The overhead lights in the border space station flickered in a way that grated against Xavier Hunter’s already frayed nerves. He stared at the same requisition form for the past ten minutes. The numbers and labels blurred together, melting into indistinguishable shapes.

He blinked slowly. Ah, damn.

Outside the reinforced windows, space stretched infinitely: a cold void broken only by distant glints of passing starships and the faint glow of nearby planetary systems. The morbidly serene sight did nothing to ease the pain.

Xavier pressed his fingertips to his temples. The headache throbbed insistently, a reminder of the crushing workload he had been buried under for weeks.

He glanced at the list of pending files displayed beside him. It was a lot. No matter how many he approved, more arrived in their place. It multiplied endlessly, mocking him with its sheer volume.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, opening another file.

The words came out harsher than he intended, laced with a bitterness that had been festering for years.

Ever since Grayson Maxwell, the Empire’s golden general, had walked away from service, Xavier’s workload had ballooned overnight.

No transition period, no proper officer redistribution, no reassurance. Just a sudden wave of duties that were dumped on him like a punishment.

The war with the Federation Galaxy wasn’t going to pause just because he was drowning in administrative hell. The border situation hadn’t calmed down. Nothing about the Imperial Galaxy was stable.

Yet somehow, everything had been shoved onto Xavier’s shoulders the moment Grayson decided he preferred being a CEO over a general.

The stylus scraped harder across the holographic screen as Xavier signed another document, leaving a jagged streak across the digital surface.

Xavier’s jaw clenched as he moved to the next file.

The worst part wasn’t even the workload—it was the whispers.

The subtle looks from other officers. The quiet judgments. The lingering looks during meetings. He could feel the weight of the comparison even when no one said anything aloud.

Maxwell never struggled with this.

Maxwell made it look effortless.

Can General Hunter really fill his shoes?

Xavier gritted his teeth.

"Of course I can," he growled under his breath, flipping through a tactical report. "I don’t need to fill anyone’s shoes. I earned this position myself."

He said it with conviction... but it didn’t soothe the pain inside.

Grayson had been a legend.

Xavier was just... the guy who came after.

He refused to settle for that.

He shoved another file forward. He was halfway through approving a supply shipment. He froze when raised voices drifted through the door.

Xavier’s enhanced alpha hearing picked up the conversation immediately, and he frowned.

Lieutenant Rocky Hawn spoke first, calm and formal as always. Xavier recognized his tone: polite, but rigidly immovable.

The second voice was rougher, carrying frustration barely held in check.

Xavier instantly recognized it: Colonel Riley Vane.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed.

Vane was not a man who lost his temper easily. If he was raising his voice outside Xavier’s door, something had gone very, very wrong.

Xavier stayed silent and listened.

"I really need to see General Hunter immediately," Vane said, tension thick in his voice.

"Sir," Hawn replied in his usual tone. "The General is currently attending to important document backlogs. Please submit a written report—"

"This can’t wait," Vane hissed.

Xavier could practically hear Hawn’s spine stiffening.

"With all due respect, Colonel, protocol requires—"

"I said it’s urgent!"

Xavier exhaled through his nose. Vane arguing with Hawn of all people was already out of character. Hawn was famously unshakable; even admirals had backed down under his polite refusals. For Vane to push this hard meant the situation was beyond abnormal.

Before Hawn could escalate—or before Vane lost his temper further—Xavier decisively rose from his seat. He crossed the office in four strides, swung the door open, and both officers straightened immediately.

His golden eyes swept over them.

Hawn snapped into a salute.

Vane’s expression was strained, exhausted. His uniform was rumpled, as if he had traveled nonstop. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Xavier didn’t waste time.

"Colonel Vane. Come in."

Hawn opened his mouth in half-protest, but Xavier gave him one cool, commanding look.

Hawn immediately bowed, stepping aside. "Understood, General. I will sort what you have completed."

Xavier nodded curtly and stepped back to let Vane through. The door sealed behind them automatically.

The office somehow felt too small with Vane inside, his tension filling the air like static.

Xavier gestured toward the chair across from his desk.

But Vane didn’t sit.

Of course, he didn’t. Officers only remained standing when the report was grave enough to warrant absolute formality.

Xavier respected that unspoken rule and remained standing as well.

"Report," he said, arms crossing behind his back.

