That’s enough.
For now.
The air feels warmer as I step away, the density of the room pressing in more noticeably after the controlled focus of the exchange. Vihl falls into step beside me again, his presence quiet but deliberate.
“You’re inserting yourself into every fracture,” he says.
“I’m trying to keep them from splitting,” I reply.
“That’s not the same thing,” he says.
“It is if I get there early enough,” I answer.
He watches the two crew members for a moment, the way their posture has shifted from confrontation to analysis.
“They’re not going to like needing you,” he says.
“They don’t need to like it,” I reply.
“They need to accept it,” he says.
“They will,” I say.
He glances at me, something sharper behind his usual composure. “You’re in the center of this now,” he says.
“I’ve been in the center of it,” I reply.
“No,” he says quietly. “Now they see you there.”
That lands differently, because it’s not about what I’m doing.
It’s about what they’re starting to understand.
I move through the floor slower after that, not hesitating, but absorbing, the way conversations shift when I pass, the way some people acknowledge me directly now while others deliberately avoid it.
“You changed the outcome on the last run,” someone says as I pass his station, his voice careful, like he’s testing how much weight to give the statement.
“I adjusted the approach,” I reply.
He nods, but his eyes linger a second longer than necessary. “That’s not how we usually operate,” he says.
“I know,” I reply.
“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” he adds, like he needs to anchor himself to that conclusion.
“It means it’s different,” I say.
He nods again, sharper this time, and turns back to his console.
The shift is everywhere now.
Not loud.
Not stable.
But real.
By the time I reach Tyrok, the air feels heavier again, cooler near his console where the systems pull heat away in currents. The light from the display cuts across him in hard lines, sharpening everything about his posture.
