His breathing stutters.
Lonari’s voice is low, even. “This is the part where you decide what kind of man you are.”
Morazin gives a broken laugh. “You think I have that luxury?”
“No,” Lonari replies. “I think you have this moment.”
Silence stretches.
Outside, through my peripheral feeds, I see Gur still holding. The riots contained. The transit corridors flowing. Power dips stabilizing under Kaijen reroutes. Fyr’s channel quiet but steady.
Strategy over rage.
Inside, this is the war.
Morazin closes his eyes briefly.
When he opens them, the arrogance is gone. Not replaced by nobility—just by a grim, exhausted clarity.
“It’s a sitting Alliance High Command Councilor,” he says slowly. “Security liaison authority. They authorized the cruiser capture cover-up through the civilian oversight loop to avoid escalation inquiries.”
The moderator presses, voice shaking. “Name.”
Morazin hesitates.
I feel the biometric trigger in my hand like a heartbeat.
“If I say it,” he whispers, “there’s no coming back.”
I meet his gaze.
“There never was,” I say.
He inhales sharply.
And then?—
The building shudders.
Not a dip.
Not a flicker.
A concussive shock that ripples through the Nun’s substructure like someone just punched the city in the ribs.
Alarms spike.
Sable’s voice explodes in my ear. “External blast near Industrial Ring! Controlled charge—non-lethal but high-impact!”
Diversion.
Pressure.
Make the hearing look like the cause of chaos.
Morazin flinches at the vibration, eyes wide.
“They’re escalating,” Clint breathes.
