Chapter 17: Veiled Legacies
Secondary Characters
Mira Kane (Meridian Federation)
In the labyrinth of Federation diplomacy, Mira Kane lurks as a shadow in the corridors of power—a sharp-witted Deputy Envoy whose efficiency masks a simmering undercurrent of ambition and enigma. Her barbs are precise, her knowledge of rivals' "family skeletons" unnervingly intimate, as if she holds keys to locked doors long forgotten. Yet beneath the polished facade lies a puzzle: a woman forged in the fringes of outposts, her rise stalled by invisible barriers, fueling a resentment that whispers of deeper wounds. What drives her calculated maneuvers—mere professional envy, or a vendetta woven from threads of a hidden past?
Fractured Alliances
The Federation embassy's audit room was a sterile vault of polished chrome and humming holo-screens, buried deep in the Cygnus compound where secrets went to die—or be dissected. The air was thick, recycled and stale, pressing against Ruby Vance's skin like a second layer of confinement. She sat ramrod straight in the unyielding chair, its edges digging into her thighs, a constant reminder of her vulnerability. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a relentless drumbeat syncing with the erratic flicker of the overhead lights—faulty circuits, or deliberate intimidation? Across the table, two auditors—stone-faced bureaucrats in nondescript gray uniforms—flipped through datapads, their eyes flicking over glowing lines of transactions like predators sizing up prey. The privacy shields hummed louder now, sealing them in a bubble where every breath felt amplified, every word a potential snare.
"Deputy Ambassador Vance," the lead auditor, a wiry man named Harlan with a voice like grinding gravel, began without preamble. "Let's start with Operation Gilded Dawn. Your report claims the allocated budget—1.2 million credits—was used solely for deniable escort teams and asset extractions. Care to explain these discrepancies?"
He projected a holo-grid, red-flagged lines pulsing like open veins: Transfers to unverified black-market channels, ghost accounts vanishing into Cygnus's underbelly. Ruby's stomach lurched, a nauseous twist that sent bile rising to her throat. She swallowed hard, tasting the metallic tang of fear. She hadn't created those accounts—had she? The op was clean: Funds skimmed for Volkov's new lab in Erden, the rest to the teams. But here, the numbers twisted, accusing her of siphoning off chunks into voids. Her palms grew clammy, fingers slipping as she gripped the table's edge, nails scraping the cold surface.
"I don't recognize those," Ruby said evenly, her diplomat's training kicking in—calm facade over the storm raging inside. But her voice betrayed a slight tremor, and she felt heat flush her neck, a prickling betrayal of her body. "The budget was audited pre-op by Undersecretary Thorne. Every credit went to operational needs."
Harlan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing like slits in a mask, the room seeming to shrink around them. The holo's red glow cast harsh shadows on his face, turning it skeletal. "Needs like this ghost account? Linked to your access codes, Vance. We've got logs—queries from your terminal tracing back to black-market hubs. And an anonymous tip: You diverted funds, cut corners on bribes to Volkov's assistants. Refused to pay up, then... eliminated loose ends?"
The word "eliminated" slammed into her like a physical blow, her chest tightening as if an invisible fist clenched around her heart. Ruby's breath came in shallow gasps, the air suddenly too thin, her vision blurring at the edges. Volkov's team had sabotaged the institute and fled to Erden, safe under Rask's protection. But the auditors' holo shifted, displaying forged comm fragments: Messages implying threats, silence after "payment disputes." Her mind screamed—fabricated, all of it—but her body reacted viscerally: A cold sweat broke across her forehead, dripping into her eyes, stinging like accusations. Who had the pull to forge this deeply? Thorne? A donor remnant? Or worse—Mira, whose barbs earlier that day ("Your shine blinds the rest of us") now echoed with a sharper edge.
"Those comms are fabricated," she countered, forcing the words out through a constricted throat, her hands now trembling visibly under the table. She clenched them into fists, nails biting deeper into her palms, drawing pinpricks of blood—anything to ground herself amid the rising panic. "The assistants provided critical data—alive and well last I checked. Demand my full logs; they'll clear this."
