“Yep,” I whisper.
Lonari’s voice is low behind me. “What.”
“Ghost pings,” I say, fingers flying. “Nine-linked probes are testing our infrastructure. They’re not attacking yet. They’re mapping. Seeing what we changed. Looking for Morazin or for me.”
Renn swears softly. “They’ll try to take the server spine?”
“They’ll try to take anything with leverage,” I reply. “Right now, we’re leverage.”
Lonari’s jaw tightens. “Can you mask us?”
“I can make it annoying,” I say, because honesty matters. “But if the Nine wants inside, they get inside eventually. We’re buying time, not invincibility.”
Lonari’s eyes narrow. “Time is enough.”
I keep working, setting decoy ports, honey nodes, fake ledgers—little traps that make a snoop think they found something juicy while I watch them from behind a mirror.
Then my comm hub flashes.
External arrival.
IHC? Alliance? Rival? I tense automatically.
Renn’s comm crackles. “Boss. Coalition patrol at the front. They’re here ‘for questioning.’”
The words make my stomach go cold.
Coalition patrol. On Gur. In the Nun.
That’s not a casual visit. That’s a message.
Lonari’s posture shifts. “How many.”
“Eight. Armored,” Renn replies. “They’re polite. Which is worse.”
Lonari turns to me. “Stay here.”
I push my chair back hard enough that it squeaks. Pain flares in my side and I hiss, but I stand anyway.
“No,” I say.
Lonari’s eyes sharpen. “Jordan?—”
“No,” I repeat, voice hard. “They came for me. I’m not letting you negotiate me like cargo.”
Renn mutters, “Boss?—”
Lonari holds my gaze for a beat, then nods once. “Fine. But you stand behind me.”
“Behind you is not my aesthetic,” I snap.
“Jordan,” Lonari says, voice low and dangerous, “you’re injured.”
“And you’re bossy,” I shoot back.
He bares his teeth. “Yeah. Because I want you breathing.”
My throat tightens. I swallow it down and nod once.
