“You’re putting a lot on that,” he says.
“I’m putting it where it belongs,” I reply.
“That’s not smart,” he says.
“It’s accurate,” I say.
He looks back at the display, the data shifting under his hand as he adjusts it slightly, not dismissing what I’ve said, but not accepting it outright either.
“This changes how everything operates,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply.
“That’s not a small adjustment.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say.
“That’s structural,” he says.
“Yes.”
He exhales slowly, the sound blending into the steady rhythm of the base around us.
“That’s dangerous,” he says.
“So is staying where you are,” I reply.
The silence that follows stretches, filled with the low hum of systems and the quiet movement of people adapting to changes they don’t fully understand yet.
“You’re not wrong,” he says finally.
That’s not agreement.
But it’s movement.
“And you’re not ready to say I am,” I reply.
“That’s not the same thing,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
CHAPTER 18
TYROK
“They’re reverting,” Vihl says, tapping one of the flagged sequences with two fingers, the faint click of his nail against the glass surface cutting through the low hum of the console.
The projection expands where he touches it, the failed pivot stretching open into a layered playback, and I let it run without interrupting it this time. The delay sits there longer when you don’t interfere, not dramatic, not obvious, but long enough to feel wrong in your bones if you know what it’s supposed to look like. The crew on the feed hesitates just before committing, weight shifting, timing slipping, and then they strike anyway, too early, collapsing the negotiation window before it fully forms.
“They’re defaulting,” I say, flattening my palm against the edge of the console as the playback loops.
Vihl leans in closer, squinting slightly as the sequence runs again, slower this time. “That’s not instinct,” he mutters, his voice tight with irritation. “That’s panic dressed up like experience.”
“It’s habit,” I correct, dragging the timeline back a few seconds and letting it play again.
The early strike hits harder this time because I’m watching for it, the moment of collapse snapping into place with clarity. The opposing side reacts instantly, defensive structures locking in, leverage gone before it’s even tested.
“That cost us time,” Vihl says, straightening slightly, one hand sliding off the console as he shifts his weight.
