Elara knelt beside him. “Jin. We saw the Orion blow. We saw everything blow. How?”

The data-slate chimed, a soft, three-note tone that cut through the hum of the Vindicator’s recyclers. Captain Elara Vance looked up from the frayed webbing of her crash harness.

“I’m not leaving you again.”

“Captain—”

Jin’s smile softened. “Then you can go, Sundog. One last time.”

Elara stayed until the whine stopped. Then she took the chip, sealed Jin’s pod, and walked back to the Vindicator .

“Takes one to know one,” Jin replied. Then his eyes glazed. His hand went slack. The monitor began a slow, descending whine.

Then, a second line appeared.

The slate pinged again. Coordinates bloomed across the screen. Not the gas giant’s upper atmosphere. Not the wreckage. A deep, geosynchronous lock on a fissure at the bottom of the southern methane sea.

She closed her fingers around the chip. “I promise.”

“Because I saw who shot us down.” Jin’s eyes hardened. “It wasn’t the Tarrans, Elara. The torpedo that killed the Orion had Colonial Guard markings. Ccg 8.1.4 wasn’t a distress code. It was an execution code. Someone in command wanted Unit 8 dead. All of us. I didn’t know who to trust. So I waited. And I fixed the beacon only when I heard your transponder three days ago.”