The war room is bathed in the cold, blue light of the holographic displays.
Morgan stands at the central console, her fingers flying across the interface. The deep-space telemetry is projected in the center of the room. A single, tiny, pulsing dot sits at the very edge of the Oort cloud.
It is not a gravitational anomaly. It is not a swarm of negative mass. It is a solid, mechanical object, broadcasting a rhythmic, mathematical sequence.
Lilith stands beside the projection. Her ancient face is pale, her silver eyes wide with a profound, chilling recognition.
"It is not the Hive," Lilith says, her voice barely a whisper. "And it is not the Devourer. The geometry of the signal is entirely different. It is structured. Deliberate. Cold."
I stand at the head of the table, Kade at my right.
