[Oliver's PoV]

  [Alert! Synchronization reducing.]

  ?? 70% [High]

  ?? 60% [Good]

  ?? 50% [Medium]

  ?? 40% [Medium]

  ?? 25% [Low]

  Oliver's HUD flickered as the synchronization readings dropped, line by line, across the display.

  He’d expected it to fade eventually. Yet he didn't expect the sudden energy outage.

  The armor grew heavier by the second, the once-fluid movement of the plates turning sluggish, unresponsive. His knees buckled slightly under the weight, and he cursed under his breath before deactivating.

  The crimson armor broke apart into shimmering fragments, dissipating like embers in the air. Without it, the exhaustion hit him full force. Oliver almost sank onto the floor, his breath uneven, his muscles trembling from the strain.

  Around him, the remnants of the wedding celebration struggled to return to something resembling normalcy. Drones hovered uncertainly, cleaning shattered glass and debris. Androids tried to reset the lighting to its original warm hue, but the constant blare of alarms made the effort futile.

  Soldiers moved in and out of the wrecked chamber, their armor reflecting the flashes of red light. The chatter of comms and the stomp of boots filled the air.

  There was no pretending anymore. The illusion of peace had shattered.

  'I hope he’s okay,' Oliver thought, his mind flicking to Four. His agent was resourceful, but he was also alone. With the station on lockdown, communication was limited. There was nothing Oliver could do without risking exposure.

  He looked across the room as a group of medics hurried past, carrying Midas on a stretcher. His face was swollen, his normally perfect composure replaced by blood and bruises.

  'Marco must’ve done a number on him.'

  Oliver exhaled softly, offering the only thing he could. A silent wish that Midas would recover quickly.

  Then he pushed himself to continue walking. His body ached, his head throbbed, and the faint aftertaste of energy still lingered in his mouth.

  'There’s nothing left for me here.'

  He turned toward the exit, strolling through the half-lit corridors.

  By the time he reached the hangar, the chaos had dulled to a low hum. Rows of ships stood ready, their hulls gleaming under the emergency lights. The docking clamps held each one firmly in place. No one was leaving until the lockdown was lifted.

  Oliver’s ship, the Red Citadel, waited near the far end of the bay.

  He climbed the ramp and continued toward the bridge.

  Pyro was there, his back straight, his eyes fixed on the holographic display projecting the station’s lockdown grid. A few officers worked quietly at their consoles.

  “Any news?” Oliver asked, his voice rough with fatigue.

  Pyro turned, shaking his head. “Nothing yet. We’re waiting for clearance to depart. Once we’re free, we’ll contact Aquarius. Until then…” He hesitated. “We’re maintaining radio silence. Even a small transmission could get intercepted.”

  Oliver nodded slowly. “Good call.”

  He rubbed at his temples, the exhaustion finally sinking into his bones. “Wake me when we can leave.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With that, Oliver turned and made his way down the narrow corridor toward his quarters.

  He didn’t bother changing. The ceremonial uniform was still dusted with ash, the collar slightly torn, but he didn’t care.

  He collapsed onto the bed. Oliver’s eyes were already closing.

  “All to your stations. We are cleared for departure.”

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  “I repeat. We are cleared for departure.”

  The message repeated, first once, then twice, reverberating through the ship’s decks until it reached even the quietest corners.

  Oliver stirred awake, blinking against the haze that still clung to his mind.

  He sat up, exhaling sharply. The fatigue from the previous day still lingered in his muscles, but there was no time to indulge it. With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet and made for the washroom, one of the few small luxuries between missions.

  The shower’s water was recycled, purified, and a bit metallic, but it was enough to clear the last of the fog from his mind. By the time he emerged, dressed in a fresh black uniform trimmed with blue, his focus had returned.

  The Red Citadel was alive.

  Oliver could feel it in the vibration of the deck plates beneath his boots as he made his way to the bridge. Crew members ran from one side to another, their boots striking as they carried orders and data.

  When he stepped onto the bridge, the panoramic viewport stretched before him, showing the vast curve of Tros Station outside.

  The communications officers were already at their stations, hands flying across holographic interfaces as they transmitted departure requests to the station’s control grid.

  “Any issues?” Oliver asked, his voice steady but sharp.

