Syn studied the map, his fingers tracing the glowing paths, his mind calculating distances, angles, risks.
Four hours—too tight to run, too dangerous to hide, and Aster's mission hung in the balance, a fragile thread he couldn't snap.
He straightened, his hazel eyes sweeping the crew, his voice rising with a calm, steely edge.
"We brace for a fight. We don't have a choice. Taking those ships out is the only way to keep Aster safe." His words landed heavy, a call to arms born of necessity.
The cockpit thrummed with a taut silence, the crew's eyes darting between Syn and David, their postures rigid with uncertainty.
Syn stood on the bridge, his hazel gaze sweeping the room, catching the flickers of doubt in their stares—some narrowed, some wide, all questioning.
Was he really in command?
Vera's blood still stained their minds, Aster was a ghost on her mission, and here he was, an untested captain thrust into the fray.
