“You think I’m chasing this because of my parents,” I say.
“I think,” he replies carefully, “that grief makes patterns look intentional.”
I hold his gaze, feeling something inside me crystallize.
“Grief makes patterns look clear,” I answer.
He watches me for another second, then turns and exits the lab without another word.
The door seals behind him.
For a moment, I stand there staring at the closed panel, my pulse loud in my ears.
“Routine,” I mutter. “Sure.”
The lab door hisses open again almost immediately, and this time the footsteps are heavier, measured, accompanied by the faint hum of diplomatic binders.
I turn.
Rhyx Varos enters under guard.
Two tribunal officers flank him, their posture rigid, hands resting near restraint controls. The binders at his wrists emit a soft blue glow, their energy fields shimmering faintly in the lab’s white light.
Up close, he is even more imposing than he appeared on broadcast. His scales catch the light in subdued reflections, edged with silver along old scars that trace across his shoulders and down his forearms. His eyes—pale gold—lock onto mine immediately, not aggressive, not pleading, simply intent.
The officers take positions near the door.
“This is a supervised clarification session,” one of them says. “All communications are recorded.”
“Understood,” I reply.
Rhyx inclines his head slightly—not a bow, but an acknowledgment.
“You flagged the recalibration,” he says without preamble.
His voice is deeper than the chamber acoustics suggested, resonant enough that I feel it faintly in my sternum.
“Yes,” I answer. “I isolated the twelve-minute window.”
“I monitored archive audit logs,” he says. “I saw your notation.”
“You’re keeping tabs on me,” I say, and it comes out sharper than I intend.
“I am keeping tabs on the record,” he replies evenly.
The distinction again.
I cross my arms before I realize I’m doing it. “The override carries a valid League command signature.”
“I know.”
I blink. “You know.”
He nods once. “When I issued the evacuation order at 13:57, the corridor aligned with safe-zone projections. Defensive satellite coverage was intact along that arc.”
“That matches the data,” I say cautiously.
“At 14:01, the corridor deviated,” he continues. “The deviation does not match my issued vector.”