Vane inhaled sharply, then locked himself into military posture.

"Former General Grayson Maxwell has been spotted involved with a suspected illegal drug facility."

Silence.

An absolute, suffocating silence.

Xavier blinked once.

Twice.

He thought he had misheard.

"...He what?" Xavier’s voice was flat, incredulous, and disbelieving. "Repeat that."

It was so absurd that Xavier felt his jaw drop slightly.

But Vane held himself perfectly still.

"Former General Maxwell has been observed at a site connected to an illegal drug facility."

Xavier stared at him.

Then he laughed.

A single, sharp sound—humorless, filled with disbelief.

"You’re telling me that Grayson Maxwell," Xavier said slowly, "the Imperial Galaxy’s golden boy, the Empire’s hero, was spotted near a drug operation?"

Vane didn’t respond. His jaw tightened in a way that screamed confirmation. The colonel knew how insane this sounded, and he was seriously reporting it.

Xavier’s smile died instantly.

Vane continued, voice tight with the weight of the report. "Watchers within the Maxwell Corporation reported an internal corporate issue involving a new, unidentified drug. We were unable to secure a sample due to Lieutenant General Helena Popova restricting the information flow."

Helena Popova.

Xavier’s blood boiled.

It’s Popova, again?

She was one of Grayson’s people. A high-ranking officer with more influence than Xavier liked to admit. She had followed Grayson into hell and back. Even after he left the military, she still acted like his subordinate.

Xavier’s eyes hardened into something dangerously.

Popova’s shielding of the investigation meant only one thing:

Grayson still had control inside the military.

More control than Xavier could even imagine.

The realization made him want to puke.

Vane visibly tensed as Xavier’s pheromones thickened in the room.

Everyone knew one thing: mentioning Grayson Maxwell in front of General Hunter was like poking a sleeping beast. The rivalry between them was infamous—no, legendary.

One had been the Empire’s pride.

The other had been forced to chase after the other’s ghost.

The weight of that humiliation burned Xavier from within.

Vane swallowed hard but pushed through.

"Since we could not trace the drug source," Vane said quickly, "we investigated external contact points. We located communication between Lieutenant General Popova and Former Lieutenant Colonel Julius Seaton."

Xavier’s head snapped up.

Julius. Another one of Grayson’s old comrades.

"They made a deal," Vane continued, "concerning the latest warp research from the Imperial Research Institute. Authored by Dean Pete Rowan."

Xavier’s expression darkened even more.

Warp research was always top-classified.

Why the hell would Popova and Julius be handing military research to Grayson?

"Are they that desperate for his approval?" Xavier muttered, voice cold enough to frost steel. "He leaves the military—and they still bend over backward to worship him?"

He hated this.

He hated how Grayson still overshadowed him.

How people still whispered Grayson’s name.

How Grayson could command loyalty with a nod, while Xavier had to bleed for every scrap of respect he earned.

Vane continued cautiously.

"During this timeframe, an external corporation attempted to bribe its way into acquiring the same research. HW Corporation."

Xavier scoffed. "Not the first corporation to try. You know what to do—investigate, tighten security, fine them, whatever is necessary."

Vane hesitated.

Xavier narrowed his eyes. "Colonel?"

Vane dropped the next bomb with the delicacy of a falling starship.

"Colonel Ciel Erskine Marchesi approved the bribe."

"WHAT?"

Xavier’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

Marchesi? The up-and-coming young officer from the wealthy Erskine family? The one known for being brilliant but reckless?

"He approved a bribe from HW Corporation?" Xavier repeated, disbelieving. "Is he out of his damn mind?!"

Vane nearly flinched at the volume.

"The Erskine family may own Planet Xylos," Xavier growled, "but that doesn’t mean their offspring can just—"

Vane cleared his throat. "General. There’s more."

Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Of course there is." His voice was half snarl, half exhaustion. "What else?"

Vane took a step forward, bracing himself as if for impact.

"Upon follow-up investigation..." he began.

Xavier’s golden eyes lifted and looked at Vane straight in the eye.

"...we discovered that Maxwell Corporation is not the only organization implicated in drug circulation. HW Corporation is also tied to distribution."

Xavier froze.

Vane continued to say as if he were helpless.

"To be specific—the second young master of the Hewitt family, Mick Hewitt, established a hidden facility downtown for covert distribution."