“The Valorian High Houses will know what the Zaterran warriors sacrificed,” I say, and my voice carries through the chamber. “Your fallen will be honored in our records. Their names will be spoken in the halls where history is made.” I meet Henrok’s eyes. “They will not be forgotten.”
Henrok nods once. Apex predator to apex predator. It’s enough.
Then Polly steps forward.
She’s quiet in a way I rarely see from her. The bond thrums with her grief—not performative, not political, butreal. Some of these warriors died protectingher.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out something small. A patch. Her spare OOPS insignia, the logo slightly worn at the edges.
I feel my mother’s attention like a blade at my back. A courier. Placing her insignia alongside warrior shards. The diplomatic implications are—
Polly places it on the memorial wall.
“OOPS Couriers honor the fallen too,” she says. Her voice is steady, but I feel her heart cracking through the bond. “You were with us. That makes you family.”
Silence.
Then Henrok inclines his head—the same acknowledgment he gave me. Warrior to warrior. Equal standing earned in blood.
Around the chamber, the Zaterran warriors shift. Not protest—recognition. This small human, with her pink hair and worn flight suit, just declared kinship with their dead. And their commander accepted it.
I risk a glance at my father.
He’s watching Polly with an expression I’ve never seen before. Not disapproval. Not calculation. Something closer to... reassessment.
My mother’s face remains frozen. But her eyes track Polly as she returns to my side, and I see the wheels turning. A courier who commands the respect of Zaterran warriors. A mate who speaks of the fallen with genuine grief. Not what she expected.
Not what any of them expected.
Polly’s hand finds mine again, and I squeeze it.
That was well done, I send through the bond.
They deserved better than dying for us.
They died for their home. For their people.I squeeze her hand.
Afterward, Mother Morrison commandeers the war room.
I’ve seen military commanders with less organizational ferocity. She stands at the central display, holoprojections flickering around her, coordinating communications with approximately seventeen different factions while simultaneously managing the diplomatic fallout from the battle.
Luzrak moves at her side, handling the formal communications with the sort of smooth efficiency that makes me understand why he’s survived as her second-in-command.
“Here’s where we stand,” Mother Morrison says when we enter. She doesn’t look up from her displays, but I know she’s clocked our arrival. That woman misses nothing. “Meridian Consortium is in chaos. Voros is dead, their fleet scattered to the void. STI is ‘investigating,’ which means they’re frantically shredding any documents that link them to the operation.”
“The evidence upload?” I ask.
“Spreading faster than they can contain it.” Mother Morrison finally looks at me—assessing, sharp, missing nothing. “The High Council has confirmed the bio-harvesting operation. Seventeen arrested so far, including three STI deputies. Your grandmother’s sacrifice is finally being recognized.”
The words hit like a physical punch. I’ve been fighting for this moment for so long. Bleeding for it. Nearly dying for it.
And now it’s done.
It’s done.
Through the bond, Polly’s hand tightens in mine.
“What’s the political situation?” I manage.
