“It will not.”
She looks up at me. “You’re certain.”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders tense. “Then this is war.”
“Not yet.”
“Kael.”
“Not yet,” I repeat more firmly. “But approaching.”
The fleet display shifts again, highlighting projected engagement zones near fringe systems sympathetic to my clan.
“They’re squeezing,” Varek mutters.
“Yes,” I say.
Elara steps back from the console, pacing once across the narrow deck. “You can’t outgun the Alliance.”
“No.”
“You can’t outnumber them.”
“No.”
“You can’t outmaneuver them forever.”
“No.”
She stops pacing. “Then what exactly is the plan?”
I meet her gaze steadily.
“Truth.”
She stares at me like I’ve just suggested we throw rocks at cruisers.
“That’s not a strategy,” she says flatly.
“It is the only one that prevents annihilation.”
She crosses her arms again. “You think exposing fabricated evidence stops fleet mobilization?”
“It fractures internal cohesion.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe is sufficient.”
She studies me, searching for arrogance, for delusion.
“You’re serious,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
“You’re betting your entire species on forensic anomalies.”
