Chapter 16: Damage Report

  An enemy that can predict death before it happens...

  Following that bombshell, it was like a live grenade had just rolled in through the door.

  After Zeth entered the Ready Room and spoke—leaning back in her chair to address McCarthy—there were three long heartbeats where we just stared at her, dumbfounded. The only sound was the steady thrum of the Fold Arrays engines beneath our feet in the dim light of the room.

  You could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

  I stared at Zeth with the others, her silhouette stark and spectral in the glow of the holoscreen. Orange fire from the projected sun flared across her cheekbones, while pale white light from the pulsar flickered across the walls like lightning in a storm.

  Terror and confusion locked my jaw, my fingers clenching white around the table’s edge. Emotions surged like a rocket—raw, volatile.

  But Zeth’s expression didn’t move. Eyes narrowed. Locked on McCarthy like a hawk. Waiting.

  And then, in one synchronous motion, the grenade exploded.

  Rhai shot up like a flare—her white hair flaming in the projection light, her chair skidding violently into the wall with a crash. Hands clenched, face ghost-pale and burning with fury, she turned on McCarthy like a weapon. I thought she was about to leap across the table.

  Eli rose just as fast, tossing his chair to the floor with a fluid motion. His claws slammed onto the table—crack—as his lips peeled back in a snarl that echoed through the room. His silhouette, lit by the sun-pulsar binary, was monstrous.

  Even Avari stepped upright—face twisted in fury, one hand raised as if to draw a weapon, the other trembling at her side.

  And with a crack of thunder, then came the storm.

  Questions. Accusations. Yells and fire and disbelief—blurring together in a rising, fractured roar.

  “What in the blazing hell's do you mean an enemy that can't die?” Eli barked. “That’s impossible—what the fuck does that even mean?” Saliva hit the table. His eyes were wild, flashing gold in pulsars light. “What happened to the other team?! Why the fuck weren’t we told earlier?!”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Rhai screamed, nearly bursting my eardrum. “What happened to the first team, huh? Are we just fodder for your fucking slaughter?” She leaned across the table, fists trembling. “Are you actively trying to kill us?”

  “You two! Sit the hell back down and listen!” Avari snapped, as the situation derailed entirely. “Don’t you dare speak to the Captain like that. One more word, and I’ll have you both arrested for insubordination!”

  The Captain didn’t flinch. He just stared at Zeth through the dark, the hololight illuminating his silhouette like a shroud. A flicker of fury passed through his face—then faded into something heavier. He looked down. Shook his head. Said nothing.

  Rhai reeled back from the table, chest heaving. Then her eyes snapped toward Zeth, wide and glassy.

  “You knew about this?” she said, voice shaking. “You were training us for this?” A pause—cracked and broken. “You trained us for this?”

  Zeth turned to her—slow, deliberate. Her golden eyes gleamed in the ambient light like twin eclipses. But she said nothing. Just stared.

  And I just sat there—still, watching Zeth. Staring hard. My mind spiralling into white noise and anarchy.

  The questions were there—rising like waves—but they were collapsing into each other, indistinguishable. I was locked. Paralyzed.

  My jaw ached. I couldn’t stop clenching it. I was horrified.

  But then—Zeth looked at me. Just for a second. And something shifted.

  It was like the whole room slowed around me, sound pulling away like a vacuum breach.

  The fire still burned in her eyes—but there were shadows under them now. A flicker of something else. Grief. Regret. Her lips trembled—just barely. My gaze dropped to her right hand resting on the table.

  Scratches. Deep ones. Her claws had dug into the metal, glinting yellow in the projected starlight.

  And that’s what sealed it. The clarity hit me like cold air in open space.

  I needed to stop what was happening.

  “Quiet. All of you.” I spoke before I even realised it.

  My voice was low. Controlled. But sharp.

  My eyes locked on Zeth’s. And she didn’t look away.

  The Captain was gripping his empty mug like a weapon. Rhai and Avari were walking the far end of the table, screaming something unintelligible.

  Zeth looked at me again, caught my eyes—and nodded. Once.

  I stood up.

  “All of you shut up and sit down. Now!”

  The sound cut through the argument like a gunshot. It didn’t come from my lungs—it came from somewhere deeper.

  The room fell silent. Instantly.

  Eli and Rhai turned to me—both in shock, jaws dropped, their faces tight with pain in the ghost light.