  “None,” replied Pyro, his second-in-command, without looking up from his console. “We’re cleared. We’ll be leaving orbit in a few minutes. Preparing the jump to Aquarius now.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “No. Don't jump to Aquarius.”

  That made Pyro pause mid-command. “Sir?”

  “Take us to a point where we can establish a secure link first,” Oliver said. “We’ll jump after we’ve confirmed the channel’s clean.”

  Pyro hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. “Understood. Adjusting course. We’ll head toward Jupiter’s outer orbit. Communications should be stable there.”

  The bridge came alive with movement. Officers relayed orders, their voices overlapping with the thrum of machinery. Holographic maps shifted, displaying new trajectories and flight paths.

  “Docking clamps disengaged.”

  “Thrusters online.”

  “Main engines igniting.”

  The announcements came in rapid succession, each one punctuated by the deep, resonant vibration that rolled through the ship’s hull. The view outside began to shift as the Red Citadel slowly rotated, aligning itself with the departure vector.

  Through the viewport, the curvature of Tros Station faded from view, replaced by the endless black of open space.

  “Permission granted,” one of the officers announced from the comms station.

  “Departure sequence initiated,” another confirmed.

  The engines roared to life.

  The Red Citadel, a monster of steel and light, large enough to house thousands, shuddered as its massive thrusters fired. The deck vibrated beneath Oliver’s boots, the inertial dampeners compensating just enough to keep them grounded as the acceleration pressed against their bodies.

  “Engines at full power.”

  The deep rumble of propulsion filled the bridge.

  Oliver gripped the railing near his command chair, his eyes fixed on the holograms flickering before him. Readouts scrolled across his vision: velocity, trajectory, reactor stability, all perfect.

  “We’re far enough,” Pyro said, his voice calm but firm. He stood at the communications console. “Establishing connection with Aquarius.”

  The air shimmered as the holographic projectors came online. Lines of light formed in the air before coalescing into two figures. The Hermes stood side by side, their forms stabilizing as the transmission locked in.

  “Status report,” Oliver ordered, straightening in his chair.

  “Four was extracted successfully via teleportation,” Hermes-2 replied. “Midas is still undergoing medical treatment. Once cleared by Tros authorities, he’ll return to Aquarius.”

  Oliver nodded, his expression unreadable. “Do they know it was us?”

  “There’s no direct evidence linking the events to our operation,” Hermes-3 interjected. “Neither the skirmish nor the vault breach. However, it’s reasonable to assume the connection has been made.”

  Oliver leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Then he’s seen the card.”

  “Confirmed,” Hermes-2 said. “One of our agents witnessed the moment he received it. His reaction was positive. He seemed pleased.”

  For the first time in what felt like days, Oliver allowed himself a small smile. He closed his eyes briefly.

  “Good.”

  He said nothing for a few moments, letting the silence stretch.

  Nico hadn’t forgotten him. That was enough for now.

  When he finally opened his eyes again, the warmth in them was gone, replaced by the sharp focus of command. “Did we secure the plans?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hermes-2 confirmed. “We’ve obtained the full set. It’s a complex algorithmic framework designed to isolate and identify unique Energy signatures emitted by the Unique Crystals.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So it can track them.”

  “Precisely. Our team is already integrating the system with our satellite network. Early results are promising.”

  “Good. Notify me when we have confirmed readings.” Oliver’s voice hardened, his tone shifting from satisfaction to determination. “In the meantime, find the Khan. We need that Crystal.”

  “Understood,” Hermes-3 replied. “Transmitting current coordinates. The Khan’s forces are operating in the Borderlands, near a Dark Star anomaly. They appear to be engaged with mercenaries.”

  Oliver stood, the movement sharp and decisive. “Prepare the ship for jump,” he said.

  Pyro turned immediately to the helm, his fingers flying over the controls.

  “Coordinates locked,” Pyro reported.

  “Engines at full charge. Ready on your command.”

  Oliver looked out through the viewport one last time. The stars beyond shimmered faintly, scattered across the canvas of space. Somewhere out there, beyond the reach of the Houses, beyond the stability of the Empire, lay the Borderlands. Lawless, dangerous, and exactly where he needed to be.

  He smiled faintly, the thrill of the hunt stirring in his chest.

  “Let’s go hunting.”

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