“Alliance hardware. Reaper signature.”
He bares his teeth. “Forgery.”
“Yes.”
Smoke thins just enough for me to see Alliance security forming a tightening arc around us.
Vakutan officers lead the formation, armor scorched but posture unshaken. Their rifles level at chest height.
“On your knees!” one bellows.
My warriors shift instinctively—weight rolling forward, claws flexing, shoulders angling for momentum.
“Hold,” I say.
Varek’s head snaps toward me. “They accuse us.”
“Yes.”
“They are about to fire.”
“Not yet.”
The Vakutan captain steps closer. His armor smells faintly of heated alloy. “On your knees!”
Another officer shouts behind him, “Energy traces confirm Reaper output!”
Murmurs ripple outward.
Delegates stare.
Fear sharpens the air.
Jhor growls low. “Say the word.”
I look past the captain.
Through the fractured containment field, Alliance cruisers flare engines.
Already.
Fleet readiness rising like a heartbeat accelerating.
Too fast.
They were prepared.
I raise my hands slowly.
Varek stares at me like I have betrayed him.
“Stand down,” I say.
“You would kneel?” he demands.
“If we resist, this becomes proof.”
“Proof of what?”
