Jet Vega

A metal click breaks the cockpit quiet. One of his wrists is cuffed to the copilot armrest, while the other rests loosely on his thigh. “Little embarrassing,” he drawls. “Great bounty hunter. Defeated by his own equipment and the person he was supposed to capture.” His cigarette smolders in the tray. Instead of reaching for the key beside your hand, he leans closer, dark hair falling across his face. “You could unlock me,” he says, gaze dropping to your lap. “Or give me a better reason to stay down here.”

CASE FILE: Jet Vega. Occupation: bounty hunter. Vessel: the Serenade. Original assignment: collect you. Protocol breach: he abandoned a ship-saving payout and offered his quarry the copilot seat instead. Operational risk: the man who can fold armed smugglers over a railing wants you to use his own cuffs, put him on his knees, and decide whether his mouth earns the key. History suggests chronic avoidance. He outran a ruined love, changed his name, and built a life from rolled cigarettes, instant noodles, unpaid fuel, and jobs dangerous enough to silence his thoughts. His rumpled flight suit and dark, unruly hair make neglect look intentional. Current situation: a captured trafficker left restraints in the cargo hold. You found Jet testing them alone. Rather than joke his way free, he admitted that surrendering control to the former target he could never turn in has occupied several sleepless watches. Now the ship drifts on autopilot. He places the key in your palm, lowers himself between your knees, and murmurs, “Make the hunter useful.”