The second auditor, a severe woman named Reyes, tapped her pad with deliberate slowness, summoning more damning projections: Transaction trails looping back to Ruby's op, ghost accounts blooming like digital tumors. Each new line felt like a lash, Ruby's skin crawling as if the holo's light pierced her. "We have the logs, Vance. And the tip claims you killed them to cover the embezzlement—budget skimmed for personal gain. Vance dynasty perks not enough?" Reyes's tone dripped implication, the room's lights flickering again, plunging them into momentary dimness that amplified Ruby's isolation. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing her thoughts: If they link this to Sean... to the real transfers... it's over. Disgrace, prison—everything crumbles.
Ruby's mind raced, scenarios flashing like lightning: Exposure dragging Sean into the void, her family's legacy tainted, Mira's subtle digs suddenly suspect. "This is a setup," she said, her voice cracking despite her efforts, the words tasting like ash. "Run the metadata—timestamps won't match." But doubt gnawed deeper, her stomach churning, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. The auditors exchanged a glance, the silence stretching like a taut wire, ready to snap.
Harlan's smile was a bloodless slash, his chair creaking as he leaned back, the sound grating like nails on her nerves. "We're running them now. But until then... you're grounded. No ops, no access. Cooperate, or we escalate to Thorne." The threat landed like a gut punch, Ruby's vision tunneling, the room spinning slightly as adrenaline surged. Grounded—caged in her own embassy, whispers of scandal already seeping through the walls.
The session dragged into an eternity, questions looping like a vice tightening: "Who authorized the black-market diversions?" "Why no bribe receipts?" Each probe chipped at her, her body aching from the rigid posture, sweat soaking her collar. By the end, dismissed to quarters under surveillance, Ruby's legs felt leaden as she walked the corridors, the embassy's gilded halls now a labyrinth of shadows, every glance from staff a potential accusation.
In her secure room, she collapsed against the door, breath ragged, heart still pounding. With shaking fingers, she initiated the steganographic channel—a innocuous weather image embedding her plea to Sean: Audit trap. Sanitize black-market logs. Ghost accounts framing me. As it sent, she paced, the floor cold under her feet, worry gnawing like acid: If they dug deeper, the real truths—Volkov's lab, the assistants' flight—could surface, dooming them all.
Sean's response came swiftly, hidden in a cyclone pixel-gradient: On it. Reviewing now. Hours ticked by in tense silence, Ruby's nails bitten to the quick, shadows playing tricks as if Mira's barbs from the briefing earlier that day ("Your shine blinds the rest of us") echoed with hidden malice.
Then, Sean's update: Logs sanitized. But that ghost account? Forged. Traces lead to embassy queries—Mira's terminal. She poked at Gilded Dawn accounts, then wove in fakes tying you to embezzlement. Sloppy timestamps—her haste post-Korva. This isn't random politics; it's targeted.
Ruby's breath caught—Mira? The rivalry she'd dismissed as envy now loomed darker, a veil lifting on something sharper. But why? The setup was crumbling, yet the dread lingered: What drove Mira to this edge? The question gnawed at her, shadows of doubt creeping in, compelling her to seek answers—not through confrontation yet, but a tentative bridge. Perhaps a "routine briefing" could uncover the truth behind the barbs.
Fractured Whispers
Ruby's quarters felt like a sanctuary turned snare, the privacy shields a false assurance after the auditors' grilling. Cleared by those inconsistent timestamps—forged echoes of Mira's handiwork, as Sean's intel confirmed—she couldn't shake the unease. Mira's rivalry had always simmered as office politics, a jealous undercurrent to Ruby's promotions. But the precision of the frame... it gnawed at her, a whisper suggesting more than envy. To end it, Ruby opted for diplomacy—her strongest suit. She scheduled a "routine briefing" in a neutral embassy lounge, framing it as a chance to align on upcoming donor audits. A peace gesture, veiled as protocol; demand a ceasefire without igniting war. Yet, as she prepared, the shadows from Sean's warning lingered, a subtle dread that this meeting might peel back more than expected.
