I could run. Take the safe exit. Vanish into some corner of the galaxy where the Combine doesn’t reach, where I could live out a quiet, invisible life with a new name and old memories.
But that’s not who I am anymore.
Valtron didn’t bleed for me so I could hide.
“You owe me one more thing,” I say, meeting Dowron’s gaze.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve given you everything I have.”
“Then give me yourplatform.”
He frowns. “What?”
“Your access,” I say. “You’re about to drop this data crystal into the council’s lap and start a war. I want to do itmyway.”
He hesitates. “Broadcasting puts a target on your back.”
“Then let them aim.”
The transmission room is smaller than I imagined. Tucked in the belly of Dowron’s ship, it’s shielded six layers deep from external scans, full of tech older than I am. Outdated, analog-supplemented, but impossible to trace.
Perfect.
I sit in the cracked leather chair. The console’s surface is scratched with the names of operators long since buried. I run my fingers across the etchings like they’re prayers.
Dowron stands beside the door, arms crossed, watching like he’s preparing for an execution.
Leena’s voice pings in through the console once I activate it. “Feed’s ready. Ghost protocol engaged. Your signal’ll bounce through six dead satellites and a pirate relay on Ragged’s Edge. No one’ll trace it back. Not in time.”
“Thanks,” I murmur.
I tug the hood over my head. Not for disguise. For armor.
The mic crackles when I engage it.
A green light pulses.
I exhale.
Then speak.
“This is a voice the Combine didn’t want you to hear.”
The room goes still.
“I’m not going to tell you my name. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what I’ve seen. What I’ve lived. What I’vesurvived.”
The console vibrates faintly beneath my hand. I keep going.
“For years, the Helios Combine has operated under the guise of corporate peacekeeping, of civic order. But I’m here to tell you they are liars. Murderers. Puppeteers pulling the strings of our supposed freedom while staging assassinations, executing whistleblowers, and burying truths beneath a mountain of polished propaganda.”
I slide the crystal into the port.
“Contained in this file is evidence. Documents. Voice logs. Names.Dates.Proof that the Combine orchestrated the deaths of civilians, scientists, journalists—anyone who dared to expose them.”
My voice cracks, but I don’t stop.
“One of those names was Quinn Eltar. My friend. My colleague. Murdered for trying to show you the truth.”
