“You waited,” I say. “You let them commit before you acted, and you already knew exactly when to stop waiting.”
Something shifts in his expression, subtle enough to miss if I were not looking for it.
“Violence is easy,” he says. “Timing isn’t.”
I let that settle.
Because it fits too well.
The assumption I built is already breaking.
CHAPTER 8
TYROK
The ship settles after the engagement, but I don’t let myself move with it right away, because there is still something unresolved sitting beneath the surface of what just happened.
The hum stabilizes into its baseline rhythm as the systems recalibrate, energy dispersing through the frame in a way that feels almost like an exhale, but I remain where I am, watching the projection fade and the last traces of the opposing ship dissolve into nothing. Around me, the crew shifts naturally out of combat posture, voices lowering, movements loosening, each person returning to their role without needing direction, and that seamless transition tells me everything I need to know about how well they function without me.
“She didn’t flinch,” Vihl mutters beside me, his tone low enough to keep the observation contained between us.
“I noticed,” I reply, my attention already moving past the obvious and into what it implies.
He glances toward her, not bothering to hide it this time. “Most people do, even the ones who think they won’t,” he says, folding his arms as he leans back slightly.
I don’t answer him immediately, because he’s right in a way that matters more than he realizes, and because I’m still watching her instead of the aftermath of the fight. She stands where I left her, not rigid, not frozen, but contained, like she is processing something that hasn’t finished resolving yet. Her shoulders remain level, her breathing steady, but there is a shift beneath it, something quieter that wasn’t there before the engagement, and it doesn’t read as fear.
“You’re staring,” Vihl says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
“I’m assessing,” I correct, letting my gaze move away just enough to avoid making it obvious to the rest of the crew.
He exhales a short laugh. “That what we’re calling it now,” he says, though he doesn’t push further.
I step away from the command position, the movement signaling that I’m done with the immediate situation, and the crew continues without hesitation because they don’t need me to guide them through something they already understand. That autonomy is intentional, and it is one of the reasons we function the way we do.
“Bridge is yours,” I say over my shoulder.
“Always is,” Vihl replies, though there is something more aware in his tone now as he watches where I’m going.
I move toward her, and she notices at exactly the right moment, not too early and not too late, which tells me she has been tracking me the same way I have been tracking her.
“You didn’t panic,” I say as I stop in front of her, keeping my voice neutral enough that it doesn’t carry beyond us.
“I didn’t have a reason to,” she replies, meeting my gaze without hesitation.
“That’s not how that works,” I say, because panic isn’t about reason and never has been.
“It is if you understand what’s happening,” she counters, her tone steady in a way that suggests she believes it.
I let the silence stretch for a second, watching for the instinct to fill it, but she doesn’t move, and she doesn’t add anything to soften or reinforce what she just said.
“You understood that,” I ask, not because I need confirmation, but because I want to hear how she frames it.
“I understood enough,” she says.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re getting,” she replies, and there is no hesitation behind it.