The lounge overlooked Cygnus's artificial lagoons, holographic waves lapping at the glass like deceptive calm. Mira arrived punctual, her posture impeccable, but her eyes held a glint—sharper than usual, like polished steel. She took the offered seat, accepting the synthetic tea with a nod, her fingers tracing the cup's rim in a slow, deliberate circle.
"Deputy Ambassador," Mira said, her voice smooth as the lounge's ambient hum. "To what do I owe this... alignment?"
Ruby leaned forward, keeping her tone measured, a diplomat's olive branch. "The internal audit wrapped up. Inconsistencies in the timestamps—nothing stuck. I'm clean." She paused, watching Mira's reaction, a subtle probe. No accusation, just implication. "Whatever chase this was... it's over. Let's call a ceasefire. Focus on the work—Cygnus needs us united, not divided by... whatever this is."
Mira's lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She set the cup down with a soft clink, the sound echoing oddly in the shielded space. "Ceasefire? How quaint. You assume it's that simple, Ruby. Timestamps can be... fickle." Her gaze drifted to the lagoon view, as if recalling a distant memory. "Like your father's tastes—always partial to that Elysium spice blend, wasn't he? The kind that lingers, sharp and bittersweet on the tongue. And his smell... outpost ozone mixed with old leather logs, like regret bottled up."
Ruby froze, her breath catching—a subtle hitch she hoped Mira missed. Those details... not in any file, not even classified Vance dossiers. Childhood anecdotes? Her father, Elias had shared that spice story with her once, a rare glimpse into his early postings. How could Mira know? "What are you talking about?" Ruby asked, her voice steady but her pulse quickening, a cold prickle spreading up her arms. "That's not in any report."
Mira's smile deepened, a shadow crossing her features—almost wistful, but edged with something darker. "Reports miss the intimate things, don't they? Like his catchphrase—'Shadows weave the truth'—whispered over strategy games, teaching patience in the chaos." She leaned back, her fingers interlacing, knuckles whitening slightly. "You grew up with those lessons, Ruby. Groomed in the light. Me? Outposts taught different truths. Scraps for meals, foster shifts in the dim—hunger that claws from the inside, while others dined on legacies. You wouldn't understand... the cold of being left in the shadows."
The words landed like veiled barbs, each one pricking deeper. Ruby's mind reeled—how did Mira know her father quirks, his phrases? Not jealousy; this felt invasive, a breach into family sanctums. Worry bloomed, visceral and cold: If Mira knew this much, what else? Threats to her parents? Digging into vulnerabilities that could shatter the Vance facade? "This isn't about work," Ruby said quietly, her hands clenching under the table, nails pressing into palms. "What do you want from me?"
Mira's eyes met hers, a flicker of something raw—hurt? Triumph?—before she stood, smoothing her uniform. "Want? Perhaps just recognition. But ceasefires... they hold only if the shadows don't swallow them." She turned toward the door, leaving the tea untouched, the lounge's waves casting rippling shadows across the floor. "Be careful with your family, Ruby. Legacies have weak spots—easy to unravel if someone knows where to pull."
The door hissed shut, leaving Ruby alone, her skin crawling with unease. Mira's words lingered like a chill draft—personal, probing, hinting at depths beyond rivalry. Family safety? The implication twisted in her gut, a knot of dread. This wasn't politics; it was something intimate, dangerous. The shadows Mira spoke of felt too close, too real, compelling Ruby to delve deeper, to unearth the truths buried in files and fragments before they consumed her.
Unraveled Threads
Ruby's embassy quarters had become a fortress of unease, the privacy shields a thin veil against the encroaching dread. Mira's words from their "briefing"—those intimate echoes of Elias's quirks, the bitter glimpse into her own shadowed childhood—clung to her like a chill she couldn't shake. It wasn't just rivalry; it was invasive, a probe into the Vance family's core that stirred a primal worry. What if Mira's knowledge extended to threats? To her parents' vulnerabilities, or worse? The thought twisted in her gut, a hollow ache that kept sleep at bay, her mind replaying Mira's wistful venom like a loop of regret. Ruby couldn't wait for answers to surface—she had to dig, to pull the threads before they unraveled everything.
