The heavy bulkhead door hissed shut, sealing the cramped bridge behind them.Commander Cyrus Vane and Overseer Kaelen stepped into the central chassis of the VCS Acheron. The cavernous bay was freezing, stripped of environmental comforts to dedicate every erg of power to the stealth suites. Suspended in the centre of the room, secured by heavy hydraulic clamps and thick primary induction cables, the Architect slip-space ring sat dark. It was inactive as a propulsion system, but the faint, deep hum of its dormant containment architecture remained—a lingering echo of the catastrophic quantum resonance held within."Six minutes, forty seconds," Cyrus said, his breath pluming slightly in the chilled air.He moved toward the starboard induction coupling. The rigid osteo-foam splint held his fractured fifth and sixth ribs firmly in place, but the physical exertion of the past hour was catching up with him. A dull, rhythmic throb pulsed behind his eyes, a grim reminder of his cerebral contus