In the dimly lit room, thick with the scent of sweat and stale beer, they huddled together around a rickety old table. The silence that lay between them was pregnant with tension, not a single soul daring to arouse any suspicion amongst the shadows of the Black Spade, the notorious hub of intergalactic miscreants and schemers.

Hadrian, a grizzled space pilot with a face eclipsed by greying stubble, grinned through gritted teeth, his knuckles white around the holo-cube in his worn hands. Dark eyes raced from one face to the next, gauging their reactions, striving to determine who among them might snatch it all away from him—a deceitful friend, perhaps.

Opposite him, a young woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her deceptively delicate fingers tapping an uneasy rhythm on the table. Adelaide, they called her, a thief by trade but a survivor by necessity. She tilted her head, strands of red hair escaping her cap.

"Are we all on board or not?" Hadrian demanded, the hoarseness of his voice grating heavily against the quiet.

"And what shall become of us if we are?" asked a third figure, lurking in the shadows, their mottled talons resting on the tabletop. A lizard-like tongue flicked out momentarily, tasting the air. "Your reputation precedes you, Hadrian."

Hadrian bared his teeth in a hollow grin. "You can expect no less than the stars themselves, with a fortune to match."