DAY 86 — 09:12 (LOCAL)
The refinery ridge still smoked from the first fight.
Basalt dust drifted in slow sheets across the slag canyon like the planet was trying to cover up what it had seen—burn marks, cratered rock, and the broken outlines of Clan machines that hadn't made it out clean.
Inside the Union's mech bay, it was controlled chaos. Not panic. Not celebration. Just the ruthless, quiet tempo of people who understood that the worst moment wasn't the duel—it was the minute after, when someone decided to finish you while you were tired.
Dack stood at the base of the Dire Wolf's ladder with his helmet under one arm, eyes fixed on the open bay doors and the black cut of the canyon beyond. His mech's armor readouts still flashed damage warnings: scorched plating, internal stress flags, heat sink efficiency degraded from debris. Nothing fatal. Nothing comfortable.
Lyra's voice came over the ship net, tight and calm at the same time. "They're back. New formation. Five, maybe more behind the ridge. They're not posturing."
Jinx sat on a tool cart near the Highlander, legs swinging like she was waiting for a show. Black-and-red jacket half-zipped, tight shorts, boots braced against the deck. Her long dirty-blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and her blue eyes were bright in a way that usually meant she was about to do something stupid and survive it.
Taila hovered near the Marauder, helmet hugged against her ribs. Tight black halter top, black leggings with red stripes, braid falling forward. She watched the bay doors like she expected the canyon to walk inside and eat them.
Quill stood by the Awesome with her diagnostic slate in hand, composed and deadly quiet. She didn't waste motion. She didn't waste words.
Morrigan was at the Orion, arms crossed, expression hard and annoyed like it was the only armor she trusted. But she'd drifted closer to Dack than she would've a month ago—close enough that her shoulder almost brushed his.
At the far end of the bay, Cassia Rell stood by the Griffin with her helmet clasped too tight, trying to be invisible in a room full of machines that made invisibility impossible.
Rook and Rafe—grease-streaked, focused—worked at the capture rig console they'd built out of scavenged starport hardware and stubborn genius. Winch controls. Mag-clamp toggles. Cable feed monitors. It was ugly and brilliant and the kind of thing that made a dead mech move whether it wanted to or not.
Dack started toward the bay doors.
Rook and Rafe both looked up.
They moved without thinking—one step in, one on each side.
Two quick kisses—left cheek, right cheek.
Then they were back at the console like it was nothing.
Jinx's grin widened. "The Ritual before the funeral. I love it."
Taila's cheeks went pink, but she didn't look away. "This is not the time."
"This is exactly the time," Jinx said cheerfully.
Dack didn't comment. He slid his helmet on and sealed it. The world tightened into filtered air and comms. His voice came out flat. "Broadcast."
Lyra patched the signal through.
Star Captain Vasha's voice filled the bay channel—clean, controlled, and sharpened by anger.
"Dack Jarn. You have violated ritual. You will answer."
Cassia flinched like the words were a slap.
Dack didn't flinch. "State your intent."
"You will present the pilot who interfered," Vasha said. "You will submit to censure. Or we will destroy your unit and take your isorla from the ash."
Taila's voice came small over the net. "Dack…"
Dack's reply was immediate. "No."
A pause—tiny, dangerous. "Then you choose annihilation."
Dack's voice didn't rise. "I choose a Trial."
Vasha's tone sharpened. "Speak."
"Batchall," Dack said. One word. Heavy. "Trial of Possession."
Jinx made a pleased sound like someone had just handed her a knife and permission.
Vasha went still. "Of what."
"Your Timber Wolf," Dack said. "And you—if you fall. Bondsman terms."
The bay held its breath.
Morrigan's eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed like she respected the audacity even if it got them killed.
Quill didn't react outwardly, but her posture changed—subtle, like she was already moving the fight around in her head.
Cassia whispered, terrified, "Sir—"
Dack cut her off without looking. "Quiet."
Vasha's voice came colder. "You presume much, freebirth."
Dack's answer was simple. "You want ritual back. You get it. You win, you take Cassia, you take the refinery node, you walk away with your pride. I win, you power down and you come with your machine intact."
Jinx's voice cut in, bright. "That's the most polite extortion I've ever heard."
Vasha ignored her. "If you break ritual again—"
"Then you kill us," Dack said, like it was weather.
Silence.
Then—acceptance, because pride demanded it.
"Trial accepted," Vasha said. "Same field. No aerospace. No militia interference. You bring only those who fought."
Dack didn't blink. "Agreed."
