The chamber goes very still.
“My allegiance,” I reply, “is to Reaper survival. If you believe otherwise, test me.”
There it is. The line.
Kethar’s eyes narrow.
“You would spill Reaper blood over a Combine convoy?”
“I would spill blood to prevent a war we cannot win.”
Behind Kethar, one of his crew mutters something sharp and eager. The tension vibrates through the comm channel like a live wire.
“Stand down,” I repeat.
Kethar studies me for a long moment, measuring. Calculating.
“You have until the convoy reaches the outer gravity well,” he says finally. “After that, we take what we need.”
The channel cuts.
The moment the projection disappears, Jhor steps forward.
“He will strike,” Jhor says flatly.
“Yes,” I reply.
Varek tilts his head. “Then what do you intend.”
I move to the secondary console and begin redirecting our own forces.
“Deploy interceptor squadron,” I say. “Non-lethal engagement protocols.”
Jhor’s eyes flash. “You intend to block them physically?”
“Yes.”
“They will see that as challenge.”
“They already do.”
Varek watches me carefully. “This weakens you publicly.”
“It may.”
“You will look constrained. Pacified.”
“I am constrained,” I say quietly.
The words taste different than I expect.
Not diminished.
Anchored.
I issue final vector adjustments. Our cruiser pivots smoothly, engines flaring in controlled bursts as we accelerate toward the projected interception point.
“Open clan-wide channel,” I say.
