“I’m letting him save face while cutting the bridge,” I reply.
Dowron continues, “Violence against witnesses will be prosecuted to the fullest extent. The Alliance does not tolerate internal corruption.”
Behind the words, I hear something else.
Relief.
He took the out.
The leverage worked.
On the city overlay, comm spikes begin to drop. The staged riot fragments without new fuel. The Industrial Ring blast becomes just another news item, not the start of war.
Morazin slumps back against the cover panel, breathing hard.
“They threw him under the cruiser,” he mutters.
“No,” I say quietly. “They cut him loose.”
Jordan steps forward, eyes still blazing but steadier now.
“General,” she says into the open channel, voice sharp, “if this audit disappears in six months, I will burn it down myself.”
Dowron meets the camera without flinching.
“I believe you,” he says.
The feed stabilizes.
The Councilor is isolated.
Procurement channels are frozen.
The Nine’s intergovernmental bridge—the elegant, hidden corridor that let them move weapons and silence witnesses—collapses in real time as access privileges blink offline one by one.
Sable’s voice comes through, almost disbelieving. “Liaison node traffic just dropped to zero.”
Rook adds, “Nine channel latency spiking. They’re scrambling.”
Fyr’s voice crackles in, breathless but grinning. “Transit hubs clear. No casualties reported.”
No casualties.
Not today.
I look at Jordan.
Her shoulders are still tight, but her eyes are something else now—not just fury. Resolve. Calculation.
“You didn’t give me the name,” she says quietly.
“No,” I agree.
“Yet.”
A faint smile touches my mouth.
“Yet,” I confirm.