  “Kalen… what are you doing?” Rhai asked. “This is insane. You can’t let them—”

  “Rhai,” I said, quiet but firm, “pick up your chair. Sit down. And calm down.”

  I turned to my right. “Eli. Same goes for you.”

  His face flared with anger in the dark. “You’d better know what the fuck you’re doing,” he muttered, sitting and folding his arms tight—face a hounded scowl.

  I turned toward Avari. “Please, ma’am. Sit down. We’ll work through this.”

  She hesitated. Her mouth was open. But then… a half-smile cracked through, shaking her head and huffing—eyebrows raised. Thankfully, she sat.

  Then the Captain returned to his seat—his expression unreadable, somewhere between shock and admiration. He let go of the mug.

  I stood tall.

  A long shadow stretched across the table—cutting through the orange-white glare of the holoscreen, falling across half of Zeth’s face like a blade.

  I tugged my uniform straight with one sharp motion. Then slowly ran my fingers through my hair—eyes closing, breath steadying.

  When I opened them again, I turned to her.

  Her eyes met mine—burning like solar wind.

  “Did you know about this?” I asked—calm, low, but with the full weight of everything behind it.

  Zeth held my gaze. Perfectly still.

  Then nodded once.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  I didn’t flinch.

  “And you were ordered not to tell us?” My eyes tightened.

  She blinked once.

  “Yes.” This time, it came out more like a growl—her eyes slicing from mine to Captain McCarthy, flashing and laced with venom.

  I ignored the gesture. But beside me, I felt Eli and Rhai’s tension ease just a little.

  “But you think we can win this?” I kept my voice steady, turning my head slightly—eyes narrowing, reading her half-illuminated face. Her pain. Her silence. Watching for the crack in the mask.

  The entire room tensed. Everyone stared at me.

  “Varr—what the hell are you—” Eli started, but I raised a hand.

  “Eli. Be quiet. Both of you are missing the obvious.”

  Rhai’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Because,” I said, “if she didn’t think we could win against this enemy—she wouldn’t still be here.”

  The silence collapsed inward, like a vacuum. My words echoed in the stillness.

  “Do you think someone like Commander Zeth would’ve followed orders to stay behind—if there was no chance for her best friend?”

  I kept my eyes on her. Watching her response like a hawk.

  At those words, Zeth nearly slipped from her seat—shoulders stiffening, breath catching. Struggling to stay composed. And that confirmed it.

  She glared at me.

  “Never,” I said quietly, shaking my head.

  “If that were true… she’d already be dead. By her own charge.”

  My voice was cold. Final. A truth I hadn’t wanted—but knew I needed.

  It cracked the silence like a whip.

  Zeth flinched—barely. And I knew I’d struck home.

  Her eyes widened—then fell to the table, a flicker of something lost beneath the fire. A wounded expression flickered across her face. Her fingers slowly unclenched in the starlight as she let it go.

  I hadn’t wanted to do this to her—but I needed to know. We all did.

  Then, without a word, she turned to the window—gazing out at the real stars.

  And I knew exactly who she was searching for in the dark: K’arreth.

  The truth is, if there had been even the slightest sign he wouldn’t survive…

  She would’ve stayed. Died at his side. And that, somehow, gave us hope.

  She knew that I understood this. Her silence confirmed it. Her alarm betrayed it.

  But I wasn’t about to share something that raw, that sacred, with the room directly. She deserved better than that. So I did it subtly.

  I recognised all this—because I would’ve done the exact same thing to save a friend, let alone a lover.

  And for the first time since I met her… I started to understand her.

  In that moment, I realised—she wasn’t so different from me after all.

  Then she looked back at me.

  And for a second, the mask was gone.

  Her eyes narrowed—haunted by anguish, lit with fury, held together by cold resolve.

  One side of her face lit by the flickering light of the projected stars of Veridion-6.

  The other—cast in my shadow. Sadness cut by fire.

  “Yes,” she said. “There are ways we can win. I have an idea.”

  Her voice was low. Almost reverent. Like violent yearning made manifest.

  My eyes narrowed, studying her face—an expression I knew all too well.

  It was clear she was telling the truth.

  Even in revenge—especially in revenge—she wouldn’t back down from this.

  And that was all I needed. That’s all I needed to know.

  Because neither would I.

  I sat down. Folded my hands. Steadied my breath.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said clearly. “I have several questions, if I may—before we continue.”