"Begin in ten minutes," Vasha said. "Do not be late."
The channel cut.
Lyra's voice came back, calmer now that it was her people speaking again. "Militia commander is asking what a Trial is. He wants to 'help.'"
Dack's answer was flat. "He stays down."
"He might not listen," Lyra said.
"Then he dies," Dack replied.
No drama. Just consequence.
Dack keyed the lance net. "Rules. We're taking the Timber Wolf. Leg it. We don't core it."
Jinx's voice turned hungry. "Finally."
"Quill, anchor," Dack said.
"Copy," Quill replied.
"Taila, screen. Don't chase," Dack said.
Taila forced her voice steady. "Copy."
"Morrigan, block retreat. You're the wall," Dack said.
Morrigan's reply was rough. "Fine."
Dack's attention shifted to Cassia. "You do not fire unless I tell you."
Cassia swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Rook and Rafe lifted their eyes from the capture console.
Rafe: "If—"
Rook: "—you—"
Rafe: "—drop—"
Rook: "—it—"
Rafe: "—we—"
Rook: "—haul."
Dack nodded once. "Be ready."
Two quick kisses again—automatic, almost solemn—then the twins went back to their controls.
The bay doors opened wider.
Heat and basalt stink rolled in like breath from a furnace.
Dack climbed.
---
The slag canyon looked different in daylight. Not safer. Just clearer.
Basalt walls rose jagged on both sides. Heat vents shimmered the air, turning range estimates into lies. Above, refinery pipes crossed on pylons like ribs—fuel lines humming with value that made men and Clanners willing to kill.
Moonjaw deployed in tight order:
Dire Wolf forward, heavy feet cracking slag crust.
Highlander left, Jinx loose and eager inside it.
Awesome right, Quill steady as a metronome.
Marauder tucked behind Dack's right rear quarter, Taila cautious but present.
Orion slightly back, Morrigan guarding the retreat lane with deliberate steps, knee chatter minimized by discipline.
Griffin high on overwatch ridge, Cassia holding position like obedience was the only thing keeping her from drowning.
Lyra's voice stayed with them from the Union. "Falcon element is cresting. Confirming silhouettes."
Five shapes rose on the opposite ridge like predators stepping onto a ledge.
Timber Wolf center—Vasha.
Summoner (Thor) right, jump jets twitching.
Hellbringer (Loki) left, lean and cruel.
Shadow Cat high and wide, already angling for flanks.
Kit Fox (Uller) low, missile support tucked into cover lanes.
Cassia's voice came quiet, tight. "Mixed star. Shadow Cat hunting right ridge. Kit Fox low. Hellbringer left pressure."
Quill's voice was calm. "They're setting a crossfire."
Dack didn't answer with commentary. "Hold lanes."
Vasha's voice came over open comms again—formal, ceremonial, like words could make killing clean.
"This Trial is for isorla. The Timber Wolf and the pilot. Win or yield. Begin."
Dack didn't speak.
He moved.
The Dire Wolf stepped forward, weight and inevitability, and the canyon felt smaller just because something that heavy was deciding where it belonged.
The Timber Wolf fired first—LRMs arcing high and falling into Moonjaw's lane like steel rain. Dack shifted behind a basalt outcrop, letting armor eat what it had to. Explosions hammered his plating. Warning chimes stacked up like teeth.
He returned an LRM ripple—not to kill, but to make Vasha twist.
Quill's Awesome fired a PPC shot into the Summoner's approach line, forcing it to break its clean angle.
Taila's Marauder put one PPC bolt into the Kit Fox's cover seam, making it scoot deeper into a slag pocket.
Jinx waited. Patient. Predator-still.
The Shadow Cat tested them first—fast movement on the high ridge, a probing long-range shot meant to clip Taila's rear and make her turn.
Taila didn't turn.
She held lane. She breathed. She let the shot kiss armor and refused to give the Shadow Cat what it wanted.
The Hellbringer opened up next—laser fire raking Dack's cover, trying to force him to move into the Timber Wolf's cleaner line.
Dack moved anyway—but on his terms. One step. One angle change.
He fired the AC/10 once into basalt near the Timber Wolf's feet, forcing Vasha to adjust.
Vasha's voice cut through, controlled and sharp. "You fight like an Inner Sphere brute."
Dack's reply was calm. "It works."
The Summoner jumped—hard and aggressive—aiming to crash Quill's flank and break the Awesome's cadence.
Morrigan moved.
