Chapter 11 · The Six-City Break

The guns turned as one.

Across the command deck, targeting rings bloomed red over Sable Quinn’s body. The light painted her face in the color of fresh blood. She stood beside the central console with one hand pressed to the scar at the base of Kellan’s skull, as if she could still feel the memory anchor there.

Kellan watched the cannons track her.

For one breath, no one moved.

Then Brom Hark swore and threw himself beneath the nearest tactical rail. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“It is,” Marra Pell said through a burst of static. Her voice came from three speakers at once, thin and terrified. “The fleet has reclassified Sable Quinn as the primary hostile. All ships are accepting the command.”

Kellan’s fingers curled around the edge of the command chair. Metal groaned beneath his grip. Behind his eyes, the Crown stirred—not speaking now, not exactly, but turning its attention toward the thousands of weapons outside the hull.

Toward Sable.

She looked at him. There was no defense in her expression. No excuse left to reach for.

“I was eight,” she said.

Kellan’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t make it disappear.”

“No.