The air aboard the Imperial frigate was thick with the acrid stench of fear and the metallic tang of blood—a scent that Zyvra Thornsight inhaled with a predator’s relish. The chaos of the raid was a symphony to her ears, the screams of the dying a melody that stirred her dark soul. Her lithe form moved with predatory grace through the carnage, her glossy black bodysuit clinging to her deathly pale skin like a second skin, the intricate tattoos adorning her groin and hips catching the dim light a...