“Oh?” I tilt my head. “Now you’re emotional. That’s sloppy too.”
Silence stretches. The ship hum fills it.
Then Morazin exhales and smiles again, but now the smile is thinner.
“You’re baiting me,” he says.
“Maybe,” I reply lightly. “Or maybe I’m just bored.”
Morazin’s eyes flick downward, then back up, like he’s deciding which version of himself to wear.
Then he leans in and gives me what I want—not everything, but enough.
“Fine,” he says. “If you need details to feel like you still have agency, I’ll indulge you.”
My pulse kicks. I keep my face bored.
“The merc gear,” Morazin continues, “was funded through layered shells—Baragon-linked intermediaries, of course. Do you think serious people leave direct fingerprints? The access keys for the corridor? Approved through a corporate maintenance authority that predates your little work-study tricks.” He smiles, smug again. “I didn’t need to hack the corridor. I own the paperwork that tells it who to trust.”
I let the words settle. He’s proud. He’s boasting. He’s handing me threads.
“Who approved it?” I ask, keeping my tone lazy.
Morazin chuckles. “Approval is a quaint concept. Baragon doesn’t approve. Baragon assigns.”
“And you just… follow?” I needle.
He stiffens slightly. “I execute.”
“Sure,” I murmur. “And you execute civilians too.”
Morazin’s eyes harden. “Civilians weaponizing truth are more dangerous than soldiers. Soldiers fight inside declared rules. Civilians spread instability through story.”
My skin prickles.
Because that line—weaponizing truth—tells me exactly what he’s building toward.
Morazin sits back, satisfied now that he’s reasserted his superior position.
“You’ll understand soon,” he says.
The holo shifts slightly, and a second window appears: a countdown timer. Clean digits, bright and clinical.
00:19:44
Nineteen minutes.
My throat tightens. “What’s that.”
Morazin smiles. “Your broadcast window.”
I stare at the timer. My brain wants to race. I force it into cold focus.
“You’re going to—” My voice catches. “You’re going to execute me on camera.”
Morazin nods as if I’ve correctly answered a quiz. “Publicly, yes. As an example.”
My mouth goes dry. “For who.”
