The markings on their craft were not the same as on Aesia's fighter.The one standing over her held a gun close to her head. She had a spreading bruise...on the side of her face and blood oozing from her mouth. He was going to shoot her! Tristan's insides twisted up. That is not going to happen!The other one lounged against an open door to their ship. It looked more like a shuttle or small scout ship rather than a fighter. He carried what looked like a rifle cradled loosely in his arms. From his. I knew all I had to do was pull out my robe from my belt to cover my bottom, but I did not - this was my son and I loved him. Why was he doing these things?His youthful hand was molding the closest cheek for the sixth time since he sat down for breakfast as I leaned over to retrieve the butter from the table. Then he spoke for the first time since the hallway, “Don’t move mom.”I froze, fearing what was next.Looking over my shoulder I watched as my only child aimed the bottle of maple syrup. More

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