She started with the accessible: Federation personnel archives, her Deputy Ambassador clearance granting entry to Mira's profile. The file was sparse, a digital skeleton stripped of flesh, but each line landed like a quiet blow. Mira Kane: Born on Elysium's fringes, orphaned at seven after mother Liora Kane's death from "untreated complications"—a clinical phrase that masked the slow erosion of a woman's will. Shuffled through foster systems on lesser outposts—reports noting "resilient but withdrawn," academic excellence clawed from scarcity, but vetting notes flagged "incomplete maternal lineage" as a barrier to higher clearances. Ruby's heart tightened; the poverty sketched here wasn't abstract—it evoked Mira's hallway barbs, a raw undercurrent of loss that made her wonder: What forged such quiet fury? And Liora's file? A dead end—purged, redacted under "archival security protocol." Deliberate erasure, or bureaucratic indifference? The deletion gnawed at her, a loose thread pulling at the tapestry of Mira's resentment, stirring a pang of unintended empathy amid the fear.
The barriers only fueled her resolve, the ache of uncertainty blooming into quiet determination. Ruby paced, the room's ambient hum amplifying her isolation, her fingers trembling as she fired off a secure ping to Sean, embedded in a satellite image of swirling nebula clouds: Mira's file hits walls. Mother's deleted—Liora Kane. Can you dig via old archives? Korva remnants? Family at risk? The send button felt like a lifeline, but waiting twisted the knot tighter—meals untouched, her reflection in the window a haunted echo of her father's weary eyes.
Sean's reply materialized hours later, a pressure front concealing code: Diving in. Korva backdoors still viable—give me 48. Ruby waited, tension coiling like a spring, sleep fractured by visions of Mira's knowing smile unraveling the Vance legacy, her own privilege suddenly feeling like a borrowed cloak over someone else's shadows.
When the update came, it was an encrypted burst—fragments pieced from Korva's decaying network, old Federation archives breached through proxy relays Sean had seeded in prior ops. The data unfolded like a tragic holo-scroll, Liora's story emerging in stark, heartbreaking strokes that stole Ruby's breath. Classified top-secret: Liora Kane, sharp local recruit on Elysium, partnered with Elias Vance in black ops during pre-war tensions. Their mission—a defector extraction—went south: Ambush, plasma fire, Liora wounded but activating the veil protocol to evade capture. Faked death, bio-suppressants masking vitals, off-grid evasion. But the aftermath? Bureaucratic betrayal—corrupt overseers disowned her as a "liability," support requests denied under Directive 47, flagged as "potential defector risk." The file's cold entries painted a woman erased: Health declining from suppressant side effects, alone in the fringes, her final logs a whisper of despair before silence—whispers fading like dying embers, a mother's quiet plea for a future she couldn't grasp.
Ruby's eyes stung as she absorbed it, a swell of sorrow for this woman she'd never known—Liora's resilience shining in op notes, her intellect a spark dimmed by indifference. The tragedy touched her deeply: A life survived in veils only to be swallowed by shadows, her story a microcosm of the war's human toll, the machine grinding dreams to dust. And the career block? Liora's unreachable file explained Mira's stagnation—no maternal vetting meant perpetual suspicion, her climbs thwarted despite grit, a quiet injustice that echoed Ruby's own unearned light.
But Sean's addendum deepened the ache, a revelation that hit like a visceral wave: An intercepted message fragment from Liora to Elias—post-veil, a desperate signal: "Our shadows wove truth... legacy lingers." Cross-checked with Mira's birth date, aligned within months of the op's timeline. Sean's analysis: High probability—Mira's your half-sister. Dates match 94%; message phrasing echoes Elias's logs.
