Her eyes search mine, as if testing whether I will waver.
I hold her gaze.
“I will not give them that,” I say quietly.
She nods once, firmly.
“Good,” she replies, her voice steadying. “Because if you do, every edit we uncovered becomes footnote.”
The processors hum louder as deeper encryption layers unravel under her command.
The conspiracy is no longer speculative.
It is engineered.
Valen’s signature is embedded in operational timing. Fleet posture aligns too precisely to dismiss as coincidence.
I watch the projection for several seconds in silence, then speak.
“This is larger than my removal,” I say.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“It is structured destabilization.”
“Yes.”
“And if we expose it?—”
She meets my eyes again, and I can see calculation and resolve burning together there. “We fracture their cohesion.”
“Or force escalation,” I counter.
Her lips press together briefly, then relax. “They’re escalating anyway.”
True.
Outside this vault, rival clans maneuver for advantage. Beyond this system, Alliance carriers advance in tightening arcs.
Between those pressures stand three cycles of authority and one narrowing window of proof.
I deactivate the projection slowly.
“We do not strike first,” I say, more to myself than to her—but she hears it.
She steps closer, lowering her voice so it doesn’t carry beyond the vault walls. There’s tension in her posture now — not fear, but awareness of the political cost.
“You’re going to take heat for that,” she says quietly.
“I am aware,” I reply.
Her eyes search mine, sharp and probing. “From Varok. From Threx. From every clan that thinks aggression equals strength.”
“Yes,” I answer, holding her gaze.
“And from your own council,” she continues, folding her arms across her chest, studying me as if trying to detect hesitation. “They just gave you authority. If you look passive, they’ll regret it.”
“They may,” I say evenly.
