Chapter 4The Mole's Confession

Veridia Prime's underbelly smelled of recycled air and desperation. The safehouse was a rusted cargo container welded to a support pylon, its viewport showing the endless city-stacks flickering with neon lies. Darian pressed a rag to his shoulder, the wound seeping through the bandage.

Sera worked on a portable terminal, bypassing the building's security feeds. She didn't look up when she spoke. "Hope your friend remembers his priorities."

"Lennox owes me." Darian winced, adjusting the pressure. "We served together on the *Ironbound*. He pulled me out of a burning bridge section during the Anzon push."

Jax paced by the door, checking his comm every few seconds. "Your informant's late."

"He'll come."

"You said that an hour ago." Jax's jaw tightened. "Rourke has a fleet. He has your nephew. What he doesn't have is a reason to keep either of them alive if we show up empty-handed."

The door shuddered. Darian was on his feet, sidearm drawn, before the second knock. He checked the peephole—a cracked lens showing a man in a Peacekeeper quartermaster's coat, graying at the temples, carrying a duffel.

Darian opened the door.

Lennox stepped inside, eyes scanning the room with practiced efficiency. He dropped the duffel and clasped Darian's arm. "Venn. You look like hell."

"Feel like it."

"Heard you took a round." Lennox gestured at Darian's shoulder. "Still got that medic's patience? You never let anyone patch you proper."

"Where's Theo?"

Lennox's expression shifted—a flicker of something Darian couldn't read. "Barracks. Old fleet barracks, sector seven. Rourke's holding him in the brig there, under heavy guard. Word is he's moving him tomorrow to a black site."

Jax stepped forward. "How do you know that?"

"I've got ears in the quartermaster corps." Lennox unzipped the duffel, revealing three Peacekeeper uniforms. "These'll get you past the outer perimeter. Inside, you're on your own."

Sera picked up one of the uniforms, running her thumb over the insignia. "These are command-level. Easy to spot."

"Easier to get shot in civilian clothes." Lennox met her gaze. "You want a parade, or you want the boy out?"

Darian took the uniform. "We'll make it work."

---

The barracks sat in the shadow of the old fleet command tower, its walls scarred from the Anzon bombings that never reached this far into the core. Darian led them through the service entrance, the stolen uniforms itching against his skin.

Sera moved ahead, checking corners with the silence of someone who'd spent years running from people like them. Jax stayed close to Darian, his hand resting on a concealed plasma caster.

"Too quiet," Sera whispered.

"Shift change," Darian said. "Lennox said they rotate at twenty-two hundred."

"Lennox said a lot of things."

The brig was three levels down, past a checkpoint that should have been staffed. The desk was empty, a half-finished cup of synth-coffee still steaming.

Darian's instincts screamed.

He turned—and the lights died.

Red emergency strobes cut through the dark. Boots echoed from every corridor. A voice crackled over the PA: "*Surrender your weapons and get on your knees. You are surrounded.*"

Darian grabbed Sera, pulling her behind a support column as plasma bolts chewed through the wall where she'd stood. Jax dove behind an overturned table, returning fire.

They were pinned.

And then Lennox stepped out of the shadows, hands raised, flanked by four black-ops troopers. His face was pale, eyes fixed on Darian.

"I'm sorry, Venn."

Darian's blood went cold. "You sold us."

"Rourke promised me a pardon. Full amnesty. My record wiped clean." Lennox's voice cracked. "You don't know what it's like, living with the things we did. The things we were ordered to do. He offered me a way out."

"A way out." Darian's grip on his pistol tightened. "He's holding my nephew."

"And he'll let him go if you cooperate. That's the deal." Lennox took a step forward. "Just come quietly. No one else has to die."

Sera aimed at Lennox's head. "He's lying."

"I'm not." Lennox pulled a data chip from his pocket, its surface smeared with old blood. "Theo's location. The real one. He's at the old Protheon facility, outside the city. Rourke's been using it as a staging ground for the prototype."

"What prototype?"

Lennox opened his mouth—

The shot came from above.

A single round, precise, punching through Lennox's temple. He crumpled, the data chip skittering across the floor. Darian looked up, saw the assassin perched on a maintenance gantry, rifle still smoking. She met his eyes for a fraction of a second, then vanished into the ventilation shaft.

Sera grabbed the chip. Jax laid down suppressing fire as troopers pushed forward. "Move!"

They ran.

---

The maintenance tunnel smelled of ozone and rat droppings. Darian leaned against a pipe, gasping, his shoulder screaming. Sera plugged the chip into her terminal, her fingers flying across the display.

"It's a location. Coordinates for the Protheon facility." She paused. "And a message from Lennox. He says the prototype is a resonance weapon. It uses the Drift's spacetime anomalies as a carrier wave. One shot, and it can destabilize a star system."

Jax's comm buzzed. He glanced at it, and his face went white.

"What?" Darian asked.

"It's my brother." Jax held up the screen. A single line of text, fragmented, relayed through a dozen dead signals:

*THE WEAPON IS REAL. THEY'LL USE IT ON VERIDIA. STOP ROURKE BEFORE THE COUNCIL MEETING.*

Below it, a timer: 47:59:21.

Darian pushed off the pipe. "I'm going alone."

Sera grabbed his arm. "Like hell you are."

"He's my family."

"And you're bleeding out." She held his gaze. "You don't get to die a martyr. Not yet."

Jax was already at the tunnel's exit, prying open the grate. "Forty-eight hours, people. Either we stop this, or Veridia Prime becomes the next Sorrow Valley."

Darian looked at the countdown. At the coordinates in Sera's hand. At the two people who had every reason to walk away and hadn't.

He didn't say thank you. He didn't have to.

He just followed them into the dark.