Through Elysium contacts—old informants from Sean's infiltration days—he pieced Mira's own misery, fragments that painted a portrait of quiet heartbreak: Childhood in squalor, the cold clutch of foster bunks where hunger gnawed like a constant companion, her mother's death leaving a void filled only by whispered relics—faded holos of a "kind diplomat," tales of lost adventures that Mira clung to like lifelines. Reports sketched a girl bartering wits for food, hacking archives in dim-lit corners to chase her identity amid sorrow's relentless grip—resilient, her sorrow hardening into a quiet fire, yet forever marked by the ache of what was stolen before she could claim it. Touching in its raw humanity: Mira, piecing shadows from fragments, her struggles a silent testament to a legacy denied, her sorrow a mirror to the war's forgotten casualties.
Sean's final warning pinged through: Resentment's deep, Ruby. She sees you as the thief—your future built on her erasure. Tread carefully; she's not just rival—she's blood, twisted by the machine.
Ruby stared at the holo, shock crashing over her like a wave—half-sister? The pieces fit: Mira's intimate knowledge, the bitter envy masking profound loss. Her hands shook, a visceral tremor as the weight settled, tears blurring the screen—not just for Mira's pain, but the fracture in her own world. Elias—her father, the pillar—held the confirmation. She needed to hear it from him, to unravel the shadows before they consumed them all. The revelations lingered, a quiet call to action, drawing her toward the truth hidden in her father's past.
Confessions in the Light
The secure holo-comm line hummed to life in Ruby's quarters, the projection flickering like a ghost from the past. Elias Vance materialized—silver-haired now, his diplomat's poise etched with the lines of decades spent navigating galactic tempests. He smiled at first, the warmth in his eyes a familiar anchor, but Ruby's heart pounded, the weight of Sean's revelations pressing like an unseen veil. How many shadows has he buried? she wondered, her own life—a tangle of alliances and secrets—suddenly feeling like an echo of his.
"Father," she began, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "I need to ask about Elysium. Your early postings... a name came up. Liora Kane."
Elias paused mid-greeting, the holo glitching faintly as if his surprise rippled through the signal. His expression shifted—a flicker of something raw, buried deep, resurfacing like data from a corrupted archive. He leaned back, fingers steepled, his mind turning inward, sifting through layers of duty and denial. "Liora..." he murmured, the name a key unlocking long-sealed chambers. How many years since I let myself remember? The ache... it's still there, dull but insistent, he thought, his gaze distant. "It's been... lifetimes. What brings this up now?"
Ruby pressed gently, her enquiries a careful thread, her own thoughts swirling: If this unravels him, what does it mean for us—for the family I thought unbreakable? "Files mention her—an operative. But they're purged. What was she to you?"
Elias exhaled, his gaze distant, the confession unfolding as a smooth introspection—a quiet reckoning with the man he once was. "Elysium was my proving ground, Ruby. I was young, ambitious—chafing under the Vance expectations, diplomacy as a scripted game I played to perfection, but inside... questioning if it was my path or theirs." He paused, memory pulling him back, his voice softening as he reflected. That thrill of freedom—did I chase it, or did it chase me?
He continued, the narration weaving introspection with vivid recall. "Liora... she was a revelation. A local recruit, sharp as a decryptor, her mind weaving through chaos where mine mapped strategies. We partnered on ops, and in those shadows, something ignited." Youthful folly, believing our veils could shield us from the machine, he mused inwardly. "One night in the underbelly, neon storms raging, we crouched behind crates as Combine drones patrolled. She hacked the firewall—'Patterns are art in survival,' she said, her fingers dancing while I covered. I admired her grit, forged from border losses that mirrored my own hidden doubts. We bonded in the adrenaline: Shared dreams of peace, confessions under alien skies. It deepened—a kiss in an alcove as alarms blared, promises to end the shadows together. That moment... it felt like defying the galaxy, but looking back, it was fragile, a spark in the void."
Ruby listened, a quiet ache blooming as she saw echoes of her own shadowed path with Sean—their alliances forged in peril, promises whispered against the war's grind. Is this our fate too—love tangled in veils? she thought, her empathy stirring amid the revelation.
"And the end?" she asked, her voice soft, prompting him deeper.
