“That we are what they claim.”
The captain’s voice cuts through the smoke again. “Final warning!”
Jhor’s claws scrape lightly against broken floor.
“Kael,” he says quietly, “they will cage us.”
“Yes.”
“And if they execute you?”
“Then you will make them regret the mathematics.”
He exhales sharply through his teeth.
One by one, my warriors lower themselves.
I follow.
Energy rifles remain trained on our chests.
The captain approaches cautiously, boots crunching through glass.
“You are under suspicion of terrorist attack against neutral space.”
“We arrived under truce,” I reply evenly.
“And detonated Alliance-grade explosives.”
“Alliance-grade?” I tilt my head slightly.
He hesitates—just a fraction.
“Recovered fragments confirm it.”
I lift the scorched casing between two fingers. “Like this?”
His nostrils flare.
“You planted it.”
“With access to your foundries?”
“You have infiltrators.”
“And you have engineers.”
A ripple of tension moves through the soldiers behind him.
“Energy signatures tie this blast to Reaper harmonic structure,” another officer announces, projecting a waveform into the smoke.
Blue light flickers across fractured walls.
I study it.
The pattern resembles ours.
But it is too symmetrical. Too controlled.
