The Guardian base looked different in daylight.

George was waiting in the same junction hall. Behind him, the double doors to Rosalie’s contract room were closed. Instead, he gestured them toward a side chamber Kael hadn’t noticed before.

Bruno stood inside.

"Casual seating arrangement," Kael observed.

"Only the best for one-star prospects," George said without humor.

They sat. George remained standing, placing three manila folders on the table.

He activated the holographic display with a tap. Three points of light pulsed on the map—blue, amber, green.

"Lady Lyra’s intelligence suggests House of Crimson operates at least three nodes within Morir’s territory. We haven’t confirmed all of them. These are the strongest candidates."

Blue. "Jabia City. A spaceport logistics company called Verin Shipping. Legitimate on paper—cargo transport, warehousing, customs brokerage. Our analysts flagged irregular shipment patterns six months ago. Too many late-night arrivals. Too few outgoing manifests matching incoming weight."

Amber. "Valian City. Industrial district, warehouse sector. Owned by a shell corporation with no traceable leadership. Power consumption is three times what the registered business would require. We’re guessing underground construction."

Green. "Rishford City. Unmarked mining colony in the northern ranges. Officially abandoned twelve years ago after the vein ran dry. Satellite imagery shows recent vehicle traffic. No mining equipment."

George leaned back against the table.

"Your job is to investigate all three. Confirm or deny Crimson presence. If confirmed, map the facility, identify key personnel, and report back. Engagement is authorized only in self-defense or if civilians are at immediate risk." He paused. "Lady Lyra was... emphatic about that last point. Intelligence first. Combat second."

Kael studied the map. Three cities, spread across different regions of Morir. Jabia was closest—maybe two hours by transport. Valian was farther north. Rishford was deep in the mountains.

"Timeline?" he asked.

"Three weeks. After that, the academy expects you back."

"And if we find something that can’t wait three weeks?"

George’s smile thinned. "Then you’ll have to decide whether waiting is acceptable. I trust your judgment." He looked at each of them. "Lady Lyra trusts your judgment."

The weight behind those words wasn’t subtle.

Kael nodded. "Jabia first. It’s closest, and the shipping company gives us a plausible cover for asking questions. We work outward from there."

"Agreed." George gathered the documents into a neat folder and handed it to Kael. "Dossiers on known Crimson operatives in each city. Faces, aliases, last known locations. Use them wisely."

The meeting lasted another ten minutes—logistics, communication protocols, emergency extraction signals. Standard operational briefing. Kael absorbed it all without comment.

They left the base an hour after arriving.

The transport George had arranged was unmarked—sleek, dark, with tinted windows and enough interior space for six passengers. It drove itself once Kael entered the destination. The three of them sat in the back, the city rolling past outside.

Yenna hadn’t spoken since the briefing.

Kael could feel it building—that tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers kept pressing into her thighs, the ice-blue eyes that kept darting to the folder in his hands. She was calculating something. Deciding whether to say it.

He made it easy for her.

"Something on your mind, Frostveil?"

She turned to face him.

"I’m leading this group not you."

He turned a page.

"I have been given leadership because I’ve killed these people before. Not one or two. I know how they move, how they think, how they set up operations, how they respond to pressure." He closed the folder. "If you want to switch, feel free to take over. And then our performance will reduce."

Yenna’s eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

"Stating facts." Kael met her gaze. "You aren’t really good at leading. Especially considering your year 1 entrance practical exam."

Silence.

The transport hummed along the highway.

Yenna’s lips parted—ready to fire back. Only for Kael to continue.

"Oh, did I hit a sore spot?" Kael voice was soft. Conversational. "Because yeah, I know about your year 1 mission failure. The one where only you survived in your group. Seven students entered that practical exam. One walked out."

The temperature in the transport dropped.

"So listen." Kael leaned forward. "And be a good girl. We wouldn’t want something like that to repeat itself, would we?"

Yenna stopped breathing.

Her hands began to shake.

"It wasn’t—" The words came out broken. Barely audible. "It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t—"

Her lips kept moving, repeating the same phrase like a prayer, like a ward against memory.

Kael watched.

Part of him noted the reaction clinically. Interesting. The Rank 1 of Sector 1, the ice prodigy of the Sterling branch family, had a crack in her foundation.

This kind of wound could be leveraged.

Yenna was still murmuring. Her whole body had started to tremble, fine vibrations that made the leather seat creak beneath her. Frost crept along the window beside her, spiraling outward in jagged patterns that had nothing to do with conscious control.

Kael opened his mouth—

"That’s enough."

Cassian’s voice cut through the transport’s hum like a blade through silk.

He turned his head. The sunglasses caught the light, hiding whatever expression lurked beneath.

"Give the girl a break."

Kael studied him for a moment.

Cassian stared back. Or seemed to—the damn glasses made it impossible to tell where he was looking.

Silence stretched between them.

Then Kael leaned back in his seat and returned his attention to the dossier.

"Alright," he said. "Let’s move."

The frost on the window slowly began to melt.

Yenna said nothing for the rest of the journey to Jabia City.

Vorn, Vorn, Vorn bastards. I will murder them all. I will slaughter them. Those bastards. Yeena thought.

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