Chapter 25 #2
The reporter pushes anyway. “Is it true you lost family in the corridor collapse? Is this personal?”
I feel the question like a slap. My vision sharpens, my senses narrowing until all I can hear is my own breathing and the low hum of the holopanels.
Drax turns her head slightly, eyes like ice. “This is procedural.”
The reporter tries again, voice gleeful. “But you assigned her. Isn’t her presence—”
Drax cuts through. “Her presence is evidence of tribunal transparency. Her access logs were already public. Attempts to remove her after a targeted personnel leak would have constituted the appearance of intimidation. We will not allow media manipulation to dictate staffing.”
A murmur ripples through the press. They love that. They love a power move almost as much as they love blood.
Another reporter calls out, “What about Lieutenant Garran Hale?”
Mirov steps forward, taking his cue. “Lieutenant Hale has been formally cleared of malicious intent. Panel review confirms his routing authorization did not include corridor displacement authority.”
Somebody mutters, “Convenient,” and someone else murmurs, “So who did it then?”
Drax’s voice stays steady. “Subpoenas have been issued for Admiral Caedrin Vol’s classified directives, including casualty modeling drafts and authorization signature chains. The Oversight Panel will review those materials under statutory mandate.”
The room explodes again with questions.
“Is Vol cooperating?”
“Is he under arrest?”
“Did the Senate know?”
“Will the Coalition retaliate?”
Drax raises her hand once more, and the noise compresses.
“Coalition fleets have paused defensive mobilization pending the outcome of independent review,” she says, and I feel the significance of that statement like a weight settling onto the building’s foundations. “We will not provoke renewed conflict with partial truth.”
For the first time, something like genuine silence hits. Even the drones seem to hover more carefully.
Drax finishes, crisp: “This tribunal will not be a spectacle. It will be a reckoning. That is all.”
She steps back.
The press surges forward anyway, because they’re vultures and the carcass is fresh.
Security shifts, holding them at bay. Drax turns sharply and moves toward the side door without looking at anyone.
I follow, because that’s what I’m supposed to do, and because if I stay in that room one more second, I might scream.
The side corridor is quieter, but the noise still leaks through the walls like water through cracked stone.
Drax walks fast, heels clicking, and I have to lengthen my stride to keep up.
“You did well,” she says without looking at me.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t react,” she corrects. “That is doing something.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “They’re going to keep coming.”
“Yes,” she says. “And now they will come with different weapons.”
We reach a secured door. Drax presses her clearance badge, and it opens into a smaller antechamber lined with sound-dampening panels. The air in here smells faintly of adhesive and clean polymer. It’s like stepping into a sealed pocket of quiet.
I sag against the wall for half a second before forcing myself upright again.
Drax turns to face me fully, her expression unreadable. “The Oversight Panel will require your documentation trail. Your anomaly flag, your reconstruction steps, your access logs. Everything.”
“Fine,” I say, too quickly.
Her gaze sharpens. “Not fine. Dangerous. You will be scrutinized.”
“I’m already being scrutinized,” I snap, then immediately clamp down on my tone. “Sorry. I just— I know.”
Drax’s eyes hold mine. “You also need to understand: the panel’s authority expands the case, but it also delays it. Sentencing rescheduled means Varos remains in limbo.”
My chest tightens again at his name. “How long?”
“Long enough for Vol’s directives to be compelled,” she says. “Long enough for Senate factions to regroup and attempt to control the narrative again.”
“And long enough for someone to… make evidence disappear,” I say, my voice low.
Drax doesn’t deny it. “Yes.”
A beat of silence.
Then my compad buzzes again—an incoming secure message. I glance down and my stomach drops.
Garran Hale requesting meeting — urgent.
I stare at it, thumb hovering.
Drax watches my face. “That is him.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Go,” she says, brisk. “But do not meet him in unsecured areas. People are hunting for leverage.”
I swallow. “Where should I—”
“Archive level,” she says immediately. “Cold, quiet, and surveilled. If someone tries anything, it will be logged.”
“Great,” I mutter. “Romantic.”
Drax’s mouth twitches again—almost humor, almost not. “Try to stay alive, Ardent.”
I blink at her. “That’s… a new vibe.”
“Do not get used to it,” she says, and then she turns away, already moving back toward the tribunal’s core like she’s stepping into fire on purpose.
I leave the antechamber and head toward the lifts.
As the doors close around me, sealing me in a glass box of my own reflection, I finally let my shoulders drop a fraction. My palms are damp. My heart is still racing. The building hums beneath my feet like a living thing.
I look at the message from Garran again.
Cleared of malicious intent.
The panel said it. Drax said it. The press heard it. The record holds it.
But I know Garran. He doesn’t ask for an urgent meeting because he wants closure. He asks because something is wrong—because he’s scared, or angry, or both.
And if the Oversight Panel has teeth now, if subpoenas are flying toward Vol’s vaults, then the people who benefited from silence are going to start biting back.
The lift descends, and the lighting shifts cooler with every level, washing the world into pale blues and sterile whites.
I step out into the archive corridor, where the air smells like cold metal and stored history, and I walk toward the vaults like I’m walking toward the only place left where the truth doesn’t care who’s watching.
My compad vibrates again—another incoming alert—this one from tribunal systems.
SENTENCING RESCHEDULED — NEW DATE PENDING. INVESTIGATIVE AUTHORITY EXPANDED.
I stare at it for a long beat, then lock the screen and shove it into my pocket.
Because I can feel it: the ground shifting under all of us.
And if I’m smart, I’ll stop thinking about what this means for my career, for my reputation, for my life.
If I’m smart, I’ll focus on the only thing that matters:
The record is finally moving.
Now we have to survive what it shakes loose.