Elara shifts slightly, her hand brushing across my chest. Her fingers pause briefly over the scar where my bone spurs were broken in ritual combat years ago. Even in sleep, she traces damage like evidence.
I lower my head and press a careful kiss into her hairline. She exhales, murmuring something incoherent, then settles again.
I rise without waking her.
The corridor outside my quarters is dim and empty. The air smells faintly of metal and ozone, and beneath that, the deeper scent of my crew—salt, oil, recycled breath, old blood worked clean. My boots strike the deck softly as I make my way toward the command chamber.
The moment I step inside, Varek turns from the sensor array.
His expression tells me the news before he speaks.
“You were not at your station,” he says, his tone deliberately neutral.
“I was occupied,” I reply.
His gaze flicks briefly toward the corridor that leads to my quarters, then back to me. “I assumed.”
“What is it?”
He gestures to the central display.
Three red signatures burn along the outer perimeter of our claimed territory.
I feel the shift immediately. Not surprise. Recognition.
“Identify,” I say.
“Clan Droven,” Varek replies. “Two scout-class vessels and one cruiser. They’ve altered vector toward a Helios Combine convoy.”
My jaw tightens.
“Without sanction?” I ask.
“Without communication.”
Behind us, Jhor exhales sharply. “They smell weakness.”
“They smell opportunity,” I correct.
Varek folds his arms across his chest. “Word spreads quickly in the Badlands. The Alliance accuses us of terrorism. You flee neutral space with a League aide in tow. Some will interpret restraint as vulnerability.”
“Or contamination,” Jhor mutters.
I step closer to the display, studying the trajectory of the Droven ships. The convoy they are targeting is lightly shielded, civilian-grade freight haulers contracted under Helios Combine trade licenses. An easy raid. An inflammatory one.
“If they strike now,” I say, more to myself than to them, “Valen’s narrative hardens.”
“Yes,” Varek agrees. “The Alliance will broadcast proof of Reaper aggression before our leak even lands.”
I consider the options in silence, feeling the weight of them shift. In the past, I might have allowed the raid. Helios Combine has carved profit out of the Badlands for decades. Their convoys are not innocent.
But this is no longer about small victories.
“Elara was correct,” I say quietly.
Varek raises an eyebrow ridge. “On which matter.”
“We cannot let outrage set the pace.”
