“What are you talking about?”
I let the silence stretch. One heartbeat. Two. Through the bond, I feel Polly holding her breath.
“The data,” I say finally, each word precise as a scalpel. “It is already gone.”
Voros freezes. His fingers tighten on the armrests of his chair. “Impossible. We are jamming all long-range frequencies. Nothing has left this system.”
“You are jamming standard frequencies,” I correct, letting aristocratic disdain drip from every syllable. The voice of a man explaining simple mathematics to a particularly slow child. “You are not jamming a Zaterran Quantum Relay. Ancient technology, Commander. Pre-war. Operating on frequencies your sensors cannot even detect.”
I pause, letting the implication sink in.
“The upload completed three minutes ago. The High Council has the survey data—the coordinates my grandmother died to protect. They have the gene-sequencing proofs. And they have the full logs of your illegal pursuit across three sectors.” I step closer to the camera, close enough that my eyes fill the screen. Gold on black, inhuman, predatory. “Right now, the Valorian Fleet is mobilizing. Not to retrieve me, but to intercept an act of corporate war.”
Voros’s jaw works. I can see him calculating—profit, loss, liability, blame. The corporate mind, always running the numbers.
I press the advantage.
“If you continue this bombardment, you are not recovering an asset, Commander. You are declaring war on a High House of the Core Worlds. The Consortium does not declare wars. The Consortium acquires, extracts, and liquidates—quietly, efficiently, without political entanglement. That is why you exist.”
I let my voice drop, soft and deadly.
“And when the Council auditors review this incident—and they will—who do you think the Consortium will blame? The board of directors who gave the order? Or the Commander who fired on a diplomat after the mission was already failed?”
Voros is pale now. Truly pale. I watch a bead of sweat form at his temple, catch the light of his bridge’s displays. He looks at histactical officer, who is frantically checking their sensors, running calculations.
“He’s bluffing,” Voros snaps, but his voice wavers. “Scan the relay output! Verify the transmission signature!”
“Scan all you like,” I say, crossing my arms. The picture of calm. Inside, my heart is hammering so hard I’m certain everyone in the War Room can hear it. “But ask yourself this, Commander: is it worth the risk? If I am lying, you kill me and get nothing—the data is already gone, and House Valorian declares blood-feud against the Consortium. If I am telling the truth...”
I pause. Let the silence build.
“You will spend the rest of your very short life in a penal colony for unauthorized aggression against a sovereign power. Either way, Commander, your career ends today. The only question is whether it ends with a court martial or a quiet transfer to some forgotten outpost where you can drink yourself to death in obscurity.”
I hold his gaze through the screen. Let him see the steel beneath the silk. Let him understand that I am not the frightened asset he was sent to collect—I am a Valorian Heir, and we do not break.
“Stand down, Commander,” I order, using the Voice—the command tone bred into my bloodline for generations, honed by centuries of politics and war. The voice that makes lesser men obey before they realize they’ve moved. “Withdraw to the perimeter and await Council arbitration. It is your only option.”
The silence that follows is absolute. Even the tactical alerts seem to hold their breath.
Voros stares at me. I can see the wheels turning—profit, loss, risk, liability. The calculation of a man whose entire career depends on making the safe choice. The smart choice.
The coward’s choice.
“Hold fire,” Voros barks at his crew. The words come out strangled, furious. “Verify the transmission signature! Now!”
On the tactical display behind me, the red icons stop their assault. The bombardment ceases.
The shaking of the fortress stops.
In the War Room, silence descends like a physical weight. I can hear my own breathing, harsh in the sudden quiet. Can hear the hum of the Quantum Relay, still transmitting. Can hear the thunder of my own heartbeat.
“He bought it,” Suki whispers, staring at the screen. Her voice is awed. “Holy shit, he actually bought it.”
“For now,” Henrok says. His voice is low, but there’s a gleam of respect in those garnet eyes that wasn’t there before. “He is checking the logs. He will realize the data stream is still active in a moment. The relay output is not hidden—only the content.”
“How long?” I ask, stepping out of the transmission circle. My knees are suddenly weak, trembling beneath me. The mask is cracking, the adrenaline crash hitting me all at once.
Henrok studies the tactical display. “Three minutes. Maybe four. Then he will know you lied, and he will be very, very angry.”
