Chapter 6 · Wreckage That Remembers

The Ninth Spear did not die.

It drifted above the fractured jump gate with its spine split open, shedding white sparks into the dark. One of its engine rings had folded inward like a crushed rib. The black hull still turned, slow and deliberate, its remaining weapons tracking the League ships even though no one had fired in nearly three minutes.

That silence frightened Evan more than the barrage had.

He stood inside the command deck with his left arm strapped against his chest, sweat cooling beneath his collar. Every breath dragged pain across his shoulder. The joint had been forced back into place by a medic who had apologized twice and then threatened to break his other arm if he tried to move it again.

Across the forward glass, the damaged warship pulsed with a dim red signal.

LAST VECTOR.

The words appeared in blocky military code, repeated across every tactical display in the fleet.

Sera Vale sat in the command cradle, one hand pressed against the bandage beneath her ribs. Her face had gone pale, but her eyes remained fixed on the enemy vessel.