The sharp buzz from the comm shattered the tension like a blade through glass.
Kael didn't flinch. Leah blinked once hard; her breath caught somewhere between fire and collapse.
"Commander," James's voice came through, clipped, low, and urgent."We've got movement."
Kael stepped back, not slowly, not with hesitation just controlled detachment. The shift was like steel locking back into place.
He tapped his earpiece. "Talk."
James didn't waste time. "Jace is approaching. Early. Full convoy behind him. Ark 10's final parts are being moved from the Ark 1 shell, just like he said. It's confirmed. They're gutting it in real time."
Kael's silver eyes narrowed, the moment between him and Leah folding into something colder, harder.
"ETA?"
"Forty minutes."
Leah straightened, her spine stiff, arms tight across her chest, trying to choke the lingering heat out of her blood.
Kael didn't look at her right away.
"Get docking prepped. I want full checks on every vehicle, every passenger, every crate. All of it scanned, logged, and burned to triple-redundant backups."
"Copy that."
The comm cut.
Kael turned back to Leah but it was a soldier's gaze now, sharp, clear, efficient.
"Get dressed. We greet them at the gate."
Leah's voice came before she could stop it, cool but clipped. "What happened to not waiting anymore?"
Kael paused.
Just for a second.
Then his eyes cut to her again not with heat. Not yet. But with the kind of promise that could turn galaxies to ash.
"I said I was done waiting."His voice dropped into something smooth, final."Not done watching."
And with that, he turned, coat sliding over his shoulders, steps echoing as he vanished into the hall. Leaving Leah in the shadow of the aquarium.
The fish moved slowly behind her.
Silent.
Weightless.
Their silver-blue bodies drifted like thoughts she didn't want to name—too fluid, too close, too impossible to hold. Leah stared for half a second longer, pulse steadying, jaw tight.
Then she turned.
The door hissed open to Kael's quarters.
The private living space was sharp, stark, and dark—but everything had its place. On the chair sat a folded stack of tactical clothing and a sidearm. The weight of unspoken instruction.
She didn't waste time.
Black shirt. Field jacket. Tactical boots. The pistol slid into the holster like it belonged there.
She didn't braid her hair, didn't fix her face. Just tied it back and moved.
The lift dropped her six floors in eight seconds.
She stepped out into motion.
The tower had changed.
Steel hallways were now full of people. Kael's people.
Alphas.
His personal units. Identical field gear. Quiet movements. Controlled eyes.
They were everywhere.
She moved past a row of them stationed near Logistics Command; each one checking manifests, scanning crates, issuing clearance bands.
Leah's throat tightened as she realized what that meant.
Kael had already called them.
Before the auction even ended.
Before he walked into that room.
He had already ordered the field to move.
He planned to win.
No fallback. No alternative. No evacuation.
Just victory.
She passed two security teams posted at Dock Entry 3.
Then four more at Junction B armed, tight, all silent. Not one made a sound as she moved by.
They didn't stop her.
She was already tagged in the system.
Her biometric signature had clearance through every line.
Kael had made sure of it. Before he asked her to say anything.
Leah turned into Central Security.
James was already there, sleeves rolled up, face half-shadowed by overheads, lines of code flickering across the screens around him.
He glanced over, eyes tired but sharp.
"You're late."
Leah crossed her arms. "I wasn't on the schedule."
James snorted, fingers flying across his board. "Neither were half of them," he said, nodding toward the incoming data stream. "Voss's men started landing ten hours ago. Quiet, efficient, off-grid."
"Deployment like that doesn't happen without warning," she said.
James gave her a look. "He's Kael. He doesn't warn. He predicts."
Behind them, the display flashed again.
New arrivals.Convoys.Encrypted call signs.More troops.
All of them logging under the same digital tag.
ARK 0 — PRIORITY ACCESS: VOSS LEGION
James exhaled slowly. "They're loading already. Fifty-man squads. Two dozen support ops. Ten logistics teams. And more incoming."
Leah said nothing.
James paused, glanced sideways, voice dropping. "You good?"
She didn't answer.
She was only just now seeing the shape of what was coming their way.
James jerked his chin toward the far end of the hall.
"Come on. He's waiting."
Leah studied him for a second. He looked like he hadn't slept—shirt half-buttoned, one sleeve rolled, eyes bloodshot but alert. He'd been in the systems too long, the smell of burnt circuits and static still clinging to his jacket.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
He didn't answer at first, just started walking.