Her Orion stepped forward into the lane with careful torque and fired the AC/10 into the Summoner's flank. The shell punched armor away and made the Summoner stumble on landing.
Morrigan's voice came hard. "Back off."
The Summoner didn't stop, but it hesitated now—heat climbing, armor stripped, realizing it wasn't bullying amateurs.
Dack started shaping the capture the way you shaped a kill—by controlling the other pilot's options.
He pressured Vasha's movement with missiles. He punished knee plating with timed AC/10 shots when she exposed it. He refused to let her settle into a stable firing platform.
Vasha adapted fast—stopped backing, started pushing, trying to force Dack into a choice: either core her and lose the salvage, or let her close and risk dying.
That was her discipline.
Dack denied it.
He stepped aside at the last moment, letting the Timber Wolf overcommit into a narrowing lane between basalt outcrops.
Morrigan's Orion closed the retreat path behind Vasha like a door locking.
Vasha realized—just a fraction too late—that Moonjaw was building a ring around her.
The Clan star reacted instantly.
The Shadow Cat accelerated toward Morrigan's rear, trying to punish that damaged knee angle. The Kit Fox launched missiles into the space between Taila and Quill, trying to split Moonjaw's formation. The Hellbringer raked Jinx's Highlander with lasers to try to make her flinch.
Everything hit at once.
Maximum pressure.
Dack's voice stayed calm. "Hold."
Quill anchored, PPC cadence steady.
Taila screened, refusing to chase the Shadow Cat even when it taunted her flanks.
Morrigan torqued the Orion carefully—knee chatter spiking, alarms flickering—but held position anyway.
Jinx waited.
Cassia called movement in clipped, terrified clarity. "Timber Wolf weight shifting—right leg load—high. Shadow Cat moving on Orion's rear. Kit Fox missile support. Hellbringer pushing left pressure."
Dack's answer was a single word. "Good."
Then he gave the only order that mattered.
"Jinx."
Jinx's voice brightened like she'd been starving. "Say less."
Dack forced the Timber Wolf's torso twist with an LRM ripple, then shifted again, making Vasha plant her right leg hard to keep balance in the narrowing lane.
"Now," Dack said.
Jinx fired.
One gauss shot.
It hit the Timber Wolf's right leg assembly where armor had already been stripped and structure was already stressed.
The leg didn't explode. It failed—actuator and myomer screaming, joint buckling in a way that wasn't dramatic so much as inevitable.
Vasha tried to compensate.
Too late.
The Timber Wolf crashed into the basalt shoulder-first, then rolled partially onto its side in a shower of slag and dust.
For half a heartbeat, the canyon went silent.
Then the Clan star did something uglier than any pirate.
The Hellbringer surged forward and fired—laser fire stabbing down at the downed Timber Wolf's torso.
Not at Dack.
At Vasha's machine.
Taila's voice broke sharp. "They're trying to destroy it!"
Quill's tone turned hard. "Deny."
Morrigan's voice snapped, furious. "What the hell—?"
Vasha's voice cut across open comms, raw and commanding. "STOP!"
The Hellbringer didn't stop.
It ignored its Star Captain.
It obeyed Clan instinct: deny salvage. Deny shame. Deny bondsman.
Dack's world narrowed.
This was the second fight.
The fight to keep the prize alive.
"Ring," he said. "Form ring. Don't let them finish it."
Moonjaw moved as one.
Quill stepped forward and took fire meant for the downed Timber Wolf, PPCs striking in cadence to force the Hellbringer off its clean lane.
Taila slid her Marauder into a tighter screen, firing one PPC bolt at the Shadow Cat to force it to break off its rear angle.
Morrigan torqued the Orion harder than she should've—knee chatter screaming—and physically blocked the Hellbringer's line to the Timber Wolf, absorbing a laser rake that burned her torso plating.
Morrigan's voice came out low and vicious. "Not my prize."
The Shadow Cat tried to slip behind Morrigan again.
Cassia had a clean shot from overwatch.
Her hands hovered.
Dack didn't hesitate this time. "Cassia—hold."
Cassia held.
The Shadow Cat slid past, infuriatingly close, like it was daring her to break terms again.
Dack watched the Hellbringer trying to angle for one more killing burst into the downed Timber Wolf's center torso.
He made the decision.
He stepped the Dire Wolf into the Hellbringer's space and fired his gauss rifle once—brief, final, deliberate—into the Hellbringer's center mass.
The round punched through armor and structure.
The Hellbringer staggered.
It tried to keep firing anyway because Clan pilots didn't believe in dying quietly.
