She exhales slowly, frustration flickering across her face. “So they challenge you. Publicly. They question your leadership. They push for raids anyway.”
“They will try.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “And you’re still not mobilizing.”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I step closer to the central projection and deactivate the Alliance fleet overlay with a deliberate gesture. The chamber dims slightly as the light fades.
“No,” I say at last, my voice low but unwavering. “I will not give them the war they prepared for.”
She watches me carefully, searching for doubt, for pride, for anything impulsive.
“You’re choosing to absorb the pressure,” she says, quieter now.
“Yes.”
“Even if it costs you.”
I meet her gaze again.
“Especially if it costs me.”
CHAPTER 15
ELARA
The holotable has been glowing so long that the blue-white projection has imprinted itself behind my eyes. When I blink, I still see the detonator casing rotating slowly in empty space, its manufacturing code etched like a confession along its interior seam. The cruiser’s strategy chamber is dim and angular, built for war and not comfort; its walls are black alloy, scarred in places where modifications were welded directly over older systems. The air is warmer than any League vessel would tolerate, faintly metallic, tinged with ozone from overworked processors and the constant low-frequency vibration of Reaper engines humming through the deck plating.
I roll my shoulders once, feeling the stiffness settle along my spine like a second skeleton.
“Run the harmonic comparison again,” I say, not looking up from the projection.
Kael moves without comment. I hear the faint scrape of claw against metal before he deliberately retracts them, careful not to damage the interface. His hand passes through the holographic waveform, widening it, isolating the resonance peaks with controlled precision. He stands close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Reapers are built denseand overclocked; their metabolism runs hotter than any human physiology. It isn’t theoretical here. It’s tangible. It presses against my back like a living thing.
“You are narrowing too tightly,” Kael says, his voice low but steady. “Widen the baseline window.”
“I’m not narrowing,” I reply, adjusting the filter with more force than necessary. “I’m eliminating noise.”
He steps nearer to the table, leaning over the projection so that his shadow falls across the data. “Noise contains deviation,” he says, tapping the air beside the trough variance. “Deviation reveals intent.”
I straighten slowly and turn to face him. “You’re telling me to look for imperfection.”
“I am telling you engineered perfection is itself a flaw.”
The way he says it—measured, almost patient—makes something inside me bristle.
“I do not need to be reminded how fabrication works,” I tell him, folding my arms. “I built my career on dissecting it.”
His pale blue eyes hold mine for a long moment, neither defensive nor challenging. “Then dissect it fully,” he says. “Do not rush.”
“I’m not rushing.”
“You are fatigued.”
The word lands sharper than I expect.
“I am focused,” I correct him.
“You have not eaten in nine hours.”