  McCarthy looked at me. Jaw still slightly open—wondering what the hell just happened. Looking between myself and Zeth in shock.

  Then he nodded. “Of course, Ensign,” he said slowly. “Ask away.”

  And thankfully, that’s when the Captain reached forward and tapped the console.

  The holoscreen flickered out.

  The image of the pulsar and its burning twin vanished in an instant, swallowed by darkness—then replaced by the soft, rising glow of overhead lights.

  The room brightened slowly—like the world returning after a nightmare.

  But the weight didn’t lift. If anything, it pressed heavier now.

  This was just the beginning—things were going to get a lot worse.

  I didn’t know why exactly—but I felt calm.

  Zeth’s reaction had given me everything I needed. There must still be hope. There must be a plan. And beneath all her fury and grief, there was still purpose.

  I was still terrified. Of course I was. But now, the questions came with clarity—structured, rational. Because right now, deadpan logic was the only weapon I had left.

  I turned to the Captain. He nodded once, silent, inviting me to continue.

  “You say there is an enemy that can foresee death. Please explain what this means, and how you know, sir.” The words came out quite calm, but inside—I felt nauseous.

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  The Captain huffed—and at this point, I knew he really needed another cup of coffee. Perhaps something stronger. But he continued.

  “The Galen have a reactive instinct to avoid death,” he said flatly. “They don’t foresee it exactly—not in the way of precognition—but they can subconsciously respond to prevent it. Much in the same way your hand might pull back from a flame before you realise it’s burning you. Something like that—a corrupted evolutionary trait.”

  The three of us—myself, Rhai, and Eli—stared at him, wide-eyed. Hanging onto every word.

  “It makes them extraordinarily difficult to kill. Supernaturally fast. Nearly infallible to basic attacks—they call it the power of the gods. And honestly?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not far off. But thankfully,” he added with a grim look, “not all of them have the ability. Otherwise, we would all be damned.”

  I nodded slowly. At least there was a glimmer of hope in this madness.

  “We know of their abilities from Viren intelligence. One of them killed twelve armed men bare handed before it could be contained by them.”

  Both Eli and Rhai gasped in unison.

  I almost laughed—eyebrows raised.

  “Did you just say twelve? And they were armed? And it wasn't?” Eli asked, voice rising slightly—his hand nervously scratching along his open jaw again.

  I nodded slowly—terrified. But the next question was obvious—and probably the most important of all.

  I turned toward Zeth. She was watching me now with somewhere between grim fascination and contempt.

  “But they can be killed, right?” I asked, my voice low, steady. “How?”

  Her lips curled slowly into a smile—eyes blazing once more.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, leaning forward. “You can still beat them—if you outmatch them. Think faster. Move sharper. Get close. Personal. Strike before they can react. You beat them with skill.”

  She grinned wider, head shaking.

  “Did you think I was trying to break you for fun?” she said, tilting her head slightly—feral, proud. “You can’t shoot these fucking things. They’re always one step ahead. Guns are useless. It has to be up close and personal. It has to be real.”

  My eyes widened. We all turned to one another—me, Eli, and Rhai. The truth hit like a blow to the head.

  Beside me, Rhai buried her face in her hands, her breath sharp and ragged. Eli gripped his hair with both claws, jaw clenched, staring at the Captain—who simply nodded in grim confirmation.

  I was grateful they were holding it together, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could. My hands tightened on my thighs, fingers digging in. Anything to stay grounded.

  This was why Zeth’s training had been so brutal. She wasn’t just hard for the sake of it—she was preparing us for something bordering on the fucking paranormal.

  An enemy nearly unstoppable. But not invincible.

  With one fatal weakness: true grit, and fighting skill.

  The weight of it all pressed against my skull, like the gravity of a collapsing star. But I held on. Because there were still more questions.

  I looked back to Zeth. She was stone-faced.

  She just stared at me now, serious and still below her starling-winged hair—no hint of the grin she’d worn moments ago. And I understood.

  She took no pleasure in this. Because this was genuinely horrifying.

  I turned back to the Captain—talking quickly now, mind whirring kilometres-per-second.

  “And I assume, because of the electromagnetic radiation from the pulsar, the planet is basically devoid of any technology? Anything electric would fry? Meaning this is a species that should have never been able to integrate into the Commonwealth naturally.”

  The Captain nodded, darkly.

  “Correct again Varr, and for good reason,” he said. “They are a semi-nomadic society. Which is why we believe foul play is involved in the wormholes appearance. It’s all just too uncanny. Too specific. Too dangerous.”

