Myra’s workshop was a sanctuary of organized chaos, a stark contrast to the psychic storm raging in Roewi. Schematics glowed on every flat surface, and the air hummed with the energy of half-a-dozen active terminals, all sifting through the mountains of data Kaira had pirated from the Crown’s assault on the Garrison. The rest of Haven slept, but for Myra, sleep was a luxury they could no longer afford. The flicker in Roewi’s eyes, the way the very air around him sometimes seemed to crystallize with unspoken arguments, it was a code she was desperate to break.
She was cross-referencing everything: Division Zero’s declassified archives, the Ghost’s fragmentary logs from the Starseed, even the esoteric cosmological theories the system historians had provided. She was looking for a pattern, a
