The silence in the Nest wasn't just quiet; it was expectant. The Vulture captains—hard men and women with scars that told stories of every turf war in the last decade—watched Julian, waiting for the directive that would define the next phase of their survival.
Julian paced the length of the command console, his boots clicking sharply against the cold concrete. He didn't look at the map of the harbor. He looked at the faces of his people.
"Jax," Julian said, his voice cutting through the hum of the cooling fans. "You said the Vanguard’s security protocols were legacy. How did they find the frequency so fast? How did they know exactly where our last relay was stationed in the South Quarter?"
Jax paused, his hand hovering over a keyboard. He frowned, his brow furrowing as he pulled up
