Chapter 8: Picnic
Orion strode toward the landing bay, his brow furrowed in suspicion. He had trained under Varun long enough to know that the man didn't do things casually.
And yet, there he was, standing by a sleek transport vessel, grinning.
Varun grinning?
He has never seen the man smile before.
Orion slowed his pace, arms crossed. "Since when do you do picnics?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice as he studied Varun's expression.
Varun chuckled, hoisting a pack into the ship's hold. "Since today," he said, amusement glinting in his eyes. He tossed Orion his weapon with a smirk. "You'll need that."
Orion caught it. He looked to Varun, there was an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. Varun was enjoying this. That alone was cause for concern.
With a flick of his wrist, Varun sealed the last crate into place and gestured to the open hatch. "Get in." he said.
Orion hesitated for only a second before stepping inside. The transport was small, built for speed, its interior lined with reinforced panels and a single row of seats. As the engines hummed to life, the restraints coiled around Orion's shoulders automatically.
He glanced at Varun, who was whistling. Whistling.
Yeah. This is definitely fishy.