Jinx put a gauss shot into its shoulder. Quill's PPC hit center mass.
The Hellbringer collapsed, torso glowing, and the cockpit blew. The ejection seat fired a heartbeat too late—caught by shrapnel and flame and gravity.
It came down wrong.
No drama. No mercy. Just an ugly end.
The Kit Fox launched a desperate missile spread toward the downed Timber Wolf.
Dack shifted and took the missiles on his Dire Wolf's armor instead. Explosions hammered his plating. The cockpit shook. Warning chimes became a constant, angry chorus.
He didn't move.
Because if he moved, the missiles hit the Timber Wolf's reactor.
The Summoner tried to punish him for it.
Morrigan fired LRMs and forced it back.
Quill anchored.
Jinx fired another gauss shot and tore the Kit Fox apart.
The Shadow Cat—wounded—disengaged into ridge shadows like a predator deciding the meal wasn't worth losing an eye.
The Summoner hesitated, heat-stressed, punished, and then jumped back toward the ridge line to retreat.
And Vasha—still inside the downed Timber Wolf—spoke again, voice strained and furious.
"You have… won the downing."
Dack's answer was immediate. "Power down."
Vasha didn't comply right away.
Her Timber Wolf's torso shifted slightly—trying to bring weapons to bear even while down.
Dack's reticle settled on her center mass.
His voice was blunt, calm, final. "Power down. Live. Keep moving, I core you."
Silence.
Then Vasha spoke like she was swallowing glass. "I… yield."
The Timber Wolf's reactor output dropped.
Weapons went dark.
The machine stopped fighting.
Dack exhaled once and keyed Lyra. "Bring the Union in."
Lyra's voice came tight. "If I lift into the open, they see us."
Dack's reply was cold math. "If you don't, we lose it."
A pause—then Lyra's calm snapped back into place. "Copy. Dropping ramp behind the basin ridge. Rook, Rafe—winches hot."
Rook: "Hot."
Rafe: "Hot."
The Union's ramp lowered behind cover, engines throttled low. Cables snaked out across basalt, mag-clamps clunking onto the Timber Wolf's hardpoints.
Rafe: "Clamp—"
Rook: "—one—"
Rafe: "—set."
Rook: "Clamp—"
Rafe: "—two—"
Rook: "—set."
The winches tightened.
The Timber Wolf jerked as if it hated being handled like cargo.
Vasha's voice came over private comms, tight with humiliation. "You take my isorla like salvage."
Dack answered, "That's what it is."
The Timber Wolf began to slide—heavy, wounded, valuable—toward the Union's ramp.
And then Lyra's voice snapped sharp. "New contacts cresting. Second element. Five. They see the Union."
The air in every cockpit went cold.
Jinx's voice turned tight. "Sanitize party."
Quill's tone was grim. "They'll try to erase the bondsman outcome."
Taila swallowed. "We can't hold two stars."
Dack's voice stayed steady. "We hold long enough."
He keyed open comms. "Vasha. Your people are coming to destroy your mech."
Vasha's response was instant, furious. "They will not—"
"They will," Dack cut in. "Order them off."
Vasha's voice snapped into command tone—sharp enough to cut steel. "Jade Falcon! This Trial is concluded. Stand down!"
A new voice answered, contemptuous. "You have yielded. You are bondsman. You have no authority."
Jinx hissed. "There it is."
The second Clan element crested the ridge.
Different silhouettes—more aggressive, built to bully:
A Mad Dog (Vulture).
A Hellhound (Conjurer).
An Ice Ferret.
A Mist Lynx.
And a Gargoyle (Man O' War)—big enough to make the canyon feel smaller.
The Gargoyle's torso turned toward the Union's ramp.
Toward the half-hauled Timber Wolf.
Toward Lyra's ship.
Dack didn't hesitate.
"Jinx, Quill—deny that lane," he said. "Taila, screen the ridge. Morrigan, block anything that drops into the basin. Cassia—call targets. No shots unless I say."
Cassia's voice came tight. "Copy."
The Gargoyle fired first—PPC bolts slamming into basalt near the Union, shockwave dust rising like smoke.
Lyra's voice stayed steady, but it was tight. "Winches at sixty percent pull. Thirty seconds to clear the ramp."
"Make it twenty," Dack said.
Rook: "Trying—"
Rafe: "—harder."
The Vulture launched LRMs—high arcing missiles—saturating the basin and the ramp lane.
