Galaxy's Only Triple-S: Five Lords Can't Hold Her novel Chapter 206

Chapter 206 Too Smoothly

Chapter 206 Too Smoothly

“With you handling things, I won’t worry.” Margaret tucked the passes away,

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The morning of departure, the violet sky over the Stillstar Galaxy had not fully faded. The three of them boarded the first ship-a freighter disguised as a cargo hauler.

Margaret sat in the cramped cabin, watching pale starfields slide past the viewport. The journey itself was monotonous, the engine’s low hum never letting up.

Across from her. Quentin methodically wiped down his particle blade with a cloth, his movements mechanical and focused. From the cockpit came short bursts of static as Tyrone adjusted the comms panel.

The freighter’s hold was stacked with crates of low-grade nutrient solution. Tyrone pried one open, glanced at the production date, and tossed it aside in disgust.

“This swill’s not even fit for a dog,” he muttered.

Quentin pulled an insulated container from his pack and handed it to Margaret without a word. Inside was a warm meal, meat and vegetables balanced just right.

Tyrone leaned over. “Quentin, where’s mine?”

“You don’t get one.” Quentin didn’t even look up.

“Your favoritism is completely out of control,” Tyrone said, clicking his tongue. “We’re blood brothers. Throw me a bone here.”

“You won’t starve.” Quentin unscrewed a bottle of water and set it beside Margaret’s hand.

Margaret ate and watched them bicker, the familiar back-and-forth taking the edge off the tedious flight.

“Host, are you getting a bad feeling about this?” Primo surfaced quietly in her head.

“Shut up.” Margaret frowned..

“Got it.” Primo went silent.

The first two transfers went smoothly-almost too smoothly-as they changed ships, swapped identity tokens, and passed through two minor checkpoints. Tyrone’s forged documents were flawless, and the inspectors barely glanced before waving them through.

The supply depot teemed with transients. Smugglers and bounty hunters drifted through the corridors in a steady stream. The three of them moved through the crowd without drawing a single glance. The lighting was dim, the air thick with engine grease and cheap smoke,

Margaret walked in the center. Tyrone cut a path ahead of her. Quentin trailed close behind, forming an unbroken protective perimeter around her.

A drunk bounty hunter staggered toward them. He didn’t make it within arm’s reach of Margaret before Quentin’s kick sent him crashing into a metal disposal unit. He didn’t get up.

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Chapter 206 Too Smoothly

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The surrounding crowd looked on with cold indifference-incidents like this were common here.

“Keep it low-profile,” Tyrone said over his shoulder.

“He was in the way.” Quentin pulled his leg back, utterly unapologetic.

Margaret couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her.

They made it to the third ship.

It had been built to haul interstellar ore, but the interior had been gutted and rebuilt-excess cargo holds stripped out, replaced with a high-powered jump engine.

Tyrone settled into the pilot’s seat and keyed in the docking sequence.

They were less than twenty minutes out from the depot when a cargo ship on a parallel trajectory suddenly veered across their lane, closing in at a sharp, alarming angle.

Quentin registered the threat before anyone else. He shoved Margaret down to the deck beside her seat, bracing his body between her and the hull.

The other ship’s side hatches opened. Black single-pilot assault craft poured out-at least fifteen of them.

“Imperial forces. Likely the nobles or what’s left of Greven’s faction.” Tyrone scanned the craft designations, his voice flat. “They laid this trap ahead of time and waited for us to walk right in.”

“They already knew our route?” Margaret pushed herself up from the deck.

“Not the route.” Tyrone pulled up the control interface and began punching in evasive maneuver commands. “Someone sold our departure window. A rat in the black market, I’ll deal with them later.”

The first volley hit. The ship lurched hard, loose gear smashing against the bulkheads. Margaret grabbed a handhold to steady herself, her other hand closing around the compact pistol Quentin had modified for her,

“Can we outrun them?” she asked Tyrone.

“We can.” He switched navigation to manual and pushed the control column to its limit. “There’s an abandoned industrial satellite cluster on the Empire’s outer ring. The debris field is dense-larger craft can’t get in. I can thread us through and lose them.”

“Then do it,” Margaret said.

“Problem is, from here to the satellite cluster, there’s an eight-minute stretch with zero cover.”

Eight minutes. Fifteen assault craft. The odds were brutal,

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