The hum under their feet deepened as the engines throttled back. Through the small oval window the sky had shifted from steel to pale gold; the sprawl of Saha's capital glimmered below, low morning sun striking on domes and glass. The landing gear thumped down, a muted vibration running through the cabin.
"Almost there," Dax murmured, feeling the subtle easing of Chris's pulse under his palm. "Stay still."
Chris gave a small, hoarse sound of protest. "I can walk."
"You can try," Dax said, the words more a purr than a warning.
The wheels kissed tarmac with a low roar, the jet's body shuddering once before rolling smooth. Attendants moved like ghosts through the cream-and-gold cabin, collecting trays and blankets. Tyler reappeared at the forward bulkhead, tablet in hand. "Per your orders," he said quietly, "the press has been held back at the perimeter. Only the medical team and your guards are on the strip."
Dax gave a single, approving nod. "Good."
