“So is evidence corruption,” I answer, and the words land with the weight of a dropped blade.
Pellorin inhales sharply at my side, as if he can already taste the diplomatic fallout.
Drax’s gaze narrows. “Enter.”
The officers hesitate, then allow us through.
Her office smells faintly of polished composite and bitter stimulants, the scent of someone living on caffeine and obligation. The capital skyline is bright beyond the window, indifferent in its morning clarity, while inside the room the light feels colder, contained.
Drax closes the door behind us with a soft hiss that sounds too final.
Pellorin begins, carefully, “High Arbiter, we have received notice that a secondary confirmation file requested by Liaison Ardent?—”
“I am aware,” Drax interrupts, and her tone suggests she has been aware for far longer than she would like. Her eyes cut to me. “And I assume you are here to demand that I perform outrage for you.”
“I am here,” I say, keeping my voice level though anger licks at the base of my throat like fire, “to demand an explanation forwhy a tribunal-approved retrieval was flagged corrupted after an unlogged overnight maintenance window.”
Pellorin flinches at the bluntness, but I do not soften it. Softness is how things get buried politely.
Drax’s expression does not change, but her fingers tighten slightly on the edge of her desk. “You are making an allegation.”
“I am naming a fact,” I reply. “The file was approved. The file was to be retrieved. The file is now ‘corrupted.’ The access log is unlogged. That is tampering.”
Drax’s gaze holds mine, unblinking. “If you are attempting to imply the tribunal is complicit?—”
“I am implying nothing,” I cut in. “I am asking you who has the authority to break your evidence chain.”
Silence hangs between us, thick and deliberate.
Drax exhales slowly. “Do you understand,” she says, voice quieter now, “what you are threatening when you insist on dragging this into the light?”
Pellorin shifts, his hands clasping behind his back like a man praying his own posture will keep him steady.
“I am threatening a lie,” I say. “Nothing more.”
Drax’s eyes flash faintly. “You are threatening the ceasefire.”
The words land like a warning flare.
I stare at her. “The ceasefire was built on omissions, then.”
“It was built,” she answers, voice sharpening, “on the agreement that neither side would reopen wounds that could not be sutured without blood. Your Coalition was ready to mobilize fleets over rumor, Varos. You know that.”
“I know,” I reply, and the admission tastes like ash. “I also know rumor is what you call truth when it is inconvenient.”
Drax leans forward slightly, her posture tightening into something more personal than tribunal formality. “You think you are the only one who understands the fragility of peace? Do you think I do not have senators in my ear every hour, warningthat any suggestion of League interference will be interpreted as hostile revisionism by the Coalition?”
Pellorin’s mouth opens, then closes again as he recalibrates. “High Arbiter, with respect, the Coalition’s position?—”
“The Coalition’s position is irrelevant in this office,” Drax snaps, then reins herself in, inhaling slowly. When she speaks again, her voice is controlled but edged. “Your insistence on pursuing override allegations may destabilize negotiations that have kept ships from firing for years.”
I hear the subtext: keep quiet, or we all bleed.
My binders hum softly as my hands tighten. “If the override occurred, it already destabilized everything. It simply did so in secret.”
Drax’s gaze hardens. “And if you accuse the League publicly without definitive proof, you hand the Coalition hawks exactly what they want: justification.”
Pellorin interjects quickly, voice cautious. “That is precisely our concern, Commander.”
