Chapter 16 · The Second Prophet in the Council

The command deck of the Blue Heron smelled of hot metal, antiseptic foam, and the bitter tang of burned insulation.

Every few seconds, the ship trembled around them.

Not from enemy fire. From the fleet itself.

Twelve thousand refugees had been pulled out of Lavelin Nine and packed into transport holds, mining barges, maintenance shuttles, and anything else with a pressure seal. The ships had escaped through the reverse-gravity fold, but the maneuver had left half the convoy limping. One carrier had lost both stabilizer fins.

Three escort vessels were running on emergency coolant. Oren Cade's Dawn had a hole through its lower engine housing and was venting atmosphere in controlled bursts.

The fleet had survived.

It had not survived cleanly.

Sera Vale stood before the central tactical display, one hand braced against the edge of the command table. The light from the map painted her face in broken blue. Lavelin Nine blinked behind them, a red casualty marker surrounded by refugee ships. The enemy formation had vanished from the system, but its absence felt less like retreat than a held breath.

Mara Quill entered the deck without announcing herself.