Dack stepped forward and took the first wave on his Dire Wolf's armor again, placing his machine between death and ship. Explosions hammered him. Warnings screamed.
He stayed upright.
Jinx fired one gauss shot into the Vulture's torso, forcing it to twist away and bleed armor.
Quill's PPC cadence hit the Hellhound mid-approach and made it stagger.
Taila clipped the Ice Ferret with a PPC bolt, forcing it to break its flanking sprint.
Morrigan's Orion moved into the basin lane and fired her AC/10 into the Mist Lynx as it tried to sprint down the slope. The light mech recoiled hard and backed off.
Morrigan's voice came low and vicious. "Not my ship."
The Gargoyle kept pressing. Big. Confident. Built to bully.
It fired again, trying to carve open Dack's Dire Wolf and get a clean line on the ramp.
Dack answered with LRMs to force its torso twist, then an AC/10 shell into its knee plating to slow it.
It didn't stop.
It didn't flinch.
It advanced anyway.
Cassia's voice went urgent. "Gargoyle lining up on the ramp—"
Dack's voice cut clean. "Jinx. Leg."
Jinx laughed once—wild and bright. "Oh, you want the big one."
She fired gauss.
The shot hit the Gargoyle's leg assembly, but the armor was thick and stubborn. It staggered—didn't fall.
The Vulture used that moment to fire again, missiles saturating the basin.
Lyra's voice snapped. "Thirty percent pull—"
Rook: "Faster—"
Rafe: "—faster—"
The winches screamed.
The Timber Wolf scraped up the ramp—half inside the Union now, half still exposed.
The Gargoyle raised its arms and fired again—aimed at the Timber Wolf's torso, trying to kill the prize through the narrowing gap.
Dack moved without thinking.
He stepped into the shot.
PPC bolts slammed into the Dire Wolf's torso and made his cockpit flash white. Armor peeled. Internal alarms screamed loud enough to feel like teeth in his skull.
He stayed upright.
Because if he didn't, the shot hit the Timber Wolf's reactor.
Taila's voice cracked. "Dack!"
Dack's reply was steady. "Fine."
He wasn't.
But he was still moving.
Quill hit the Gargoyle's torso with two PPC bolts in cadence, stripping armor and forcing it to adjust.
Dack punished the same leg joint again with the AC/10.
Jinx fired gauss a second time into the stressed assembly.
This time the leg failed.
The Gargoyle staggered—then dropped to one knee.
The Hellhound jumped into the basin, trying to slip inside the ramp zone and finish the Timber Wolf up close.
Taila saw it and didn't freeze.
She stepped forward, fired one PPC bolt, then followed with a short laser rake as it landed poorly.
The Hellhound staggered mid-landing.
Quill's PPC bolt hit center mass.
Jinx put a gauss shot into its torso.
The Hellhound fell, smoking, ejection seat launching into the basin like a rag doll.
The Mist Lynx tried to sprint past Morrigan while she was engaged.
Cassia called it. "Mist Lynx right—"
Dack didn't hesitate. "Cassia. Fire."
Cassia fired one PPC bolt—clean, surgical—into the Mist Lynx's torso. The light mech spun and collapsed.
Cassia didn't fire again.
She didn't chase.
One authorized decision.
Dack's voice came once, blunt. "Good."
The Timber Wolf finally cleared the ramp.
Rook: "Clear—"
Rafe: "—clear—"
Lyra's voice snapped. "Bay doors closing—NOW."
The Union's bay doors started to seal.
The Vulture launched a last desperate missile spread toward the narrowing gap.
Moonjaw's mechs shifted to block—Dire Wolf, Highlander, Awesome, Marauder, Orion—forming a metal wall as explosions hammered armor and shrapnel pinged off plating. One missile clipped the ramp edge and detonated, showering the bay with burning fragments.
The doors sealed anyway.
The air inside the Union changed instantly—controlled, contained, thick with smoke and the stink of scorched metal.
Outside, Clan Jade Falcon still existed.
But they no longer had a clean line on the prize.
Lyra's voice went sharp over ship net. "All mechs inside. Now. We lift the second the tether clears."
Moonjaw withdrew into the bay in disciplined order, damage alarms singing.
Rook and Rafe were already at the Timber Wolf's leg assembly, hands moving like surgeons—disconnecting clamps, securing tie-downs, making sure the captured machine wouldn't shift during lift.
Rafe: "She's—"
Rook: "—heavy."
Rafe: "But—"
Rook: "—she's—"
Rafe: "—ours."
