Protocol says: secure gear, log signatures, shower if you’re dripping stormfield or blood, then debrief. No detours. No emotional scenic route.
Kaien takes that literally.
“Codex lab,” he says as we step off the skiff into the docking ring. “Nyra, Cassian—ghost frequency mapping in ten. Eryndor, shadow our trail. Theron, clear our flight path and make sure the Veinport report gets logged without creative editing. Briefroom Theta, thirty minutes. No late entries.”
His voice is calm, but the tendons in his neck are still drawn tight. The Array light cuts along his jaw, showing every line.
“Yes, Commander,” Cassian says, already flicking through data on his slate. His eyes are bright silver with exhaustion and possibility. He feeds off puzzle pieces.
Theron salutes lazily. “I will faithf
