She steps closer, the light catching in her eyes. “You can’t let them mobilize.”
“I will not.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Even if Alliance carriers cross your border?”
“Yes.”
“Even if your rivals call you weak?”
“Yes.”
Something in her expression shifts then—not doubt, not exactly. Recognition.
“You’re choosing restraint,” she says slowly, almost testing the word.
“I am choosing denial of narrative,” I reply.
She studies me for a long moment, then nods once.
“Then we move faster than both sides,” she says.
I turn back to the projection.
“Extract full packet chain,” I instruct her quietly. “Trace authorization upward beyond Valen.”
She exhales through her nose, focused again. “If this ties into High Command,” she says, fingers moving swiftly, “then we’re not exposing a rogue admiral.”
“No.”
“We’re exposing policy.”
Her tone makes the word sound heavier than accusation.
Outside, the distant rumble of mobilizing cruisers deepens, structural vibrations traveling through the vault floor.
Another alert flickers.
Alliance deployment update.
I project it.
Carrier groups advancing. Destroyer lines forming outer arcs.
Elara’s jaw tightens as she studies the feed. “They’re not even disguising it now.”
“No.”
She looks at me again, and this time the tension in her face is unmistakable. “They expected you to react.”
“Yes.”
“They expected raids.”
“Yes.”
“They expected you to look like the aggressor.”
“Yes.”