Leah followed, boots echoing beside his slower, more deliberate stride.
At the bottom, James paused at the reinforced doors, typed in a code Leah couldn't see, then turned to her.
"You're going to want to listen. Not talk." His voice was low, warning without warmth. "He's not in a good place."
She stiffened. "You mean he's angry."
"I mean he's sharp. And tired. And about two hours from doing something irreversible."
The door hissed open before she could reply.
The docking bay beyond was cold and cavernous, lit by long ceiling strips that buzzed like dying insects. Steel containers sat in towering stacks, guards at every entrance. The place was loaded supply crates, reinforced canisters, climate-control locks humming with food and fuel for Ark 0.
Kael Voss stood alone at the edge of it.
Hands behind his back. No coat. Just the close-cut black shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, the circuits across his neck still faintly glowing. He didn't turn when they entered.
James gave Leah a slight nudge forward and stepped aside, choosing to linger in the shadow of a cargo lift.
Leah took a breath and walked toward him.
Kael spoke before she reached him.
"What do you remember about Ark 10?"
Not a greeting. Not even a question, really. A trigger.
She stopped two paces behind him, voice low. "More than I want."
"I'm not asking what you want." He turned. His silver eyes locked on her. "I'm asking what you know."
Leah nodded once. "The one nobody was supposed to watch. No registry. No records. Just a black ghost they launched when the cameras were facing the wrong way."
Kael stepped forward, his voice steady. "And the ones who knew?"
"Died," she said. "Or vanished. Or ended up on the wrong Arks."
He studied her face. "But not all of them."
Her jaw tightened. "No. Some made it."
He reached past her, activated the screen embedded in the bulkhead beside them. A blueprint flickered to life—a wireframe model of Ark 0's interior. Then it shifted.
Ark 10.
Classified overlays. Segments she'd never seen before. Levels that didn't exist on standard schematics.
"Where did you get this?" she breathed.
Kael's voice was cold. "James intercepted it two hours ago. From a private relay bouncing between the Harrow Syndicate and Tyne Holdings."
Leah stared. "They're still trying to finish it?"
"No." Kael's eyes burned. "They already did. They're just trying to move it now."
Leah stepped closer, scanning the data. Cryo vaults. Medical labs. Luxury suites. Reinforced captain's quarters. A dozen containment sectors.
And deeper something else.
Buried at the heart of the ship. Shielded. Sealed.
She pointed. "This. What is this?"
Kael didn't answer.
James spoke up from behind. "That's the override control node. We believe it was designed to allow one person to lock out the others. A single-seat command override. No democracy. No chain of command."
Leah stared at the screen. "Then Ark 10 was never meant to carry survivors."
Kael's voice was low. "It was built to crown someone."
Silence settled between them.
"Tell me what happens next," she said, voice low but steady.
Kael stepped closer, just enough that she could feel the heat bleeding from his skin, the quiet thrum of the circuits under his shirt still pulsing faintly in the dim light.
"It's not a what," he said. "It's a when."
His voice was calm, but there was no softness in it. Only finality.
"We initiate in twenty-four hours."
Leah's chest tightened. "Full launch?"
Kael nodded once. "The Ark preps are locked. The supply manifests are sealed. My security teams will move at the first hour. I want all non-essential personnel cleared before midnight cycle." A beat. "We're not waiting anymore."
Her pulse kicked up. "You think they'll come before then?"
"I know they will." Kael's silver eyes burned, flat and unshakable. "They're not going to let us leave clean. But they won't expect the timing. They think we'll drag it out. Play another round."
Leah's voice turned cold. "And you're pulling the plug early."
"I'm cutting the fuse," Kael said. "Before they have time to light it."
She studied him, the sharp line of his jaw, the weight in his expression. And beneath the steel… something else. Something more personal.
"You sure about this?"
Kael leaned in—barely a breath between them now—and his voice dropped low.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
Leah didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Because the way he said it—it wasn't just about the launch. It wasn't just about the Ark.
It was about her.
About the space she now stood in—beside him, not behind him.
"You have twenty-four hours, Leah." Kael's voice was like a blade—quiet, sharp, irreversible. "To choose who gets on. Who stays behind. Who lives."
Her breath caught.
"And you?" she asked.
Kael's silver gaze held hers like a locked targeting system.
"I already chose."
Then he stepped back, turned, and strode across the bay toward the security wing—leaving her standing in the cold hum of the loading zone, the chip drive clutched tight in her hand, and the countdown already ticking.