The observation deck was quiet now—too quiet after the alarms had finally died. The station’s viewport stretched wide and black, the golden shimmer on the horizon no longer a distant pulse but a steady, encroaching glow. Isaiah stood alone at the railing, hands resting on the cool metal, frost tracing faint patterns where his fingers touched. The rest of the bay had emptied: soldiers to their posts, trainees to their quarters, Nero and Ragnar to whatever urgent briefing Noirman had called. Even Elena had slipped away after her confession, taking Kate with her.For the first time in hours, or maybe days, he was alone with his thoughts. He stared at the approaching light and weighed it.What were the pros of fighting. The station had firepower. Shields. Trained personnel. His team—Ruko, Spiff, Fen, the outcasts—had already proven they’d die for him. V'He could win. The frost came easier now, stronger. He could feel it in his bones: whatever the Zortox had left in him, it answered when