“Alright,” he says. “Then we assume worst case.”
“Internal breach,” I say.
“Yeah,” he replies, his voice tightening slightly. “That’s where I’m landing too.”
I don’t like that.
Not because it’s unlikely.
Because it fits too well.
“Lock down internal traffic logs,” I order. “Cross-reference access points against command-level clearance.”
“Already in progress,” the systems officer replies.
“Good,” I say, though it does nothing to ease the pressure building under my skin.
A sharp voice cuts in from the rear of the bridge, louder than it should be.
“So we’re just ignoring it, then?”
The room shifts instantly, attention snapping toward the source, and I turn slowly in my chair to face the speaker.
Renn.
Weapons officer.
Competent.
Reliable.
Until now.
“We’re not ignoring anything,” I say, my voice calm.
His shoulders are tight, his posture rigid in a way that signals he’s already committed to whatever he’s about to say.
“Looks like it from here,” he replies, and there’s an edge in his tone that doesn’t belong on my bridge.
“Clarify,” I say.
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then pushes forward anyway.
“You’re risking everything,” he says, louder now, his gaze locked onto mine. “For her.”
The words land, and the tension across the bridge spikes instantly, crew members going still without looking directly, their attention split between their stations and the confrontation unfolding in front of them.
“Stand down,” Vihl says sharply, stepping forward.
“No,” Renn snaps, shaking his head. “No, I’m not standing down. Not when this is going to get all of us killed.”
The air tightens.
I rise slowly from the command chair, letting the movement carry its own weight, my height alone enough to shift the balance of the room before I even speak.
“You’re out of line,” I say.
“I’m right,” he fires back, and now there’s something raw in his voice, something that has been building for longer than this moment. “We built this on rules, on structure, and you’re breaking it for one person.”
