgotten Emmett had a direct line to the spaceport ICE team. She reached instinctively for the pocket she normally kept her OmniComm in. The rough texture of her robe met her hand and a length of the sparkly fabric slid out of it’s place and hung to the floor.

She grimaced. Of course. “I must have left it in the bathroom when I was changing,” she said. “Can you let him know I’m fine? Is everything…” she waved a hand at the dispersing crowd. “…are we still good, if Xyper’s late?”

Emmett gave a slight nod and his expression shifted slightly as he silently conveyed the message and listened to an unseen reply. Then he turned back to her with a tilt of his head. “He says… they’re ready fer a wee delay, but some plans might be shiftin’, so he’d be a damn sight happier if ye fetched yer communicator now. An’ he didn’t put it near so polite, mind. If I were you, I’d not be ignorin’ him.”

Aliki’s shoulders stiffened, and a flicker of panic settled over her as she debated her next move. Without the communicator, Mitch couldn’t reach her, and the thought of being completely out of touch while changed plans were put into motion gnawed at her. But leaving now was impossible—the joining ceremony was about to begin, and her only moment of real importance loomed ahead like a spotlight she couldn’t avoid.

“I have to be in there to hand over the Tokchaar horns at the end of the ceremony,” she said with a wave at the ceremony tent, as much to calm her nerves as to convince Emmett. She glanced at the last few disappearing guests. “Just tell Mitch I’ll get it afterwards. I’ll deal with him later.”

Without waiting for Emmett’s reply, Aliki hurried after the dispersing crowd. The loose hem of her ceremonial robe caught under her foot, and she stumbled slightly, muttering under her breath as she straightened it. The long fabric, having come undone, dragged along the floor behind her.

At any other time, she would have been relieved that the robe was falling apart—an excuse to change back into something less suffocating. But not now. Not when she was finally about to perform the one role she was actually dressed for.

Her heart thudded as she slipped into the tent just in time to see Zoron step forward. The rhythmic stomps of the Tyrok guests quieted as he raised his hands to address the crowd. Aliki edged toward her designated spot: a pedestal in the center of the tent where two polished horns rested in an open, velvet-lined box. She picked them up, clutching them tightly. The cool, smooth surface of the horns pressed against her palms, a sharp contrast to the heat prickling her skin.

Her gaze darted around the tent, scanning the faces for KC. Nothing. She forced herself to focus on the ceremony, but unease tightened in her chest with every passing second. Where was he? What was happening with the so-called “secret meeting” in her apartment? Would ICE still act if Xyper didn’t arrive on time?

She swallowed hard and straightened her posture. There was no going back now. For better or worse, the ceremony was beginning.