“I am betting on proof.”
“And if you don’t find it?”
The question hangs.
“Then war proceeds,” I say calmly.
Her jaw tightens.
“And you’re still taking us into Reaper territory,” she says.
“Yes.”
“That’s the first place Alliance fleets will target.”
“It is also the only place I can rally clan support.”
“Support for reform?” she challenges.
“Support for survival.”
She looks back at the fleet broadcast, watching as cruiser formations expand outward like metallic petals unfolding in space.
“They’re going to call you extremist,” she says.
“They already have.”
“They’re going to call me traitor.”
“They already did.”
Her mouth twitches slightly despite the tension.
“You’re infuriatingly calm,” she says.
“I am not calm,” I reply quietly.
She studies my face.
“You don’t look panicked.”
“Panic wastes oxygen.”
“And what does this waste?” she gestures toward the fleet display.
“Time.”
Silence settles again.
The engines hum steadily beneath us as the cruiser maintains its new course.
“Elara,” I say after a moment.
“Yes?”
“You asked earlier why rival clans resist reform.”
“Yes.”