  I nodded. The pieces were starting to fit.

  “And where exactly is the wormhole on Veridion-6?” I asked, eyes narrowing. “You mentioned the Viren side is unknown, but not the Galen side.”

  The Captain scoffed—genuinely impressed now by my attentiveness—but his expression darkened. Avari’s eyebrows raised beside him, sitting back in her chair.

  “We don’t know the precise coordinates. Just that it’s housed within a cave system on the surface. That’s all we found out before it shifted on our end. There is no form of communication from Veridion-6, let alone from below ground.”

  All our eyes widened. But it was Rhai spoke first.

  “A cave?”

  I turned to her, adding, “That would support why they think the wormholes artificial. That’s way too specific to be random.”

  The room seemed to tilt beneath me as the words left my mouth—like I’d stepped too close to the edge without realising.

  It sounded absurd. Would the Architects have done this? And if so… why?

  The Captain nodded grimly.

  “Exactly. Some of the Helion boffins believe there’s something in the rock strata—or the cave itself—that’s helping keep the wormhole stable.” He glanced at his mug again. “Gods, I hope they’re right. If it isn’t self-sustaining, that cave might be our only shot.”

  Then he turned to Zeth.

  “That was the plan, right? Find the cave. Collapse it. And the wormhole might go with it?”

  She nodded once—still staring out the window into the cosmos. Her silence said enough, but she was clearly lost in thought.

  It was all starting to come together. My mind was spinning with more questions.

  “And that would explain the sword training,” I said, glancing at Zeth again. “The Galen still fight the old way—shields and steel. Because of the EM-radiation. Because of their lack of technology.”

  Beside me, Eli and Rhai both gasped in quiet realisation.

  But Zeth’s head snapped around, eyes like daggers—hands slamming to the table, making us all jump.

  “How the hell do you know that?” She growled.

  I met her gaze. “I’m not stupid, Commander. I just put the dots together before you arrived.”

  But beside me, I could feel Eli sweating.

  The truth was—he’d told me earlier, down in the maintenance tunnel. He and Rhai had been sword training together for months. And yeah, I was still pissed he hadn’t told me sooner. But I wasn’t about to throw him under the bus for it. Because the truth was—he didn’t know why they were even doing it.

  Zeth studied me carefully. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, Varr. I was going to tell you—when I thought you were ready.” She scoffed. “This very morning, in fact.” She glanced toward the window again. Breathing deep.

  “Regardless, I thought I’d have more time. Months even to teach you.”

  I nodded slowly. I could see how much it cost her to admit. And I wasn’t going to press it.

  But truthfully? I had no idea how the hell she was supposed to train me. I had never held a sword before—the idea seemed absurd.

  She exhaled—and the sound was hollow, haunted. Her eyes drifted across the stars again, searching.

  “Truthfully… even I’ve never faced this.” she murmured, voice low and bitter.

  Her gaze hardened. Her fists closed like she was gripping a weapon.

  “We used firearms in the Viren War. We buried cities from orbit. But this—this is something else. A new kind of horror. Even for me.”

  She paused. A shudder passed through her shoulders. Then she looked up—back at us—and her eyes burned with something ancient. Something scared.

  “What we’re walking into…” she said, “it’s like stepping into the past. The way they fight—it’s worse than medieval. Like Earth, two thousand years ago. Like the Romans, knee-deep in blood-soaked sand.”

  Then her gaze shifted—to Eli.

  “Like how the Khevarin fought across the Irukathen dunes,” she said. “Like Ashur’na herself—a race ripping throats between blooded jaws.”

  Eli slowly lifted his head from his hands in shocked recognition at the revered words. His amber eyes were wide. Hollow. The terror in them was raw—ears flat against his head.

  Then Zeth looked down—at her own hands. Her claws. And her breath hitched.

  I will never forget the way she looked at them. Like they were stained. Like they’d never come clean.

  “Or,” she whispered, barely audible, “like how my own people butchered each other for millennia.”

  Silence followed. Thick. Reverent.

  And for a moment, none of us could speak.

  Because the truth was suddenly clear:

  This wasn’t just war. This was something older, and menacing.

  A return to the dark myths we were meant to have outgrown.

  But without warning, she clenched her fists—looked up—and spoke.

  “Captain,” she said firmly. “Brief them on what happened to the other team.”

