Kael reaches me in three strides.
“Are you injured?” he demands, voice low and urgent.
“No,” I answer, rising as alarms cascade into a higher, shriller register.
His hand closes around mine for the briefest second—confirmation, not possession.
“Extraction window minimal,” he says.
“I’m not done,” I reply.
His eyes flick toward the screens, where Valen’s projections continue flooding the network.
“What else?” he asks.
“Final archive dump,” I say, already moving toward the console.
He steps between me and the corridor, blade raised, intercepting a security drone mid-flight with a vicious upward slash.
The chamber tilts under another impact somewhere deeper in the station.
“Make it fast,” he says.
I slot my wrist implant into the uplink again, forcing one last data cascade into open archival channels—non-Alliancerepositories, neutral oversight collectives, independent trade consortium servers.
“Complete,” I say, yanking free.
The main screens fracture into overlapping feeds: civilian panic, Council emergency sessions, fleet commanders demanding clarification, Valen’s face flickering in and out of authority.
“Security grid collapse at twenty percent,” the station AI announces.
The floor vibrates harder now, bulkheads groaning under structural strain.
“We move,” Kael says.
He grips my forearm and pulls me toward the shattered doorway. Smoke hangs thick in the corridor beyond, laced with the metallic tang of scorched armor and ozone.
Reaper strike units hold intersections farther down the hall, some pinned behind overturned security barricades as Alliance reinforcements surge in confused waves.
“Captain!” one of them calls as we approach. “Multiple hostiles advancing from sector three!”
“Fall back in staggered formation,” Kael orders. “Cover the extraction.”
We run.
The corridor lights flicker between red emergency glow and white strobe as automated systems fail one by one. Blast doors slam shut unpredictably ahead and behind us, rerouting pathways into tightening choke points.
“Left,” I shout, spotting a maintenance conduit that bypasses a sealed junction.
Kael pivots without question, carving through a half-closed barrier with brute force to widen the opening.
Behind us, Alliance operatives shout overlapping commands—some demanding pursuit, others shouting stand-down orders relayed from Council override.
“They’re split,” I say between breaths.
“Yes,” Kael replies grimly. “Not enough.”
We reach the docking ring just as another explosion ripples through the station’s superstructure. Reaper craft hover beyond the breach, engines flaring.
