“So they can’t say we’re hiding you,” she says, blunt. “So they can’t claim intimidation. And because—” Her gaze holds mine, unwavering. “—you are part of this record now, whether you like it or not.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t like it.”
“I didn’t ask,” she says, and then her voice drops, softer, just enough to almost feel like mercy. “Keep your face neutral. Do not speak unless I signal you. Do not react, even if they try to provoke you.”
“They will,” I say, because I can already hear it in my head:Are you doing this for revenge? Are you using your grief as a weapon? Did you sleep with the defendant?
Drax’s eyes narrow. “Let them. The panel charter speaks louder than their questions.”
A chime sounds overhead—three tones, descending. The press is being admitted.
The door at the back slides open, and the room floods with motion: journalists, cameras, drones, microphones held on poles like spears. The noise hits like a wall—voices overlapping, calling names, demanding statements. The smell changes too: perfume, sweat, synthetic hair products, the hot metal scent of camera casings.
I step back into position behind Drax, hands folded in front of me, fingers interlaced so tightly my knuckles ache.
The first reporter shouts, “High Arbiter! Is it true the tribunal is being replaced?”
Another one, louder: “Is Admiral Vol being charged?”
A drone dips low enough that I can see my reflection in its lens—eyes wide, face too pale.
Drax steps forward and raises one hand. The room quiets—not because they respect her, but because they want the quote.
Her voice comes out calm, controlled, and loud enough to fill the space without shouting. “Under emergency transparency statutes invoked this morning, an Independent Oversight Panel has been formally established to review wartime directives, including Sacrificial Stabilization Doctrine and the Kirell corridor override decision.”
Flash. Flash. Flash. Cameras firing like tiny explosions.
A reporter cuts in. “So Fleet Commander Varos is no longer being sentenced?”
Drax doesn’t blink. “Sentencing has been rescheduled under expanded investigative authority.”
Another voice, sharp: “Does that mean he’s getting off?”
Drax’s jaw tightens. “It means the tribunal’s scope has evolved from individual negligence to systemic accountability. We will not deliver a verdict built on an incomplete record.”
My pulse thuds in my ears. Incomplete record. She’s saying it. Out loud.
A reporter’s gaze flicks past Drax and lands on me like a hook. “Liaison Ardent?—”
Drax lifts her hand again, cutting it off. “Questions will be directed to me.”
The reporter pushes anyway. “Is it true you lost family in the corridor collapse? Is this personal?”
I feel the question like a slap. My vision sharpens, my senses narrowing until all I can hear is my own breathing and the low hum of the holopanels.
Drax turns her head slightly, eyes like ice. “This is procedural.”
The reporter tries again, voice gleeful. “Butyouassigned her. Isn’t her presence?—”
Drax cuts through. “Her presence is evidence of tribunal transparency. Her access logs were already public. Attempts to remove her after a targeted personnel leak would have constituted the appearance of intimidation. We will not allow media manipulation to dictate staffing.”
A murmur ripples through the press. They love that. They love a power move almost as much as they love blood.
Another reporter calls out, “What about Lieutenant Garran Hale?”
Mirov steps forward, taking his cue. “Lieutenant Hale has been formally cleared of malicious intent. Panel review confirms his routing authorization did not include corridor displacement authority.”
Somebody mutters, “Convenient,” and someone else murmurs, “So who did it then?”
