He hesitates before executing the command. The interface flickers, then populates with restricted access markers.
“Still military-only,” he says.
I nod slowly, then gesture toward the harmonic overlay floating beside the fragment. “Overlay the Reaper energy trace again.”
The waveform expands into layered blue spikes—clean, structured, almost elegant in its symmetry.
“Match percentage?” I ask.
“Ninety-three percent to Kael clan registry baselines.”
The words settle heavily in the room.
“Magnify subharmonic fluctuation,” I say quietly.
The tech zooms further.
The amplitude curve expands, crisp and smooth. Too smooth.
“Do you see that?” I ask.
He leans forward, squinting. “It’s a strong match.”
“It’s an ideal match.”
He frowns. “Isn’t that the point?”
“No,” I reply, finally looking at him. “Organic resonance fluctuates. Emotional state, environmental interference, muscular output—Reaper harmonic signatures aren’t sterile.”
He blinks, glancing back at the projection. “You’re saying it’s… refined?”
“I’m saying it’s engineered to be recognized.”
A chime interrupts us. The wall screen activates without prompting, and Admiral Serrik Valen appears centered beneathAlliance insignia. Fleet readiness metrics scroll beside him in cold blue columns that tick upward in steady increments.
“The Trident Alliance will not tolerate acts of terror against neutral space,” he says, voice amplified across the station’s internal feed. “Preliminary forensic confirmation establishes Reaper energy involvement in the Virex summit attack.”
Confirmation.
Not suspicion.
Not preliminary analysis pending review.
Confirmation.
I fold my arms slowly, watching as the readiness counter shifts from ninety-two to ninety-five percent.
“We are enacting immediate sanctions against identified Reaper entities,” Valen continues. “Fleet mobilization ensures regional stability while tribunal proceedings move forward.”
The words are carefully constructed. Tribunal remains. Due process remains. On paper.
In practice, the fleets are already in motion.
I mute the feed.
“How long since detonation?” I ask.
“Just under two hours,” the tech replies.