  McCarthy’s mouth opened—caught between protest and surprise.

  He shook his head slowly, eyes flicking toward Avari, who stared at Zeth, wide-eyed.

  “Captain,” Zeth repeated, voice lower now. “I already know the details. But they need to know.” Gesturing to us with a tilt of her head.

  He studied her carefully—narrow-eyed.

  Then, to my surprise, McCarthy turned to me. Like somehow, I had a say in all this madness.

  I nodded once, looking bewildered—we all did in unison.

  We deserved the truth now. All of it.

  McCarthy exhaled heavily. “Okay, Zeth,” he said.

  With a grim flick of the wrist, he tapped the console. The holoscreen behind him flared to life again. The flickering light washed across our faces, catching in the still air like dust in a vacuum.

  The names appeared on the far left. And there he was.

  K’arreth Williamson, Commander.

  His name glowed like fire above three others:

  Kyle Rodriguez – Flight Lieutenant (Pilot)

  Ellen Paine – First Officer

  Llywelyn Arwyn – Senior Chief

  Each one marked the same in red:

  Status: DECEASED (KIA)

  My breath caught.

  I didn’t even realise I’d leaned forward until the edge of the table started digging into my ribs. The names didn’t just sting. They branded.

  I slowly turned to Zeth, peeking in the corner of my eye.

  She hadn’t moved. Not a muscle. But her jaw was locked—too tight—and her nostrils flared as she stared at the screen. Her fists sat clenched on the table, silent earthquakes. Then, without a word, she turned toward the observation window once again.

  Rhai caught my eye. There was something severe in her expression—guarded, unreadable—but full of worry.

  The Captain cleared his throat gently and turned to Zeth.

  “Commander… if at any time you want to step outside, there’s no sha—”

  He didn’t finish.

  Zeth’s eyes snapped to him like plasma bolts—lit and lethal.

  “Captain,” she growled. “With all due respect—shut the fuck up and get on with it.”

  Inadvertently, both Rhai and I smiled—almost laughed. Her anger was volcanic—and in that moment, it was exactly what I needed to break the tension.

  McCarthy didn’t even flinch. He understood Zeth’s character—and the realities of military loss. Her outburst wasn’t emotional. It was calculated. Controlled.

  He’d likely seen worse from soldiers with far less to lose—even if he didn’t know the full truth.

  Eli, meanwhile, was fixated on the fuzzy, low-resolution infrared image of Veridion-6 glowing dimly beside the names.

  The holoscreen projection showed the planet's terminator line—half bathed in sunlight, revealing swirling cloud formations, jagged coastlines, and dense forests, while the other half faded into shadow.

  Across one quadrant, a faint atmospheric flare slashed through the darkness like a wound—barely visible, but unmistakable. It was the descent trail of a spacecraft, twisted through the upper atmosphere—but erratic, broken. As if the ship had clawed its way down, fighting gravity for a considerable distance.

  The image caught my eye too. It took me a second to understand what I was seeing—and when I did, my stomach sank.

  Looking at the shape, they hadn’t just arrived off-course.

  It looked like they’d bounced—skimming off the top of the upper atmosphere before clawing their way towards the surface.

  What the hell were they flying?

  How did they even get there?

  But at that very moment, McCarthy nodded once—slow and heavy.

  Then he turned to face us all.

  “Yesterday at 14:36 local-time,” McCarthy began, his voice flat but carrying a seasoned weight that pressed the room into silence, “the crew of the Ranger entered the upper atmosphere of Veridion-6—exactly thirty hours after leaving the Sargon. That was as close as we could get... even with advanced shielding. Any closer, and the ship’s electronics would’ve vaporised.”

  He let that hang for a beat.

  “That’s roughly the distance between Sol and Pluto.”

  No one spoke. Zeth didn’t even flinch, but her claws twitched once against the table—still staring out the viewport into the stars.

  The holoscreen flickered again. A grainy, low-resolution infrared scan replaced the service records. Static crawled across the screen—distorted, smeared, intermittently glitching from the pulsar’s radiation interference.

  The quality was appalling. Eerie. Almost like looking at ghosts.

  “Now…” McCarthy said softly. “This isn’t easy to watch.”

  The screen zoomed in.

  Four glowing dots. Tiny. Flickering specks of heat adrift in a sea of static. Frame by frame, they tracked a jagged, flickering path from the coastline inland. It was like watching fireflies drown in ash.

