I feel it in the way the deck hum travels through my boots, slightly uneven, and in the way the air carries heat from overworked systems, a faint dryness settling at the back of my throat as I breathe it in. The scent of ozone lingers stronger than it should, clinging to the edges of everything, and even the light seems harsher, reflecting off the metal surfaces with a brightness that feels intrusive.
“Shield grid recalibrated,” one of the techs calls out, his voice steady but tighter than usual as he adjusts the projection in front of him. “Layered reinforcement holding at ninety-two percent efficiency.”
“Push it to ninety-five,” I reply without looking at him, my gaze fixed on the tactical display where the Combine signatures continue their steady advance. “I want redundancy across all outer arcs.”
“That’ll strain?—”
“I didn’t ask,” I cut in, my tone flat enough that he doesn’t finish the objection.
He swallows it, nodding once. “Yes, sir.”
Vihl stands to my left, arms crossed, his weight shifting slightly as he studies the projection, his eyes tracking the incoming formation with a focus that mirrors my own but carries something else beneath it.
“You feel it too,” he mutters, not quite a question.
“Yes,” I reply.
He exhales slowly through his nose, then glances at me. “Good,” he says. “I was starting to think I was just getting paranoid.”
“You are paranoid,” I say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But I’m usually right.”
That earns him a brief glance, and there’s something in the set of his jaw that tells me he’s already ahead of where most of the crew is, already tracking not just the external threat but the internal fracture building alongside it.
“Report,” I say.
“Combine vanguard holding course,” the tactical officer answers immediately, pulling up additional data. “No deviation in trajectory. They’re not probing. They’re committing.”
“Of course they are,” Vihl mutters.
“They’ve got reason now,” I say.
He doesn’t respond to that, but I feel the agreement in the way he shifts his stance, grounding himself against the tension building across the bridge.
“Reinforce internal security,” I continue. “I want restricted access on all command-level systems. No exceptions.”
“That’s going to raise flags,” one of the crew says cautiously.
“Good,” I reply, my voice sharpening slightly. “Let it.”
Movement follows immediately, commands relayed, systems locking down, the hum of the ship shifting again as additional protocols come online. It should feel stabilizing.
It doesn’t.
The wrongness is still there.
Still building.
“Talk to me,” Vihl says quietly, stepping closer. “What aren’t you seeing?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit.
He huffs softly. “That’s not your usual answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods once, slow.