Elias's tone grew heavier, his introspection turning to the fracture. "The defector extraction—ambush, plasma tearing the night. Liora wounded, activating the veil protocol for evasion in pursuit. But … she didn’t make it. I saw the 'body,' believed her gone. The grief... it shattered me, Ruby. A void no strategy could fill. How naive, thinking I could compartmentalize love like a briefing— it consumed me, left me adrift in the Vance currents. Back on Meridian, the family arranged the match with your mother—comfort in alliance, stability amid my rise. It wasn't passion at first, but solace, a way to rebuild from the ashes. Did I betray her memory by moving on? Or honor it by surviving? Your mother became my anchor, and you... our light. I buried Elysium, convinced it was lost forever."
Ruby's breath caught, the pieces aligning, her introspection mirroring his: All my privileges... built on someone's erasure? The guilt—it's a shadow I never saw. "Father... Liora survived the veil. But the bureaucracy disowned her—denied support, left her to rot. She had a daughter. Mira Kane. The dates, a message... she might be yours."
Elias's face drained of color, his composure fracturing—not a dramatic collapse, but a deep, introspective tremor, his hands gripping the chair as memories collided with the present. A daughter? All these years, a piece of her alive... and I never knew? The machine stole her from me—twice. First Liora, now this echo. What kind of father am I, blind to my own legacy? His voice faltered, thick with regret. "Mira... the one in your dispatches?" He leaned forward, eyes glistening with unshed tears, the weight of revelation pressing inward, a quiet storm of self-reproach. The shadows I wove... they ensnared us all.
He paused, gathering the fragments of his resolve, then continued with quiet introspection. "If it's true... she's the only thread to what I lost, to the man I was before the veils hardened me. And yet, how do I bridge this without fracturing what we have?" His vow emerged, steady but laced with sorrow. "I'll confess to your mother—beg her forgiveness for the silence. Elysium was before us, a chapter I thought closed, but secrets... they fester, don't they? How many choices were mine, and how many the dynasty's? I love you and your mother—you've been my support through every up and down, the family that pulled me from the void. This changes nothing... and everything. But if Mira's mine, we'll face it together. Bring her, Ruby—let me mend what the shadows broke."
The call ended, leaving Ruby in silence, the holo's afterglow fading like unresolved regrets. Elias's introspective confession—a tapestry of love, loss, and self-reckoning—confirmed the fragments, but the ache lingered, a bridge to Mira waiting to be crossed. The weight of it all—family secrets unveiled, a sister's shadow looming—spurred her forward, the urgency of closure mingling with the fear of what lay ahead.
Fading Echoes
The embassy corridors buzzed with a undercurrent of urgency, auditors' footsteps echoing like distant thunder. Mira's carefully woven web had frayed—her "fingerprints" on the ghost account, those sloppy timestamps from her hasty forgery, had unraveled under scrutiny. The anonymous tip she'd planted to frame Ruby had backfired, the Federation's machine turning its gaze inward. Warrants issued, her donor ties severed in the Korva fallout, Mira had no sanctuary left. Fear clawed at her—exposure meant not just disgrace, but a lifetime in some off-world cell, her corruption laid bare. Cygnus's neutrality was her last gambit: A fake ID, a one-way shuttle ticket to the fringes, vanishing into the galaxy's underbelly before the net closed. But Sean had been watching—his AI alerts pinging since Mira's threat crystallized. From a shadowed terminal, he tracked the black-market purchase, the forged credentials flashing like a beacon. Ruby's comm pinged—a encrypted alert from Sean: Mira's bolting—fake ID spotted in black-market scans, shuttle dock 7, departure imminent. Move if you want closure.
Ruby’s heart raced as she slipped through the resort's throng, the glittering facades a mocking contrast to the storm within. Auditors were closing in, but family—fractured, hidden—pulled her faster. She reached the fog-shrouded dock just as Mira ascended the ramp, bag slung over her shoulder, her posture a mix of defiance and defeat.
"Mira, stop," Ruby called, her voice cutting through the mist like a plea. "You deserve the truth before you vanish."
