If we cut the Nine without cutting that, the system just grows another head.
I exhale slowly and look at my team. “Bag him.”
Rook’s eyes flick to the agent. “Alive.”
“Yes,” I say. “Alive.”
Fyr’s voice is furious. “Lonari?—”
I cut him off. “Enough, Fyr.”
A beat of silence on the comm.
Then his voice, colder: “You’re going to regret this.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But regret is cheaper than ignorance.”
We load the agent into a restraint capsule—sealed, shielded, monitored. His implant continues pulsing faintly, a threat and a gift.
I wipe wet stone grime off my hands and start moving back through the tunnels toward the Nun, boots splashing, mind already racing with the packet’s implications.
Jordan’s voice crackles through Ghostline, sharp and immediate. “You caught one.”
“Yep,” I answer.
Her breath is tight. “Alive?”
“Yes.”
A pause. Then: “Good. What’d you find?”
“Jaw implant,” I say. “Dead-man data packet keyed to High Lantern.”
Jordan goes quiet for half a second, which for her is basically a prayer.
Then she exhales. “Oh my God.”
“And the directive,” I add, “says deliver proof to an Alliance High Command liaison.”
Jordan’s voice sharpens into something almost feral. “So it’s not just the Nine. It’s the bridge.”
“Yes,” I say.
Jordan’s tone turns urgent. “Bring it back. Now. I want to?—”
“Jordan,” I cut in. “Stay inside the Nun.”
She scoffs. “I am inside the Nun.”
“I mean inside,” I emphasize. “Not in corridors. Not in service tunnels. Not playing decoy again.”
Her voice turns sweet in the way humans get when they’re about to do something reckless. “Lonari. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know you,” I say flatly. “That’s why I’m telling you.”
Jordan huffs. “You’re adorable when you think you’re in charge.”
“I am in charge,” I reply.
