Page 6 of Claimed By the Wraiths

The briefing room was smaller than the mess hall, the air recycler louder, the single viewport showing nothing but void. Zevik had his boots on the table.

Maris sat next to Thoryn. Ressh and Alix claimed their usual spots. Solren stood in the corner.

Deyric had his three displays glowing behind him. He’d been up all night with the relay data and it showed.

“The military encryption is good intelligence,” he said. “But that buried protocol is still locked. I’ve thrown everything I have at it.” He pulled up the structure on the central display, the code architecture enlarged and annotated in the colors he used for unsolved problems. “It’s not military. Not corporate. Not any civilian system I’ve seen. I need help. If anyone recognizes this architecture, now’s the time.”

The protocol filled the display. Three weeks of raids, and the same wall every time.

I’d seen it last night, briefly, while pulling the data at the relay. Hadn’t had time to study it. But the structure had nagged at me, something about the nesting pattern, the way the authentication layers folded in on themselves.

Now, on Deyric’s display, enlarged and annotated, I saw why.

The key rotation pattern. The authentication layers. The routing logic that nested inside itself.

I knew this architecture. I’d grown up inside it.

I’d watched my father’s staff use these protocols every day for seven years, watched the encryption keys change at the start of each diplomatic cycle, watched the routing tables update when new channels were added.

My stomach dropped.

I could say nothing. Let Deyric keep grinding. He might crack it eventually.

Weeks, months. And three thousand people held at Nexus Station while he worked.

Or I could open my mouth and blow my life apart.

I pressed my palms flat against the table. The metal was cool and solid under my hands.

“That’s diplomatic encryption,” I said.

Every head in the room turned.

“And you know this how?” Ressh asked.

I kept my hands flat on the table. Took one breath.

“My real name isn’t Jessa Torrin. It’s Jessa Corren. My father was a mid-level Consortium diplomatic official. Varek Corren. I haven’t spoken to him since I left.” I paused. “I learned these protocols as a teenager. I walked away at twenty, changed my name, and never told any of you because I didn’t want to be seen as Consortium.”

The room went quiet. Not briefing-room quiet. The kind of quiet where everyone is recalculating.

Ressh leaned back against the wall. His traceries had gone flat bronze, his expression more thoughtful than angry.

Zevik’s chair came down on all four legs. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

First time I’d ever seen him not have a line ready. His feather crest, which usually sat at a cocky angle, had gone flat.

Alix hadn’t moved from where she’d been leaning against the back wall. She was studying me the way she studied security systems.

Not hostile. Assessing.

Thoryn put his hand on the table, palm down. Nothing changes. Thoryn’s vocabulary was limited and absolute.

Maris glanced at Thoryn’s hand, then at me. Her mouth pulled sideways.

She’d built an empire on secrets. She understood keeping them.

Solren, in his corner, said nothing. But his eyes moved from me to Serak.