  The Ready Room darkened further, the screen’s harsh pulses throwing strobe-light shadows across our faces. Everyone was silent, still. It felt like a horror film—except it was real.

  “By all accounts,” McCarthy continued, “the Ranger landed nearly three hundred kilometres off the intended LZ. They were supposed to touch down in the highlands—far from known Galen presence. Instead… they came down on a coastal shelf.”

  Rhai gasped, barely audible. I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until the back of my throat burned.

  “We tracked four heat signatures—survivors—leaving the beach on foot. From the data, they made contact almost immediately. Two signatures vanished less than five hundred metres from the shore. Their heat faded gradually, steadily...”

  He paused. Then delivered the line like a death sentence:

  “Consistent with postmortem cooling.”

  On the screen, two of the dots dimmed and flickered out.

  I covered my eyes, rubbing my forehead for a moment—this was intense to watch.

  “Around them we saw only a few enemy signals—maybe a scout party. Small. But obviously lethal.”

  My spine locked. My stomach flipped.

  The screen jolted forward again—jumping back in time for the inland signatures.

  “But these two… they kept moving.”

  Then, the map started crawling with extra dots. Additional signatures began to appear along their projected path—cooler at first, then sharper, hotter. Dozens. Then scores.

  And then hundreds.

  Gasps rippled around the table. I didn’t realise my nails were digging into my palms until I felt blood.

  The enemy presence bloomed like a slow-motion detonation—two survivors wading unknowingly into a closing fist of a small army.

  “Fuck me,” Eli muttered. “They were surrounded…”

  McCarthy’s voice darkened.

  “They didn’t stumble into a patrol,” he said. “They were hunted. Intercepted by nearly two hundred enemy ground units—on foot. Closing in from every direction.”

  The final two heat signatures froze. Then they flickered. Then dimmed.

  And vanished.

  No one moved. The only sound was the faint, staticky whine of the holoscreen.

  I could hear my own breathing.

  “We received this data five and a half hours later,” McCarthy finished. “Light-speed delay, due to distance. By the time we saw them die…”

  He looked down.

  “They were long gone.”

  The room was dead silent.

  Rhai’s face was grey. Her mouth slightly open, like she couldn’t breathe. Eli had gone perfectly still—arms crossed so tight they were shaking.

  Zeth hadn’t moved an inch—still looking out the window. But her breathing was slow now. Calculated. Contained.

  I thought I was going to be sick. My vision blurred. I couldn’t feel my fingertips.

  McCarthy looked up—met each of our eyes in turn.

  “That,” he said, his voice low and final, “is the fate of the original Vanguard team.”

  A beat of silence. Then two.

  “Now you understand what we’re up against.”

  I could hardly breathe—my mind was reeling, vision swimming like deep water.

  But I still had one final question.

  “But sir,” I managed, “what the hell did they fly in? That can’t be a normal spacecraft. The electronics would’ve been fried, right?”

  Rhai and Eli’s heads both snapped toward me—realisation dawning like a detonation behind their wide, horrified eyes.

  The Captain let out a low chuckle, rubbing the side of his head. Avari, across from him, had her face buried in her hands—broken down entirely by what she just saw.

  “Right again, Ensign,” he said. “The Ranger isn’t a traditional spacecraft. It’s more like a glider. Cable-actuated controls. Solid-fuel rockets. Almost exactly how they did it during the dawn of human spaceflight. If anything, even less equipment”

  I gawked at him.

  “Wait… no navigation? No Fold Array’s? No comms? Nothing?”

  He nodded, grim.

  “Oh, fuck me…” My head dropped to the table with a dull thump. I clutched the back of my head like it might split under the pressure.

  That’s when Zeth turned toward me—and laughed.

  Not just a chuckle. A sharp, near-manic cackle that echoed through the room like glass shattering in a tomb.

  By then, both Rhai and Eli had shut down entirely—slack-jawed, wide-eyed—staring into the abyss of the holoscreen like it might offer a better answer.

  “You can still leave if you want, Varr,” Zeth said, grinning like a pyre. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

  Her eyes were alive again. Teeth bared. Fire behind them.

  I lifted my head and glared at her—half furious, half trying not to laugh at her pitch-black sarcasm.

  “Oh, fuck you, Zeth.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Eli slammed his fists on the table, hard enough to make it quake. We all turned to look.

  “Well,” he muttered. “I don’t know about you lot—but after that? I need a fucking drink.”