Dack powered down and popped the Dire Wolf's canopy. Heat hit his face. Smoke stung his throat.
He climbed down and looked at the Timber Wolf—iconic, dangerous, chained in his bay like a captured predator.
The Timber Wolf's cockpit hissed.
The canopy cracked open.
Vasha climbed out in a pressure suit streaked with grime, blood, and humiliation. Dark hair damp with sweat. Eyes hard enough to cut. She moved like she expected someone to shoot her the second her boots hit deck.
Dack stepped forward. "You yielded."
Vasha's jaw clenched. "Yes."
"You're bondsman," Dack said.
"I am Jade Falcon," Vasha snapped.
"You were," Jinx said brightly from behind Dack. "Now you're Moonjaw."
Quill stayed still but watched Vasha like she watched a firing lane.
Taila stood quiet, still shaken from nearly dying earlier, eyes locked on Vasha like she was trying to understand what kind of person chose pride over survival—until survival was the only thing left.
Morrigan crossed her arms tighter, expression hard, but her gaze was sharp and curious.
Lyra's voice came over ship net, calm and absolute. "Dack, I can lock a compartment. Cameras are live. Pick a room."
Dack didn't take his eyes off Vasha. "She gets a private room. Locked. Watched."
Vasha's eyes flashed. "Cage."
Dack's answer was blunt. "Containment."
He looked at Quill. "Escort her."
Quill nodded once. "Copy."
Dack looked at Morrigan. "You too."
Morrigan scoffed like it offended her—then stepped in anyway. "Fine."
Lyra didn't have guards.
So Moonjaw became the guards.
Not with uniforms and pomp—just with presence and the certainty that if Vasha tried something stupid, she'd die on steel deck instead of a battlefield.
Dack turned to the triplets over ship net. "Watch rotation. Outside her door. Two at a time."
Lyra added, clipped and practical, "Door will remain sealed unless Dack authorizes. Cams will record audio and video. No unsupervised access to ship systems."
Vasha listened, face rigid, and for a moment her fury had nowhere to go.
Then she did the one thing that mattered.
She swallowed it.
She looked at Dack, and her voice dropped, quieter, rawer. "They tried to erase my failure."
Dack's reply was immediate. "They tried to erase your mech."
"And me," Vasha said.
Dack nodded once. "Welcome to being convenient."
Vasha's mouth tightened like she hated that he understood.
Quill stepped closer, posture calm but absolute. "Move."
Vasha moved.
Morrigan walked on her other side like a threat given legs.
They guided her toward the corridor hatch—no cuffs, no theater. Just control. If she ran, she died. If she fought, she died. She knew it.
Before she passed through, Vasha paused half a heartbeat and looked back at her Timber Wolf—chained, claimed, alive.
Something in her expression twisted. Not softness.
Recognition.
Then she went through the hatch.
Lyra's voice came over ship net. "Compartment sealing."
A soft hiss. A heavy lock.
A light on Lyra's console turned green.
CONTAINMENT: ACTIVE
Jinx leaned into Dack's side, eyes bright. "We stole a Timber Wolf."
Taila's voice came small, disbelieving. "We really did."
Quill's tone was grim. "We did. And now the Falcons will remember."
Morrigan returned from the hatch and looked at Dack's scorched Dire Wolf armor. Her voice was quieter than usual. "You took those PPC shots for the ramp."
Dack shrugged once. "It needed doing."
Morrigan's fingers brushed his sleeve—quick, like she was daring herself again. "Still."
Dack didn't pull away.
Lyra's voice cut in, crisp. "We are lifting. Jump window still hours out. Until then, we stay cold and quiet. No broadcast. No lights we don't need."
Rook and Rafe stood near the Timber Wolf's leg assembly, eyes shining with the kind of focus that bordered on reverence.
Rafe: "Clan—"
Rook: "—engineering."
Rafe: "We—"
Rook: "—learn—"
Rafe: "—so—"
Rook: "—much."
Dack looked at the captured Timber Wolf, then at his own Dire Wolf's damage readouts.
He'd taken a Clan Star Captain alive.
He'd taken her machine.
He'd painted a target on Moonjaw bright enough to be seen from orbit.
He climbed back into the Dire Wolf cockpit to run damage checks, sealing himself into the hum and the truth of the machine.
Inside the cockpit, with the world narrowed to instruments and heat curves, he said the number once—quiet, for himself.
"Eighty-six."
Then he stared at the bay manifest line that hadn't existed this morning:
TIMBER WOLF — CAPTURED
And waited for the next consequence to arrive.