Chapter 7 · The Traitor’s Question

The return shuttle struck the hangar deck hard enough to make the overhead lights blink.

Evan Venn’s shoulder slammed against the restraint. Pain flashed white beneath the fresh brace, and his fingers went numb before the shuttle’s engines had finished screaming down. Across from him, the rescued technician curled into the corner, knees pulled tight to his chest. He was small—too small to be wearing an enemy uniform, too small to have blood dried beneath his fingernails.

Sera Vale unlatched her harness with one hand.

“Keep your head down,” she told the boy.

The technician’s eyes never left Evan.

“Dock Seven,” he whispered.

Evan’s stomach tightened.

The shuttle door blew open. Cold hangar air rushed in, carrying the stink of scorched insulation and phase-fuel vapor. Mara Quill stood beyond the ramp with a rifle braced against her shoulder. Two League marines flanked her. Neither lowered their weapon.

Sera stepped between them and Evan.

“Medical team,” she ordered. “Now.”

Mara’s gaze moved to the boy, then to Evan’s rigid posture. “The council wants him first.”

“They can want until the hull collapses.”

“The council has already sealed the command deck.