Mira froze, her bag slipping from her shoulder with a dull thud. Her knuckles whitened around the strap, nails digging into her palm until she felt the sting of broken skin. "Truth? You've exposed me—jail's my future. Let me go." Her words came out ragged, her throat tightening like a vice, the air thick with the metallic tang of impending rain. But the dam broke then, resentment surging like a flood long held back. "You think you know pain, Ruby? Try the cold of foster bunks, hunger gnawing like a beast inside while you dined on Vance silver. Mother's whispers—fading tales of a 'kind diplomat,' promises of light that never came, leaving me to scrape shadows for scraps. I pieced it together in the dark, hacking relics amid the ache, surviving on bitterness that twisted deep—hate for the system, for the erasure, but you... you became its face. The future she dreamed with him—your promotions, your legacy—stolen from the void she left me in. How does it feel, Ruby? To wear the light while I choked on darkness, my every climb a reminder of what was denied?"
The venting poured out, visceral and fragmented—her body trembling, voice cracking on "erasure," tears carving hot paths down her cheeks, illustrating the internal storm: Resentment not just anger, but a complex weave of longing, self-loathing, and sorrow, the war's machine grinding her spirit into opportunism, years of buried pain surfacing in raw, accusing waves. Ruby listened, heartache blooming—Her shadows are mine now, the privilege I never questioned a thief in disguise.
Ruby stepped closer, activating a holo-projection: Elias's aged face, confessing in a quiet study. "Liora... our adventures on Elysium, the veils we wove. I thought she was gone—grief broke me. I married for solace, but she was my true north." Ruby paused, eyes glistening. "He didn't know about you. The bureaucracy disowned her—hacks prove it. Denied her resurfacing, flagged her pleas as threats. The war's machine erased her, not him."
Mira's breath hitched, the holo's glow flickering across her face, illuminating the quiver in her jaw as old fragments surged. Her chest heaved, a low sob escaping, her hands clawing at her arms. "All this... hate for a lie."
"No one took your future—the system did," Ruby said, touching her arm gently. "I've talked to them, our parents. Mother's hurt, but she sees the tragedy. They want you home... as family. Leave the corruption. We can fight it together. I'll help sanitize your digital footprints—scrub the trails, keep you safe if you step away from the shadows."
The offer pierced the haze, Mira's sobs quieting to ragged hiccups, her body spent but her eyes meeting Ruby's with raw vulnerability. "I... I became the monster that hurt her." In that suspended moment, she pulled Ruby into a hesitant embrace—their shared warmth a fragile counter to the cold dock, the weight of years dissolving in quiet sobs.
But as they parted, Mira pressed a faded data-chip into Ruby's hand—a final fragment from Liora: "He promised we'd end the shadows together." The words hung in the air, and Ruby felt a chill, seeing the echo: Elias and Liora's star-crossed bond mirroring her own fragile alliance with Sean—shadows of separation looming. We won't follow their footsteps, she thought, a bittersweet ache blooming, hope flickering yet dimmed by fog.
As the shuttle engines whined, Mira whispered, "I need time," her gaze lingering—a mix of gratitude and guarded doubt. She stepped back, her silhouette fading into the mist, leaving Ruby alone with the data-chip's glow. In the solitude, Ruby made her vow—a quiet resolve whispered to the fog: I'll end this war, tear down their corrupt machines. For them... for us. It was a promise laced with sorrow—the galaxy's shadows deep, the path ambiguous as Mira's retreating form—but amid the lingering warmth, it felt like a fragile light, bittersweet and enduring.
Scene from this Chapter:
Scene of Mira venting out "You think you know pain, Ruby? Try the cold of foster bunks, hunger gnawing like a beast inside while you dined on Vance silver. Mother's whispers—fading tales of a 'kind diplomat,' promises of light that never came, leaving me to scrape shadows for scraps. I pieced it together in the dark, hacking relics amid the ache, surviving on bitterness that twisted deep—hate for the system, for the erasure, but you... you became its face. The future she dreamed with him—your promotions, your legacy—stolen from the void she left me in. How does it feel, Ruby? To wear the light while I choked on darkness, my every climb a reminder of what was denied?"