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Then he inhales sharply. “Yield,” he says at last.

The drones flare brighter as the broadcast transmits the outcome.

I step back, lowering my blade.

The clans have their answer.

When I return to the cruiser, Rethan meets me at the docking hatch.

“You kept leadership,” he says.

“Yes.”

“At cost.”

“Yes.”

He studies my face. “And now?”

“Now,” I say, moving toward the war room, “we retrieve her.”

The strategy chamber is alive with movement. Officers reposition fleets along contested corridors. Supply ships shift into defensive clusters. Long-range scanners pulse toward Alliance territory.

“Show me patrol gaps,” I say.

An officer brings up the overlay immediately. “Alliance repositioned after the ambush,” she reports. “Tribunal broadcast node likely within secure orbit.”

“Identify it,” I say.

She isolates a cluster of fortified installations near the border of Alliance-controlled space.

“There,” she says. “Signal density spike consistent with media infrastructure.”

Rethan studies it. “Heavy defenses.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“High-risk assault.”

“Yes.”

Rethan folds his arms. “If we breach that node, there is no stepping back.”

“There is no stepping back already,” I reply.

I issue commands.

“Mobilize strike group three,” I say. “Fastest ships. Minimal signatures. We hit hard and precise.”

“And if Alliance fleets intercept?” Rethan asks.

“They will,” I say.

“Then war ignites.”

I look at the expanding map of fleets moving into position—Alliance formations tightening along trade routes, Badlands vessels clustering defensively in response.

The galaxy feels like a taut wire pulled to breaking.